Tag Archives: family

PW Weekend: a lesson in cookie decorating

During the food fest that was two Saturdays ago at the Pioneer Woman’s Lodge, there was a beautiful cookie decorating demonstration by Bridget, a cookie maker and food blogger extraordinaire with the sweetest personality you ever saw.

And the most adorable red ringlets.

Cookies had been prebaked and brought in for us, and you can get the recipe for those fantastic Vanilla-Almond Sugar Cookies here. Loads of supplies were standing by, just waiting for us to get our grubby little hands on them.

Sprinkles, glittering colored sugar, edible gold dust . . .

Squeeze bottles for the icing, and little bottles of food coloring.

Women were starting to trickle in–local women, friends of Ree’s, friends of the Drummond family. This is Ree’s godmother!

An amazing woman.

I should probably also introduce you to the other guests. I’ve been so caught up in talking about Charlie the basset hound that I’ve barely talked about the wonderful, wonderful people! Sorry, ladies. There were 4 winners, and each of us brought someone with us. Molly brought her mother Susie:

Christy brought her (adorably pregnant) best friend Kathryn:

Jennifer brought her friend Ann . . .

. . . and finally, I brought my Mom.

I’m trying not to make apologies, but I have to be true to myself. Why is the color balance off in every single one of those pictures? What was I doing?? Was I on Photoshop drugs or something? In fact, did I even process these pictures myself, or did the Photoshop gnome villains hack into my system . . . again?

Definitely the Photoshop gnome villains. Those little squirts with their little red caps and hairy little toes.

Or we can just pretend I did it on purpose to give each picture individuality–a pink/red tone for Molly and Susie, a yellow tone for Christy and Kathryn, and a bluish hue for Jennifer and Ann. And my color balance problems don’t end here, but I’ll try to shut up about it. For the most part.

We enjoyed Ree’s coffee–big time.

As all the women gathered, Christy and I ran around snappity snapping with our cameras. We were still slightly freaking out.

Hi Christy! I’m sorry I made you so yellow earlier, and now so pink. Your skin is actually a beautiful, normal color.

I met the lovely Hyacinth, who I’ve been reading about for over a year.

Her haircut is seriously the cutest thing. “Hyacinth, will you tattoo your name and the name of your hair stylist on my left arm?” I asked.

“Um, you’re a very weird girl, but I’ll pose for a picture with you if you promise to stay at least 10 feet away from me the rest of the day,” she responded graciously.

I jumped at the chance.

We actually had a lovely conversation, and since she didn’t get a restraining order against me afterwards, I assume she thought it was lovely too.

Once we were all gathered, Bridget passed out recipes and instructions.

I studied them carefully in case there was a pop quiz at the end.

Ree was looking slightly impish.

Bridget demonstrated how to make Royal Icing–the stiff kind that you use to pipe your outlines on the cookie, and the ‘flooding’ kind that is a little more liquidy, and fills in the piped area with the color of your choice.

It was so delicious that I grabbed the mixer attachment and stuffed the whole thing in my mouth, to the horror of all the guests. Then Ree screamed “get this crazed woman out of my house!” and the icing and I fled across the open prairie in shame, where I hoped the wild mustangs would take me in as one of their own.

I kid! But you probably knew that already.

Ree would never send me from her house in a fit or rage. She’s just not the ‘fit of rage’ kinda lady. She’s the kind who would join me in licking every ounce of frosting off that mixer. The picture above is my proof.

The demonstration was so much fun.

All the ladies were so warm, so friendly, and so conversational.

Once the icing was mixed, it was time to start decorating 5 tons of cookies.

These all-important pictures show Bridget piping the outline with the royal icing that she will later fill in with flood icing.

Well this should be easy, I thought to myself. You kind of draw on a cookie, type of thing.

Hah! I couldn’t draw a straight line to save my own sorry hide.

Everyone suddenly got very, very focused.

