Gingerbread Part 3 - Catharsis

(*If photos and video are not coming through on your device, you may have to go visit the actual site for full effect: http://turbofluff.blogspot.com/

I was informed by Michael that on the first of these posts, he did not get any of the photos.)


Last week arrived a nice little package from Uncle Kevin (and Karin!) I guess they cannot get enough of the gingerbread stories. They sent a kit to myself, Scott & Cee Cee and said they wanted pictures an stories. Today, I am here to share those pictures and stories.

First, upon arrival, we had quite an auspicious beginning. What appeared to have been the chimney had turned into croutons.



The walls were already crumbling.


The foundation was cracked apart to start with.


I lamented that this seemed to be theme with my gingerbread house attempts. Michael reminded me that it is a poor workman who blames his tools. So, I rose to the occasion and began assembly. I could see this was going to require more royal icing than what was supplied and lots more candy and props to fill the vision that once again sprung forth from my hazy mind's eye.





So, I set the gingerbread shanty to dry while I went out prop shopping.




As I returned and really dug in, I peaked the interest of Rex. Now, here is a real engineer! Royal icing? Pashaw! He went to get the hot glue gun. And if this was truly to end in tears, we were going to need those pyrotechnics. Also, he wanted to eat some of the candy.




As you can see, this gingerbread house already has a lot of issues. It was important to have EMS on the scene ... just in case.



More candy! More ninja turtles! More reptiles! More snowmen and a princess.



Now, it was going to come to an end, as all good things must.

Enjoy the below video brought to you by my dear husband with assistance from Rex and Valerie.

Well, I have adjusted my gingerbread house expectations. I'd say I was not disappointed this time. Sure, it's not going to be on display in a fancy hotel, but that was never my destiny. I must embrace my inner destroyer.

Gingerbread Part 2 - Insanity

It is true, what my brother says. I have always had an obsession with gingerbread houses. I would look longingly at the photos of architectural wonder and imagine myself creating fantastic myself. Of course the translation from my minds' eye to our physical world has always been a bit difficult. It's true, it always ends in tears.

So, Scott has already recounted the tragedy of the first attempt at a gingerbread house. There were to be others. Many others. And, honestly, a certain quote comes to mind, "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting it to come out different."

When I moved to San Francisco, Cee Cee would take me around to all the fancy hotels at Christmas time and we would gaze upon these gingerbread fairy tale kingdoms that clearly took months to plan and assemble as well as a battalion of pastry chefs and architects. My favorite year was the the Russian themed year with all the onion domes and stained glass windows. These gingerbread houses were proudly displayed in hotels like the Fairmont and St. Francis and were often taller than me and beautifully landscaped and lit. Let's not forget the lighting comes from within and without. My mind dismissed the gingerbread disaster of my youth and looked forward to my future successes that were sure to come.

Below is pictured a gingerbread house from S.F. Hyatt's 2012 display that I found here.



When I had children I thought what a wonderful gift it would be to them if I could make gingerbread houses for and with them. Of course I also realized that I couldn't make the houses with them. The kids would be eating the candy the entire time and it would end in tears for all of us. So, while we briefly lived in San Rafael, Christmas 2003 I took a gingerbread house class down in Sausalito for parents and children. Of course, I showed up without my children. This was my dragon, not theirs ... yet. Let's just say that even with instruction, I walked away with a collapsed pile of gingerbread and gumdrops dripping with royal icing that was never to set. It ended in tears.

The following year we moved to Chico. I still clung to my fantasy of building a fully landscaped gingerbread mansion. I bought cast iron baking forms for gingerbread houses. I spent a week baking the various pieces at night after the kids went to bed. The following week I spent time assembling the pieces with my homemade royal icing after the kids went to bed. Each night I would stuff my cookie sheet full of house in progress into the top of the hall closet. At night, after the kids went to bed, I went down to Winco to shop their bulk candy bins. I needed hard candy to melt into stained glass windows and the ice skating pond. I had candy rocks for the retaining wall. I used marshmallows and licorice for the snowman. I had bags upon bags of candy ready for the midnight assemblage. 

In any event, after many sleepless nights, I was not entirely satisfied with my house and, now, not entirely in my right mind. It didn't look anything like the one in my mind's eye or the hotel lobby of the St. Francis. Pouting and sobbing with frustration I pulled the "nearly completed" house down from the closet and sacrificed it to the kids. They had no regard for the weeks of labor that went into building this monstrosity. They simply gnawed at the pieces of candy they were able to pry out of the royal icing. It sat there like a rat chewed gingerbread shanty for a day or so until the ants moved in. With great frustration I took the whole sheet out to the trash and dumped it as my kids stood round crying that I would do such a thing. (Oh, yes, a Joan Crawford moment).

