You know those weekends where you’re just truly and utterly unmotivated? Where you can’t bring yourself to do more than click the “next episode” button on Netflix? Well, I feel like that every weekend. But this weekend was worse.
When I first remembered that, oh yeah, I had a blog to bake for, I internally groaned. How was I going to watch my daily 10 episodes of “Gilmore Girls” if I had to bake? The solution, my friends, is frozen pie dough. No, I’m not talking store-bought pie dough. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t make my own dough? Back when I’d made pie pops, I’d made twice as much dough as necessary. Thankfully, it was sitting in my freezer begging to be used.
Wishing to never repeat the pie experience again, I settled on making Pop-Tarts. At least, my version of Pop-Tarts. Pie dough, brown sugar mix and caramel sauce. It seemed painless, and after a rough week at school I was more than ready for something simple to do.
As impatient as I am, the hardest part of the poptart process was waiting for the dough to thaw. Taking a tip from my mom, I pre-heated the oven and let the dough sit on top of it, which sped up the process enough for my liking. Once it was warm enough to shape, I rolled it out into a large square (well, I tried) and began cutting it into rectangles (not unlike the chai s’mores). After transferring those to two baking sheets, I set about making the Pop-Tart fillings.
Upon seeing a full bowl of caramel sauce in my refrigerator, I almost cried tears of joy. Not having to make my own caramel sauce would give me at least another 15 minutes of “Gilmore Girls.” Since I decided that one filling just wouldn’t suffice, I whipped up a small bowl of brown sugar, cinnamon and a bit of flour to make the classic Pop-Tart flavor.
After spooning dollops of caramel on one half of the poptarts and the brown sugar mix on the other half, I carefully placed a rectangle of dough over each poptart and sealed them closed. Then I set the trays into the refrigerator to chill for a half hour while I attended to my typical Sunday business.
Once my well-timed cat nap was over, I moved the trays into the oven to bake. When the timer went off, I checked the Pop-Tarts to make sure they were done. After squinting at them for about a full minute, I took them out of the oven and transferred them to my freezer to cool. Like I said, I’m impatient. Although I’d originally planned to leave them plain, my mom persuaded me to concoct a small batch of brown sugar icing to top off the poptarts. And even though it meant having to do more work, the Pop-Tarts just wouldn’t have lived up to their potential without icing.
The icing actually wasn’t as much work as I’d assumed it would be; all I had to do was melt butter in a saucepan and then mix it with brown sugar, icing sugar and water. And even though I burned my tongue more times than I can count trying to get a taste of the molten icing, it was more than worth it.
Once the icing and the Pop-Tarts had cooled, I began the decoration process. Once I’d accomplished that minor feat, I took a bite. Oh my god. They were heavenly. The texture was perfect, and they tasted a bit like what affection would taste like, if affection had a taste. They looked and tasted even better than if they’d come out of a box, and when they were warm, they warmed you to the core.
Counting both the Pop-Tarts and my pumpkin cupcakes, I’m in the middle of a winning streak. No more are the days of undercooked macarons and rock-hard s’mores. No, this time I conquered the oven, not the other way around.
Susannah: 2. Oven: 0. Until we meet again next time, oven.
Leave a Reply