Ree’s girls were so into it.

What if the PW sees my wonky lines of icing and rejects me forever? I thought. Maybe I should just destroy the evidence and slip this mangled cookie into my mouth.

But I didn’t. I proceeded as planned, and tried to erase the error of my ways with the glossy, gorgeous flood icing. Use a toothpick to get it to the edges–if it goes on its own, it’s too liquidy and the cookies will never dry. Let’s take a look at Bridget’s progress:

It’s so easy to make beautiful designs with the flood icing, simply by making swirls with a toothpick.

Unfortunately my little beauties got a little bashed up on the plane ride the next morning.

I’m not a baker by nature, but I could have decorated these cookies all day long.

My Mom’s cookies turned out beautifully.

She’s such an artist.

You can read Ree’s blog post about the experience here.

It was so much fun to see the Pioneer Woman in action, snapping the step by step photographs that you can click on over and see on her blog. Wild stuff, I’m telling you.

Simply wild. And her camera has a wicked fast shutter speed.

Christmas is approaching, and how much fun would it be to get together with a bunch of girls and have a massive cookie decorating party?

Lotsa fun, I’m telling you. Especially if you send me a little care package with the results . . . see, I’m an FDA-approved, um, cookie analyst.

And especially if two amazing chefs, Lia and Tiffany, come in and make you a killer salad for lunch. Here’s Lia, the toffee-making, truffle-creating Chef of wonders.

The toffee and truffles deserve their own post.

Here’s Tiffany, another lovely redhead. Seriously–Ree, Tiffany, Bridget–all redheads. All amazing cooks. I’m thinking something funky is going on here.

This was the best salad I’ve ever had. The components alone were already spectacular, especially the roasted fennel bulbs. I snuck a couple off the baking sheet.

Shrimp, scallops, fresh greens = I love everything and everyone in the world.

Add to that a glass of berry lemonade . . . oh yeah.

There’s more to come in this series. I make no promises on how fast they will appear since Christmas is practically at our door, but fudge, toffee, wild horses, and more kitty cats are in our future.

So don’t be goin’ anywhere!

That was figurative. You should totally get up to pee if you have to.

The Queen of Thanksgiving

And now, for a short break in our regular PW programming, let me introduce you to the Queen of Thanksgiving.

Her name is Erica.

She is my blonderrific sister.

She lives in Kentucky, and we all drove down to see her new home with her new husband in a new town–new, new, new! Oh, and to be fed. We can’t be forgetting that part.

Her original plan was to keep things simple. “Dave,” she said to her army ranger husband, “I’m thinking of keeping things simple.” That plan didn’t last long, as Dave’s face (or so I am told) fell. You see, Thanksgiving is his favorite holiday.

I’ve heard rumors of all the delights his mother, Wendy, makes every year. As Erica rattled off the list of all the dishes Dave has fond memories of, I couldn’t even absorb all the information. All I remember is repeating “3 different Jello desserts? What? What?” over and over again. *cannot compute* Wow, Wendy. Wow.

So anyway, being a good wife, she decided to go with plan B, and they hereby designated Thanksgiving as a yearly feast in which they would Go All Out.

The End!

Isn’t that a beautiful story?

But wait, it’s just the beginning!

Let me introduce you to this fairy realm of happiness, song, and feasting.

First I have to say that Erica and Dave were the perfect hosts. They had been cooking non stop so that once we all arrived around 2am the night before Thanksgiving, we wouldn’t have to lift a finger. Erica even fed us potato soup and hot rolls in the middle of the night.

Instead of making a turkey, to our great excitement, Erica decided to make two chickens. Moist, flavorful, and delicious. As part of the new trend in eating ‘raw’ foods, she served them in their natural state, at room temperature:

Yost kiddink.

As the chickens got lovely and brown in the oven, and up to the FDA recommended temperature, we snacked on a veggie plate.

