Wanted: Bars, Not Recipes

I think I may have to drop out of the bar competition.

On Thanksgiving morning, I awoke with visions of being a domestic goddess for the day. Okay, I shouldn't go that far, but I was hoping to be a bar babe of sorts. I had plans to not only attempt a bar recipe, but to surprise my in-laws that evening at dinner with a "Look, I baked!" contribution. Well, both events happened. I attempted a bar recipe and my in-laws were surprised.

I should have known things were going to head south when I didn't have any baking powder. I'm not completely dense in the baking department and knew that this leavening agent was important, so I headed down the road to my aunt's house to borrow a whopping quarter teaspoon of the white powder.

After the baking powder problem was solved, I thought my bar adventure would be nothing but smooth sailing. Of course I was wrong. Apparently my oven hates me and decided to bake only the edges of my bars. It refused to work its magic on the center of the pan; toothpick after toothpick came out exclaiming "they're not done!"

Now, my dear husband seems to think the Broil setting on the oven is the answer for any baking problem and promptly switched settings when he heard about my dilemma. Shortly thereafter, my bars came out of the oven smoking, edges and top burned to a crisp. After seeing the disaster of my creation and hearing my husband explain "they taste a little charred," I had no intentions of this pan leaving the house. Mitch, unfortunately, had other ideas. He took the bars to his parents and presented them as if they were an acceptable baked good to eat!

My in-laws were good sports, however, as they have long known about my domestic downfalls. My mother-in-law cut out the center and served that portion to her guests. Brave souls, those who ate my bars.


So, there you have it. I think dropping out of the bar competition is my only option. Unless . . .


instead of sending me the recipes, you just go ahead and send me the baked goods and I'll try to pass them off as my own. I'll let you wear the crown if I win - how does that sound?