I definitely have a live-in guinea pig in the form of Shannon, but I sometimes think he's obligated to say nice things about my cooking. I mean, he does have to sleep sometime, right? Plus he knows I watch a lot of "Snapped" and "Forensic Files." He lives in minute amounts of terror at all times. I think he likes it that way. Needless to say, he may not always be the most objective subject.
I took matters into my own hands, and I tested things on his extended family last weekend. Results? Meteoric success amongst the aunts, uncles and cousins. A little hiccup of pride from the baker.
Still, I needed something more. Thus I extended an offer of my confectionary services to my coworkers at cost (and no more) for Valentine's Day. What resulted was five orders, seven hours of sifting and melting and combining and rolling and baking, and so far a decent level of excitement from the recipients of the treats. I'm rolling on Cloud 9 with five hours of sleep under my belt and a raging case of upset ulcers. You know what, though? It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because you have to take a look at this:
I don't want to toot my own horn, but I just think it looks beautiful. It makes my heart happy. It makes my mouth a little watery.
In the words of Ten Thirteen Productions (think X-Files, people), "I made this. "