about the klutz
I started the food thing when I was a fetus. I think I enjoyed it, but to be honest, I don’t remember. I think my favorite thing was chocolate. Or cheese. You have my mother to thank for that. I had a skill for eating. I even came equipped with a tube that fed food straight into my belly! I wonder where that’s gone.
Unfortunately, the “food straight into my belly without any taste” thing just wasn’t working out. Fast forward to a more important time: I started my baking/cooking adventures my junior year in high school. I wanted to make chocolate chip cookies for a friend, but I mis-read the recipe and left out half of the flour. The first half of the batch just melted all over the oven, but my superhero mom swooped in and threw in the rest of the flour just in time to save the other half. There is a parent-child cultural exchange going on here.
I realized with that episode just how inadequate I was when it comes to vaguely kitchen things. Then, over the summer, a friend of mine recommended what would be my bible for the last year of high school: Julie and Julia. A book about a woman, Julie Powell, stuck in a dead-end job trying to entertain herself by cooking her way through Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking within 365 days (that’s nearly two frou-frou French recipes a day.) And she blogged about it. She’s a food blogger’s Jesus.
With my newfound free time my senior year (“free time” means I was lazy, but also that I had no exams), I took it upon myself to follow in Julie Powell’s footsteps. But with only 214 recipes, and only dessert recipes.
It was disastrous. I’m sure my parents will never forgive me. Not for wasting money and food, but for waiting until two years AFTER my project to start my first blog (that was four years ago, and that blog is now defunct.)
The klutz is me. I am the klutz.
I once walked headfirst into the corner of a brick wall, cut my scalp open, and didn’t feel a thing. The lump is gone. There was a lot of blood.
I once took antihistamines and fainted in a hotel bathroom. I wasn’t trying to faint. I was trying to stop my cold.
I have, on more than one occasion, set off the smoke alarm trying to make croissants. But once it was German pancakes.
I once tried teaching my friend how to do the Charleston. I slipped kicking and fell on my ass. High school was a really fun time.
I’m sarcastic, self-deprecating, and introverted, but I love people. My favorite experiences have been with other people. Or with cookies.
My name is Nick. It’s short for Snickerdoodle. But not really. It’s actually short for Nicholas, but my entire life my dad has called me Snickerdoodle. You have him to blame for my obsession with cookies. I’m kind of Irish (I will say 1/4 but my dad will insist 1/2), and the rest is vaguely other things. I majored in Asian Studies in college, after which I jetted off to the south of Japan (just as good as the south of France, I’m sure) and spent the next two years “teaching” English (teaching tongue twisters to Japanese junior high school students, and being taught how to play soccer…with zero success.)
I’ve been baking for seven years, and successfully for four of those. I’m largely self-taught, but I interned at a bakery for 2 months my junior year in college, and I’ve taken random baking classes here and there. I started teaching myself to cook while I was abroad and the only thing I ever burned was a pan of chicken gizzards. I thought they were pieces of liver*. Imagine my chagrine when I bit into one of them. They all promptly when into the trash.
*The Japanese word for “gizzard” is literally “sand liver.” I only saw the word “liver” before I paid for the bits.
My interests are eating, baking, burning cakes, Netflix, digital photography, reading, Netflix, writing, Netflix, and cats. I like midnight walks on the beach and my job aspirations are as follows: hotel manager, travel agent, event planner, barista, author, pastry chef, and full-time crazy cat person.
I hope this blog can be an inspiration to you, a source of what not to do, and of what to risk…I mean do. Because, ultimately, everything we do is a risk and risks entail mistakes. I call myself a klutz, and I call my life a mess, but in the end, I’m no different than anyone else, and my life no more disastrous.
I just like to talk about my mistakes more than usual.
Nice to meet you, too,
**I also do paid freelance writing for other websites and hope to expand my career as a writer.