So today was mostly devoted to running Chickam and cooking.
I decided to whip up a batch of raspberry meringues--deceptively simple, elegant little four ingredient tidbits that are super simple to make and crunch when you bite into them yet melt in your mouth.
Started with egg whites from the girls out back.
I was going to make half of the batch raspberry flavor and the other half coffee flavor, but got all involved and forgot to seperate out half of the finished meringue mixture. So raspberry it is!
Toss together the egg whites, raspberry extract and cream of tartar. Normally I make these with a teaspoonful of Chambord instead of extract, because, well, Chambord is awesome and luscious and made of angel whispers from God himself. Next stick it in my trusty 900 year old KitchenAid mixture and beat the living Hell outta it 'until soft peaks form'.
Hmm, not there yet...
Now to add the sugar while the KitchenAid is whirring away and get it to 'stiff & glossy', which is what all little meringues aspire to be when they grow up.
Onto my battle-scarred cookie sheets they are dolloped. They don't spread but do puff up the tiniest bit when you bake them, so you can put them pretty close together. Into a 300 degree oven for half an hour, after which you turn the oven off and forget about the things for anywhere from 2 hours to overnight.
They really do look disturbingly like styrofoam, and next time I make them I think I'll use an icing piping bag and try to make them look like packing peanuts.
Into the cookie jar they go!
At the same time, I was making a chicken/vegetable stew for the animals. I ladle the finished stew into muffin tins, freeze them and then I have little yummy chicken/veg disks to go on the dog's food or mix with rice for the chickens on cold days as a treat. So the kitchen smelled of raspberry/chicken.
The kid ventured into the kitchen at one point, looking confused. 'What are you making...?'
No hesitation whats-so-freakin'-ever. I chirp out, 'Raspberry chicken stew cookies!'
She looks fascinated/disgusted for a moment, then disgust wins--but is quickly masked when I bend her a steely '...and you'd better like it!' gaze. She wanders off in disappointment.
One of the true joys of parenting is messing with your kid every so often.