My brother, Bryan, has started dating the sweetest girl I have possibly ever met. He brought her to our family’s annual St. Patrick’s Day party and we all fell in love with her. Some time into the evening, as our guests were getting sloshed off of my Irish Car Bomb cupcakes, Bryan pulled me aside.
“Hey, I was wondering if you would be willing to show Evelyn your cupcake book. Her dad’s birthday is on Saturday and I am going to dinner with them and would like to bring dessert.”
Of coarse I was up for the challenge! I must say, at first I was under-whelmed by the Blueberries and cream cupcake recipe she chose. I feel that blueberries belong in muffins and pancakes, and that this cupcake would just be an overly sweet muffin, but I was pleasantly mistaken!
I spent Friday morning tracking down blueberries, since it was still I tinny bit early for them, but was thrilled when Trader Joe’s announced that they were in stock! I quickly drove down, picked up all of my supplies and rushed home.
As the cupcakes baked, the kitchen was filled with the delicate aroma of white cake and blueberry; it was delicious! Each cupcake was lightly browned and quietly steaming, as they puffed out of the wrapper. I cut one open, and a sweet, delicious blueberry oozed out.
Perfect.
I left the cupcakes to cool, and planned to make the frosting on Saturday morning.
Saturday morning came around and I was slow to get out of bed. I fed the cats, put some laundry in the dryer and pulled out my mixer, powdered sugar and heavy cream. I shook the cream, for good measure, and that was when the cap fell off. Heavy whipping cream splashed on the door to the garage and the wall. It covered the granite counter, spilled in the sink, slopped on the floor, dripped onto the stove and left me soaking, in the middle of a huge mess. It was 10:00AM and Bryan and Evelyn were coming to pick them up in half and hour.
I ran from the kitchen and jumped in the shower, reeking of sour milk. I then threw on yoga clothes and set to work, dumping cleaner on the floor, scooting around with a small towel under each foot, spraying the walls and sink and ferociously wiping the spilt milk away.
Ten minutes later I poured the last of the heavy cream into the mixing bowl. There was just enough left. I threw on the mixer to whip the cream into soft peaks as I continued to wash the ripe smell out of my once clean kitchen. At 10:20, Bryan and Evelyn were at the door, graciously explaining that all was fine, they were in no hurry. I added the sugar and the mixer continued to churn… for too long. The frosting separated and was a coagulated mess. Oh no.
I handed Bryan my wallet and begged him to go to the store so I could start over. Within another fifteen minuets he was back and the cream was poured into the mixer for whipped cream frosting, round two. That was when the whisk attachment for my mixer broke. Thank goodness I still had a set of beaters!
I am proud to state that by 11:00AM the cupcakes were frosted, topped with succulent blueberries and out the door. This just goes to show that there is no use crying over spilt milk; next time, just be sure to hold the cap, and watch the frosting!
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