I am slowly starting to realize that college life is nothing like life back at home. Everything I do on a day to day basis here, is much more strange and unique. For example, about three weeks ago I cooked some cinnamon rolls which I was so excited for! It was the first BIG meal that I was going to make for my roommates and I was excited to show off my cooking skills and have them taste some delicious food. So before I jump to the end and describe how embarrasing this attempt at cooking was, to fully appreciate the blood, sweat, and tears that went into this, you must know the events that led up to it. On Saturday night I decided I was going to make the cinnamon rolls up so that when I woke up in the morning I would be able to put them straight into the oven... Easy right? So first, I collected all of the ingredients needed for the recipe. CHECK. Then I collected all of the necessary "tools". Pan. CHECK. Oven. CHECK. Measuring cups. CHECK. Bosch.... I realized that I was missing my main "tool". What now? Do I have to mix with a spoon... or my hands? Is that even possible!? Well, after I had my little freak out session and got over my withdrawls over my Bosch at home, I was relieved to find that Chloe's mom sent her with a hand mixer! I was so happy... or so I thought. I started to add the ingredients into my plastic bowl, then I turned on the hand mixer, put it in the bowl and wouldn't you know! There was no lid on the bowl, and before I knew it there was flour flying through the kitchen, eggs spraying on the walls, and tears falling from my face. I quickly turned off the mixer, and started to realize that this was not going to be as easy as I thought. To try and solve my lid problem, I set the bowl in the sink so that the ingredients could fly around in there instead of all over the kitchen. Problem solved :) After a long night of disasters, the next morning I was relieved to have the cinnamon rolls made and ready to pop in the oven. I set the timer for 30 minutes and figured I would hear the alarm if I went and got ready for church while they were cooking. Well... 10 minutes went by... 20... 30... 40... 45... and then I thought to myself "Wow it's been a while. I wonder if the cinnamon rolls are almost done". I went into the kitchen and of course, the timer had gone off about 15 minutes ago! I quickly turned off the oven and pulled the charcoled cinnamon rolls out of the oven. I was laughing and crying at the same time, thinking about how disastrous this whole situation had become. I wasn't going to be able to show off to my roomies how good these cinnamon rolls were supposed to be. Although the rolls were black and as hard as a rock, I wasn't going to let them go to waste after all I had been through... and neither were my roommates. I kept apologizing to them and telling them they didn't need to eat them, but they were polite and still agreed to try them. As we sat down I watched all of their faces to see their reaction to how absolutely gross this breakfast was. Chloe bit into them and of course was sweet and said "Oh... these are really good! If you just eat the top and not the black parts it's not too bad!" Skippy just shrugged her shoulders and said "Well these aren't too bad". And then there was Tiffany, who didn't say anything and just sat in silence while picking off the charred tops of the cinnamon rolls. Well... three weeks have passed by and believe it or not, but we just threw out the remaining rolls! I was so stuborn that I refused to throw them out because of all the hard work and trauma that went into making them. I hope this is a learning experience and not a sign from God that I will be a terrible cook all my life. I know I am dramatic and talk about how terrible and painful making cinnamon rolls can be, but honestly there was more tears from laughing, then there was from the trauma... and I hate to say, but it was so worth it :)
