...that tarts are totally F*ing expert.
yesterday was tart tuesday, neighbors.
that means the oven was hot,
the buttery-type yellowy fatty pats were melted,
and the cookies were crumbled.
the cranberries were simmered in cinnamon and cider,
with a splash or two (complete with sound effects)
of real new englandy grade B extra serious maple syrup.
check the yesterday-was-fallish-today-it's-hot-as-hell-type teleport:
that IS cinnamaplecider style hottness in those rosette dollops on top.
i mean, c'mon-
what am i?
i'm an active participant and a freestyle freeform baker's man.
patty cake or pat-a-cake, or whatever.
i'm all about all of that sh!t,
and i make sure it all really happens.
i had some help....
that maple syrup wasn't gonna pour itself, right?
and that was arguably the most important part.
besides all the other other parts.
real life hard-style caffeinated coffee went inside me yesterday too...
rainy days off call for extra efforts and berserker brews in my body,
to take the naturally-selected segments of my sociability and turn them
around on an otherwise invisible axis.
what i'm saying is:
i get a little hyperactive and a lot worse mannered when i'm sped up-
and that makes for a righteous freefall into the realm of louder and fresher
and far faster breakneck barrel-assing into blurted-out busybody business.
i have opinions, and ideas, kids,
when the veil between self-control and selfish soliloquy is
i set 'em free on the fresh-faced beauties in my kitchen.
it all costs something, y'all.
and if there's gonna be companionship,
there's gotta be conversation.
tough calls, rough trades, and speeches, an' that.
i doo-doo that interactive observational assessment sh!t.
i can't help myself.
i mean that in almost every single possible way;
never quiet, never soft.....