Just this year I was having dinner with a friend one night who said that she was thinking about trying to make a "paleo" gingerbread house for next year. I couldn't resist. I took the bait! I had been working on my mad paleo baking skills. And, although I knew better than to attempt it on my own, I suggested to her that I still have the cast iron gingerbread house forms. In fact, I went so far as to suggest maybe she bake it. I really needed to let go of this. I don't know how I know this ... but I bet I will get involved and somehow it will end up in tears.

So, about this same time, my Uncle Kevin sends out a photo of his wife, Karin, enjoying the construction of a gingerbread house along with their grandson. It was a moment was I never to have. This opened the door for my brother, Scott, to recount the humorous tragedy of our first attempt at gingerbread house ourselves. After we all laughed until we cried (why must it always end in tears?) Kevin and Karin sent out the gingerbread house kits to myself, Scott and Cee Cee. The competition is on!

Stay tuned for the next post. Construction has already begun on the Gingerbread FEMA Shanty Trailer, I might have to whip up a little more royal icing and go prop shopping. Photos and complete story to come in next post. It may end in tears.

Gingerbread Part 1 - Scott Gives a History

The below memory comes from my brother, entirely. His sense of humor and ability to remember our childhood is awesome. Thanks for the laughs, Scott. In future posts I'll continue with gingerbread sagas leading up to modern day.

Ok Kevin…  Here is how I remember it.  Pictures are not ours to protect the innocent.  Tiff, you may want to or maybe not, share this with my nieces and nephew.  

As time would do to most entertaining childhood memories, they may be a little embellished but I know that Tiff and I had a good laugh before about it so most must be true.

Intro - 

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times… uh… ummm… wrong story.  The story begins up on Sand Road in New Milford, Connecticut.  Up in the frozen North East where my sister and I served hard time for crimes we didn’t commit.  Our only crime was being born into the Kinney family line where everything was about saving a buck and do it yourself if you couldn’t find someone to do it for free for you.  We had a house that was full of irony wrapped in indifference cradled in the expression “… if you think it is cold in here, go outside for 15 minutes and tell me how cold it is in here”.  On with the story.

The situation - 

I remember it well like it was yesterday, the winter of 1978 where the North East was plunged into a blizzard of giant proportions which left us socked in under four plus feet of snow.  It was my job to shovel our horrible driveway for free, because that was my contribution to living in the house don’t you know.  What made it worse was two things.  First, I had a snow shoveling business and everyone else on my route paid me $20 to shovel their PAVED driveways which were shorter.  Second, our driveway only had an apron and the rest was sharp gravel and potholes leading up to the two car garage where where the Task Master and the Empress parked their chariots; a 1966 Ford Mustang known as “The Rat Trap” by our mom and the 1978 AMC Concord which my Dad drove like his own police cruiser.  Yes, shoveling that driveway was done for free.  (post scene comment… You’re Welcome my parents).  If you do the math that would make me 9 years old and my sister 10.  To say the least, when it snowed or if there was a lawn to be mowed, I was making some good coin.  Tiff would make some cash if there was babysitting to be done or her paper route.  This is just the back drop to the story.  Kevin asked… read on if you DARE!!!!

It was Christmas time and everything my parents bought came from catalogs unless our Mom drove to Danbury to go to the only mall for hundreds of miles and this is not how we did things under house rules.  Like any kids, yes, any kids, Tiff and I would start to squeal as we looked at the catalogs from Sears, JC Penny, Service Merchandise, L.L. Bean, Montgomery Wards, Hickory Farms, etc and start our request for everything.  Quite honestly I wanted a gun from Sears but there was no way I would be aloud to get one (yes, it fits the “A Christmas Story” tale where my mom just knew I would shoot someone’s eye out); I got a slingshot instead.. right good compromise, we now know what road that put me down.  That and being picked last for kickball, that is what made me so bitter.  What, I digress you say, well, on with the story.  Here is where it gets good.  Tiff spied this awesome Gingerbread house in one of the catalogs which was pre-made, only some crazy amount of money was needed.  Tiff and I needled our parents whining, bickering, and begging for this gingerbread house and how our parents needed to buy this as it would be so “Christmas”.  Of course we would most likely devour it as soon as it showed up in the mail and so there would be no display time for it but that is reasoning any consenting adult would have come up with.  Oh yes, it was exciting to look at it would be like the Taj Mahal of all Gingerbread houses...