But with restraint! It would have been a tragedy to spoil any inch or ounce of our appetites.

This chicken was coated with apple butter before baking.

It produced the best chicken skin I’ve ever eaten–a charred, sweet flavor that is simply unmatched.

The second chicken was filled with onions and the like. Mmmm.

The leftover meat made some killer sandwiches the next day, with the help of some blue brie and Dave’s master sandwich skills.

There was plenty of time to snap some pictures of my adorably pregnant youngest sister and her man.

Thankfully she was totally open to having me touch her belly constantly.

I couldn’t keep my hands off my little nephew–especially when he had the hiccups.

Back in college, I used to be a bit of a rebel hippy, and decided I would never cook a traditional Thanksgiving meal. Instead, I would make a feast of Indian curries, or a vat of Pad Thai, or a smorgasbord of tapas. However, after eating the delights of Erica and Dave’s kitchen, I am a traditional Thanksgiving convert. I have been won over . . . to the dark side.

The side of slow-cooked ham.

The side of Jello desserts.

Roughly mashed sweet potatoes.

Traditional buttery mashed potatoes.

Cranberry toppings–there were three.

Homemade cranberry relish . . .

. . . homemade cranberry sauce. I think this had bourbon.

And for the glorious finale, the stuff from the can. Yum.

Sampling everything immediately was an absolute necessity.

It’s a sickness I have, OK?

There was an amazing creamy fruit salad–bananas, grapes, and yoghurt.

Even the dreaded green bean casserole, which I have always disliked until this year! She got me on every count, folks.

The moment we served our plates and sat down to eat was a moment of glory.

My plate looked like a party had crash-landed on it.

Young Teds had a Thanksgiving meal of his own. By himself, in the bathroom.

Poor, brain-damaged cat.

And then–oh, you thought this was over?–there were pies. Four of them.

With Pioneer Woman’s Maple Whiskey Cream Sauce, which Erica graciously made after a frantic call from me the day before. “Erica, so I totally saw this recipe on the P-Dub’s website this morning, and we totally have to include it in the Thanksgiving menu!” (by ‘we’ I actually meant ‘you’). So she got her butt to the store, bought some heavy whipping cream, and made all my holiday dreams come true.

I have demanded recipes for every single one of her dishes. So far I have only received one.

Eeeerrriccaaaa!!!!! Let’s hop to it!

Maybe if you chime in too, we can get her to deliver.

While we’re at it, she still owes me a skirt which she said she was going to make for my present last Christmas. Then she and Dave had to go fall in love, and my skirt was violently pushed aside.

Where’s my skirt, spankypants?

I’ve seriously never eaten a more delicious Thanksgiving meal. There wasn’t a single mediocre dish. Every single one demanded that I return to sample its delights over and over again during the next couple days.

She is Erica. And the Queen of Thanksgiving is her name.

However, I am the Queen of Nertz.

Have you played Nertz? It’s a fast and furious card game. I challenge anyone and everyone to play. I absolutely love it. I would say we played about 50 rounds over the course of a couple days. Maybe more. I lost track because I kept winning *evil cackle.*

(By the way, isn’t my sister Heidi’s haircut a-dorable?? Love the bangs.)

Poor Erica. She hates it when I win. But I can’t help it! I’m the older sister.

That’s just how it rolls.

And after some furious Nertz whipped up our hunger again, there was a perfect cheese plate. With smoked gouda.

Beer was provided.

The blue brie made me weep . . .

. . . almost.

But back to cookery–tomorrow I will be sharing the one Thanksgiving recipe I have managed to wrestle from Erica’s resistant little hands. Just a heads up–it’s a little complicated. You may only want to try it if you’re a Certified Master Chef. And since there are only 33 of them in the world, well, you may feel quite intimidated. There’s loads of technique. And an ingredient called . . . Jello. Thass right.

Now all you need is a team of able bodied and loving men to handle the clean up.

Check.