The culinary recital...

I didn't dance, and I didn't play the piano when I was a kid - instead I had a yearly culinary recital at the NCK Free Fair.

The fair was something we built up to because for a week we would bake and bake, and bake. We made dozens and dozens of sweet treats to be put on display in the Floral Hall. Grandma taught us how to bake, and how to select perfect trios of muffins, cookies and biscuits - stuff them in a Ziploc and stack them carefully in a beer box to transport to town.

Some might ask why put in that much work for a couple of cupcakes, but it was an income of about $200 when it was all said and done. Grandma's profit margin was likely in the red because we got to saunter off with the cold cash and she got stuck with the grocery bill, but you can't put a price tag on experience.

I can still remember clearing out the breakfast room and working around the round table with the ceiling fan on low, the windows open and the radio playing KR92 back when they were live during the day. We would dance around to the music and have a good time learning the ins and outs of baking. I listened, but I'm not real sure my sister did.

I don't mean to toot my own horn, but I sort of excelled at this part of the summer. My sister on the other hand, didn't quite bake up to my standards. I once baked a prize winning pie and got smack talked by some 90 year-old woman because "no way can a 12 year-old bake a pie better than mine."

We would never know if the pie was that good because I dropped it, broke the pie plate and we had to scoop the pie up off the floor and off of the "Best of Fair" ribbon. We still laugh about that and we also laugh about my sister's experience with baking uniform items. Let's just say my dozens were often very uniform, and my sister's weren't quite perfect. Often times you could hear Grandma tell her "it's okay, we'll just pick three from Sarah's batch and you'll be fine."

She usually was fine and she usually got a better ribbon than I did. I may have provided three uniform cookies, but she would get a blue ribbon over my red one. I still don't understand how the same batch of cookies can be that different, but I digress.

Now, my sister isn't what most would call a seasoned smart-ass like I am but she does have her moments. 

One of these moments came while she was baking a batch of cookies that required melted chocolate chips. Grandma read her the recipe and told her to melt the chips in the microwave for no more than two minutes and then stir them until it was smooth. She left the room (likely to put together our display plates in the other room) and my sister looks at me and says, "ha! I'm going to put them in for 20 minutes and take them out when it says 18 minutes."

Can I just go on the record here, and say I thought this was a bad idea - and told her, it was a bad idea.

The microwave was going and we were dancing around the kitchen and having a good time, until we smelled something burning. "The chips!" she yelled and quickly went to get them out of the microwave. By this time Grandma had come in (hurriedly, I might add) a tried to keep her from scorching her skin. She sat the hot bowl on the hot pad and there was a brick of black chocolate - and it stunk.

"Oh," was all my sister said.

"That was our last bag of chocolate chips!" Grandma hollered (or raised her voice). That's right, sweet little Grandma got after my sister like an old wet hen and it was hilarious-and still is hilarious some 20 years later. "Now what are we going to do?" Neither one of us spoke. "I guess we'll have to use something of Sarah's."

Grandma left the room with the cocoa brick and my sister looks at me and said, "we probably would have had to use yours anyway."