This evening, we have stepped in the midst of some sort of ritualistic baking experience that the indigenous people seem to be undertaking. Those of us hiding in the bushes are not sure what we are witnessing, but it appears that the natives have not previously performed this ritual, as it does vary from the standard village baking efforts that we have previously witnessed.
And they seem to be squabbling with each other at every turn.
We joined them in midstream for this Documentary, for which our working title is: “Out of the Churro Pan, Into the Fryer.”
The Mom: Turn that burner off, Ava.
“I DON”T KNOW HOW TO TURN THE BURNER OFF!”
Turn it to the right.
The daughter: “Right? That doesn’t make sense. MAKE IT STOP!”
How are the eggs looking, Ava?
“Eggy…..disgusting.”
The Mom: Pop the other egg in…
“I can’t stir it.”
Mom: You have to OWN it.
Mom steps in and stirs batter like it is 1956 and she is spanking a bad child.
“Disgusting….who would eat this?”
Mom: Well, we’re going to. YOU chose it!
Mom: Hey, this looks good now, want to see it?
“Uh-uh.”
Mom: OK, we’re mostly done, do you want to go write down your experience?
Daughter: “No, not really, I got it.”
Mom: So, what is your topping going to look like?
Daughter: “My WHAT?”
Mom: And this is the thing we’re going to put it in.
Daughter: Oh, fancy….isn’t that kind of small?
Daughter: I need counseling, that was terrifying, and I am not even halfway done.
(AFTER a break for dinner, they seem rested and refreshed.)
Mom: “OK, should we heat the oil?”
Daughter throws her head back against the chair and sighs.
(Well, apparently the dinner break wasn’t long enough to achieve “refreshed”)
What?
“I HATE baking.”
They move to the baking area.
Mom: Should we put that in here?
Daughter: “In where?”
Mom: In here (holding bowl and pointing at it)
Daughter: “In WHERE?”
Mom: In. This. Bowl.
Mom, sticking with it, never giving up, persisting and persevering and remaining steadfast all at once.
Should you take some pictures, for the project?
Daughter: “Uh, I was going to do that with the final one.”
Mom: OK, let’s start cleaning up while we wait.
“Um, I’m going to take some pictures.”
Mom: So you want to pop that one out?
Do you want to flip it?
Daughter: “How do you know?”
M: You’ll know….(writer’s embellishment)…It’s the same, as one day, when that perfect young man walks across the lunch room, birds will sing, violins will play, everything will look like HD plus 3D…you’ll just KNOW.
M: You need to get this one in the oil.
Daughter: “Do I put it in here? then shake it?”
(Shake, shake, shake/shake, shake shake your churro…)
“It broke in half, but why does it matter?”
M: Let’s make sure this is cooked on the inside?
Daughter: “Is it cooked? Or is it not? It’s not. Is it?”
(Tonight on The Food Channel, “The Neurotic Sous Chef.”)
M: It’s not at its best right now, not as good as it will be.
M: Oil goes down in temperature, just so you know.
Daughter: “Does it?”
M: Yes, if someone –( like my loser husband) — had gotten me an oil thermometer for Christmas like I had asked….
(Kitchen smelling like a fish fry)
Daughter: “Are we taking it out?”
“Can I flip it?”
Mom: I wouldn’t leave that one in too long, it’s getting a little too brown.
Daughter: “OK, I am going to take it out, it’s making me mad.”
(Anger: :Life’s Thermometer)
M: Ok, that one went in at 7:24, I would go ahead and put THESE in.
Daughter: “Let me just grab a pair of these, because they look really cool bubbling.”
Mom: This kind of looks like a pile of dog poop, the ones that are done.
(Bella, our dog, enters kitchen. Did someone say, “Dog poop? Count THIS DOG IN!”)
Daughter: “Can I take a picture?”
Mom: What’s wrong?
Daughter: “This is brown on the outside, not cooked, it is very frustrating.”
(Kitchen smelling like Auntie M’s Deep Fried Oreo Stand at the county fair)
Daughter: “How do I do this?”
Mother: I think if you just put it in and shake it around….
“Oh, that one is perfect.”
Mother: I think we had the oil TOO hot. (again, thermometer, Christmas, didn’t get, husband, idiot.)
Mother: Ava, cool, you have taken over, completely!
This would have all been so much easier, had we purchased the Mr. Churro machine.
MyThreeDaughters 