My head is spinning like a dreidel and chances are good that I may be coming down with something. If I were to self-diagnose this week’s hypochondriacal illness, my guess would be an acute case of powdered sugar lung. One recipe of royal icing calls for twelve pounds of powdered sugar. As the mixer’s paddle attachment beats egg whites and sugar into snowdrifts of submission, clouds of white swirl overhead. Preparing four rounds of icing this week might be considered a veritable avalanche and possibly a personal best. My jeans and sneakers are spattered in dried meringue providing a subtle yet noticeable crunch to my walk.
The holiday merrymaking continues over the bakery sound system, jingle bell rockin’ and reminding us it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. No kidding. And for the hundredth time, no, no, NO, I have never spent Christmas on Christmas Island. Cookie Island, yes, Christmas Island, negative. Sonos cares not, crooning yet another carol. Oh look- here comes Suzy Snowflake.
In the very first year of the bakery, Team Butter assembled at a local eatery to celebrate the holiday season. We were a party of nine. This year, an intimate group of twenty eight ditched the bandanas to gather at the gracious home of our Butter Meisters. Armed with Secret Santa gifts (thank you, Emily) and sumptuous potluck offerings, there was nary a single royal-iced cookie in the mix.
What a swell party it was.