I don’t want anyone to panic, but I don’t have much time.This is not a drill. Ordinarily I’d meander my way into this blog post by acknowledging my two month absence. I’d liken myself to a deadbeat dad going out for a pack of smokes and skipping town, never to see his wife of children again, but I’m going to skip right over that today, as hilarious as it would have been.
I’ve been gifted a very large box of baklava all the way from Bosnia. Normally I have the strength of a thousand Samurai warriors when it comes to fending off advances from these honey-coated temptresses. Ask anyone — that’s a common saying around these parts.
I opened the box out of curiosity. I realize it would have been wiser to wait until I was around company. Maybe I shouldn’t have been home alone, all vulnerable and uninhibited. Perhaps the numerous strips of tape sealing the box should have been a deterrent. Some of them peeled away easily, but others proved not so willing. I took to jabbing at some of the tape with a pen, constantly misjudging just how much tape was on either side of the box. It was a feat.
Once it was open, I had to indulge, if only to reward myself for such valiant un-sealing. “Just one,” I said, taking one of the classical, triangular-shaped baklava. It went down just right.
“Okay, two,” I said, selecting one of the cigar-shaped ones. Heaven.
“That’s it,” I said. “You’ve had your fun. Now get back to work.”
I lasted maybe ten minutes.
I went back for the third, and it had gooey chocolate on top of the honey and filo pastry. Nothing could have prepared me for this. It’s all downhill from here, y’all. I have baklava on the brain, and the rest of that box is slowly eating away at my tenuous resolve as we speak.
I fear my husband will find me doing a pale imitation of Garfield post-lasagna, and my life will deteriorate as I fall into a downward spiral of honey, pistachio, filo pastry, and the occasional chocolate. This won’t end well, if I make it out alive.
If I don’t emerge in a few days, please send a crane to lift me out of this house. And, like, if possible, bring more baklava. There’s a great Halal bakery right next to my gym.
2 thoughts on “Baklava on the brain”
So good! Giggled all the way through and can totally relate. I have the cake DNA too, constant struggle haha next time go with the Irish saying though “sharing is caring” and share them with me please! 😀
haha thanks! Yes next time I won’t open them when I’m alone, I think that’s the lesson here.