“I think we’re going to start a fire or knock out all the power on this block,” I said apprehensively.
“Sometimes baking requires sacrifice!”
36
Merrie
It was nice that Matt was helping.
Actually, it was more than nice—it was incredibly attractive.
He had worn a three-piece suit today, and now he stood next to me in only the shirt and tie, his sleeves rolled up, stirring the pot of toffee sauce that I had made for the vanilla and spice pudding cake. He would periodically look over his shoulder in concern at the snarled nest of Instant Pot cables. The way his hair fell slightly over his eyes and how he shifted his weight as he stirred the sauces made me rethink my ideal Christmas fantasy. Maybe a Christmas hookup in the Prince of Winter’s castle wasn’t such a bad idea.
“Look attractive for your fans!” I said to Matt, hitting Record on my phone.
He tipped his chin up slightly.
“Look at the most attractive baker in this competition,” I narrated. “We need to plate him and serve him for Christmas dinner!”
With Matt watching my various sauces, including a savory cheese sauce, a spicy and slightly sweet sauce, a chocolate sauce, and an orange raspberry sauce, I could concentrate on making the decorations for the puddings.
They would come out of the Instant Pots in gray lumpy masses. I was going to give them an egg wash and pop them under the broiler for some color, but I wanted to add Christmas scenes cut out of dough to give them some flair.
I made gingerbread people, candy canes, braided dough of various widths, holly leaves, and ornaments.
The Instant Pot beeped as I was finishing up my egg wash.
“At least they didn’t explode,” Matt said
“I know what I’m doing,” I scoffed as I opened the first lid in a whoosh of steam.
Matt peered inside and pulled out one of the slightly lumpy puddings.
“Are you sure?” He frowned. “I don’t think we can serve this.”
I motioned him to place the pudding, one of the savory ones, on a tea towel. I unwrapped the cloth; the pudding resembled a little gray beige alien.
“Unwrap the rest of them,” I ordered Matt as I readied my cookie sheets. I plopped the first pudding onto a sheet and added the decorations and egg wash.
Using a pair of tongs, Matt took out the Christmas pudding.
“Put it on this pan. It doesn’t get as much time in the oven.”
“So, you are baking them.”
“A bit of crunch and color is an improvement on the foods of Jane Austen,” I said as the Christmas pudding landed on the pan with a squelch. It wouldn’t have the dough decorations; it was getting something better.
Once the puddings were all free from their watery prisons and decorated, I carefully monitored them in the oven. They couldn’t dry out or burn. My nose pressed against the glass as I watched them change color.
“Okay.” I waved to Matt. “They’re done.”
“Huh,” he said, taking them out of the oven, biceps bulging. “They don’t look half bad.”
“They look amazing!” I sang, arranging each pudding on a tray with its sauce.
The Christmas pudding had a little pot of alcohol. I handed Matt the matches. “When I say go, that’s when you pour the alcohol on and set ‘er loose!”
I took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of Christmas baked goods. We were actually done with a few minutes to spare.