We were kids we did not really think about where we would put such a monstrosity but we knew we wanted it in a greedy way.  Since our parents were reasonable adults that have shown good decision making in the past - 

(All these topics are stories for another day)

1- Burning all the cardboard boxes in our fireplace because they were too cheap to pay for the trash removal when we moved.  This caused a chimney fire that to this day I am sure the neighborhood still talks about the fabled Atlas Rocket we had for a chimney with flames jetting out of it to where THEY almost burnt down the house (not us kids)

2- Deciding it would be a good idea to go on the SIP in New York when I had stomach flu.. you know where that one went.  There are no public bathrooms in NY, NY.

3 - My mom telling me that she would be OK with picking me up from school… until I went to an out of district school, and she forgot to pick me up

4- My Dad telling me never to call him at work unless the house was on fire.  Nope, it wasn’t on fire, it was an early spring and the river in our back yard flooded our house.  No calls were made

… our parents decided it would be a good idea to order a mail order “Make your Own Gingerbread house” kit since they were not going to front the money and so we needed to give them ours (ok, yea, yea, fair is fair.  That showed good decision making THIS TIME as far as the money was concerned).  My sister spotted the perfect gingerbread house to build…

It looked doable.  Did I mention my sister was not good in the kitchen. ROFL… she is MUCH better now at cooking.  I have to say, compared to her cooking as a child (which barely rifled my Mom’s cooking.. yuck) my sister is the Julia Child, Giada de Laurentiis, the Alice Waters of Chico, CA.  I love my sister, she is cool no matter what I write next :)  Sadly, our parents never took this into account that a 9 and 10 year old would be doing this complex gingerbread house and the one leading the pack, my sister, really was not good at cooking; ironically I was, the 9 year old.  I was the one who made cookies, pastries and made dinners when our mom went back off to college and our Dad woke at his job in Danbury. Yes, this part of the story is where tears of irony and laughter come in.

My sisters eyes lit up when she got the package in the mail…

My stomach lit up when I saw it come in the mail… boy, I love Gingerbread, cake, icing, yummy….

So there we were with this box in the kitchen and our parents in the TV room with the fireplace roaring both smoking cigarettes.  there was no heat on anywhere else in the house as that is how we saved money; Fireplaces and stove cooking like it was the 1800’s.  Both of us want this gingerbread house to happen like right now.  What a cool project.  Anyhow, I had lost interest as it was not a gun and this was my sisters project.  My sister began to pull things out of the cupboards and starting to mix and match things in the kitchen.  Oh yes, the gingerbread house came with icing mix, assorted gum drops, candy canes, peppermints, you name it, it was quite the house, it had potential.  Sadly this is where the gingerbread house turns into the ghetto house.  The instructions I am sure must have said little things like let it cool, grease the cookie sheet so it will not stick or use parchment paper (like our parents would keep that around the house) do not make the icing too runny, not too much banking powder as we do not want the gingerbread walls to turn into cake walls.  Even though our house was only a few years old, our oven was junk.  It would never heat to the right temperature with the old dials that vaguely told you that you were somewhere around 350*.  Well, the first batch of gingerbread walls came out… really soft like yummy cookies but stuck to the cookie sheet.  Since we only had one cookie sheet, it was important to pry off the gingerbread, and not break it, and get the next batch on that sheet.  This gingerbread house was a quick build.. we would have this thing up by night fall.  As the hour turn into a few hours the gingerbread project was not looking any better.  The next batch came out burnt, the subsequent one came out alright but could be better.  Tiff was getting into the cooking “zone” by the time all the gingerbread walls were made.  We held up the box and looked at the picture, our eyes cast back to the kitchen

Things were not looking so good but we would soldier on, we were finding this very funny actually.  It looked horrible.  As we cooked there was time to sit and gaze at the candy that was shipped with the house, and sample some of it too.  Tiff tried to cut the walls of the house and make them stand up… it didn’t look so bad if you didn’t look at the burn marks.  My sister was trying this project for the very first time. 

Every once in a while our parents would shout out from their recliners about they smell something burning; not like they got up to check.  So, as the story goes, my sister was about to have a meltdown in the kitchen ….

… and our parents wanted to see the creation we made as we saved a few bucks

There was nothing but upset and so I think at this point my sister was banned from cooking…

In closing, I really love my sister.  It made me laugh a lot as I wrote this.