I’m here today to talk about one of the hidden dangers of divorce. Sadness, insomnia, lack of appetite, mulling over who is to blame for what; nobody ever talks about the elephant (ears?) in the room: Excess Baked Goods. There’s probably tens, nay hundreds of individuals suffering silently from this affliction at this very moment. It’s okay. You are not alone. Well, ok you are alone because he left you, but I mean you’re not alone on your problem of surplus confections. I am here with you.
You remember the days when he used to mosey into the kitchen and load up a plate with five freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, and as he scarfed them down in front of his computer you envied his high metabolism. Entire loaves of sourdough bread? Gone. Slabs of lemon olive oil cake or enormous wedges of blueberry peach galette? No problem. And now…. he’s gone, but all of those tasty treats are not. You eat one or two, but really don’t want to end up both a divorcee AND a diabetic. Who knew that the consequences of divorce included Pastry-icide? The cookies, cakes, and tiny tarts languish away on your countertop, or they die a slower death crammed into your ever-packed refrigerator or freezer. Do your friends start calling you nicknames like “Cookie Pusher,” or do they turn pale when you present them with a little treat bag tied with purple twine? Believe me, I feel your pain.
There are those naysayers who might scoff at this and say, “Realllllly?! You can’t find aaaaaanyone who will eat your cookies/tiny tarts/layered cakes?” But then you offer them a piece of pumpkin sponge cake with pumpkin bourbon buttercream, topped with salted caramel and toasted pecans, and they grimace at their belly, thighs, butt, or erstwhile problem-area and start backing away from you as they respond, “I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t.” And then the other camp of people respond with, “I want some, but I live in Ohio!” Or, “I live in Germany”, and you’re like, “Well now you’re just making excuses.” Or, they ask if it contains gluten and then all of the sudden you’re chasing after them, shouting, “Coooomeee baccckkkk! Gluuuuten is youuuur friiiiennnndddd!”
Or perhaps you’ll get the Debbie-downers who chide, “Gluten sensitivity is realllllll, man. You shouldn’t make fun of my condition.” Sigh. Can’t a girl who’s going through a tough time, and an endless supply of chocolate-covered hazelnut shortbread, find even just a tiny bit of humor in an otherwise shitty situation? To those friends, acquaintances, cello instructors, therapists, or a random homeless guy who temporarily find themselves the new recipient of my baking bounty, I say to you, “This too shall pass.” And also, this cooler weather means I can send those chocolate cookies in the mail.