I decided to be a little creative. Tell me what you think, suggest any alternatives for wording/conciseness, and please point out any grammatical errors? ( I let those slip by now and then.)
Thank you all dearly!
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Describe a character in fiction, a historical figure, or a creative work (as in art, music, science, etc.) that has had an influence on you, and explain that influence.
The American Cream Puff by Sophia Liu
Betty Crocker was the obsession of my girlhood -- or so she was until I discovered, at the tender age of seventeen, that "Betty" was not a real woman but a fictional icon cranked out by General Mills to personify their brand. Up until then, however, I was transfixed with her auburn hair and all-American smile, which radiated from the cookbook propped up on our kitchen counter. I envisioned her as sort of an Amelia-Earhart-wielding-a-spatula archetype--attractive, intelligent, and fearless. I wanted to collect every item listed in her catalog, from her chocolate cake mix to her plastic measuring cups. But I am not the domestic type, and thus left Betty alone on her little wire stand for many years, subject to my quiet admiration.
It was not until several years later that I rekindled my relationship with Betty-- namely, when a proposal arose for a summer reunion with two other colleagues I had met from New Jersey Governor's School. After an entire week of debate, the verdict reached was to bake cream puffs-- the location being where else but my own home. For the first time in years, I removed Betty from her shrine and put her to good use.
My friends and I stood around my kitchen counter a week later, culinary champions of the Round Table. I had arranged the kitchen meticulously. The baking utensils were lined up by size, the aluminum baking sheets already cut and greased-- I was certain that with an extravagant display of appliances, my cookery would give off a Betty Crocker-esque aura.
The first task at hand was sifting the flour and sugar, which Edna volunteered to do. Flour reminded her of the powdery snow that was falling from the dark sky the night she flew in to New York from Mombasa, Kenya. When she scooped some into her bare hands she was surprised at how granular and coarse the snow felt--just like sugar. Slowly adding Edna's product, Kathryn boiled the butter and milk in a heavy saucepan, forming a smooth, thick paste.
Everything went perfectly. With the ding of the timer, the oven yielded twelve golden pastry shells, swollen with perfection. Kathryn noted their resemblance to the cracked, brown skin of her grandmother's face the summer day her sister was baptized at a small cathedral in Kraków -- split with happiness.
The last step was to make the cream filling. I brought out the chilled bowl of heavy cream from the fridge and proceeded to whip out the "soft peaks" that Betty's recipe called for. It then hit me --I didn't recall ever owning a whisk. I ravaged the kitchen as my friends stood aside bewildered. I battled pots and pans, had a throwdown with every drawer--and lost. I didn't have a whisk. I now had little hope of making the fluffy filling pictured in the book. Defeated, I began to beat the mixture with chopsticks, certain that I had shamed Betty for using such foreign utensils.
I sat there for what must have been half an hour, shuffling the contents of the bowl, when gradually, I began to realize that my makeshift solution was starting to work. The cream was frothing with newfound texture, forming beautiful waves and crests at every angle. My heart swelled. We piped the cream into the shells, and enjoyed a treat that was light as snow and blissful as a warm summer day.
After bidding my friends a safe trip home, I thought about the pair of chopsticks that saved our cream puffs, and it came to me. It didn't matter that I didn't own a stainless steel whisk from Betty Crocker or Williams-Sonoma. Take away the clutter of tools and utensils from a recipe, and you still have the raw ingredients. The three of us were from different backgrounds, distinct walks of life -- we were just different ingredients that happened to come together. Betty Crocker would have agreed. It's how life itself ought to be --rich, creamy, and full of surprises.
Thank you all dearly!
------------------------------------------------------------ --------------
Describe a character in fiction, a historical figure, or a creative work (as in art, music, science, etc.) that has had an influence on you, and explain that influence.
The American Cream Puff by Sophia Liu
Betty Crocker was the obsession of my girlhood -- or so she was until I discovered, at the tender age of seventeen, that "Betty" was not a real woman but a fictional icon cranked out by General Mills to personify their brand. Up until then, however, I was transfixed with her auburn hair and all-American smile, which radiated from the cookbook propped up on our kitchen counter. I envisioned her as sort of an Amelia-Earhart-wielding-a-spatula archetype--attractive, intelligent, and fearless. I wanted to collect every item listed in her catalog, from her chocolate cake mix to her plastic measuring cups. But I am not the domestic type, and thus left Betty alone on her little wire stand for many years, subject to my quiet admiration.
It was not until several years later that I rekindled my relationship with Betty-- namely, when a proposal arose for a summer reunion with two other colleagues I had met from New Jersey Governor's School. After an entire week of debate, the verdict reached was to bake cream puffs-- the location being where else but my own home. For the first time in years, I removed Betty from her shrine and put her to good use.
My friends and I stood around my kitchen counter a week later, culinary champions of the Round Table. I had arranged the kitchen meticulously. The baking utensils were lined up by size, the aluminum baking sheets already cut and greased-- I was certain that with an extravagant display of appliances, my cookery would give off a Betty Crocker-esque aura.
The first task at hand was sifting the flour and sugar, which Edna volunteered to do. Flour reminded her of the powdery snow that was falling from the dark sky the night she flew in to New York from Mombasa, Kenya. When she scooped some into her bare hands she was surprised at how granular and coarse the snow felt--just like sugar. Slowly adding Edna's product, Kathryn boiled the butter and milk in a heavy saucepan, forming a smooth, thick paste.
Everything went perfectly. With the ding of the timer, the oven yielded twelve golden pastry shells, swollen with perfection. Kathryn noted their resemblance to the cracked, brown skin of her grandmother's face the summer day her sister was baptized at a small cathedral in Kraków -- split with happiness.
The last step was to make the cream filling. I brought out the chilled bowl of heavy cream from the fridge and proceeded to whip out the "soft peaks" that Betty's recipe called for. It then hit me --I didn't recall ever owning a whisk. I ravaged the kitchen as my friends stood aside bewildered. I battled pots and pans, had a throwdown with every drawer--and lost. I didn't have a whisk. I now had little hope of making the fluffy filling pictured in the book. Defeated, I began to beat the mixture with chopsticks, certain that I had shamed Betty for using such foreign utensils.
I sat there for what must have been half an hour, shuffling the contents of the bowl, when gradually, I began to realize that my makeshift solution was starting to work. The cream was frothing with newfound texture, forming beautiful waves and crests at every angle. My heart swelled. We piped the cream into the shells, and enjoyed a treat that was light as snow and blissful as a warm summer day.
After bidding my friends a safe trip home, I thought about the pair of chopsticks that saved our cream puffs, and it came to me. It didn't matter that I didn't own a stainless steel whisk from Betty Crocker or Williams-Sonoma. Take away the clutter of tools and utensils from a recipe, and you still have the raw ingredients. The three of us were from different backgrounds, distinct walks of life -- we were just different ingredients that happened to come together. Betty Crocker would have agreed. It's how life itself ought to be --rich, creamy, and full of surprises.