Yesterday night was a gathering of the girls with wine, conversation, and (as is our wont) more than enough food to make us all wish we hadn’t bothered with dinner beforehand. Of course any gathering of ladies (or, who am I kidding, any gathering, period) calls for cake, so I made a happy-sounding citrus-yoghourt-y one (using my homemade plain yoghourt no less!) and opted for the tube pan instead of the bundt. (I have nothing against bundt cakes, but I was kind of missing the bumpy, rustic-looking cracked-top kind of cake, so I went with the tube instead.)
Having baked it, I was a little worried at the cake’s shortness — is the pan just too big for the recipe I used (should have doubled it) or was something else the matter? The results, considered over between the brownies, the wine, the savoury snacks, the fruit, would tend to indicate that it was just kind of a big pan and the cake was otherwise fine.
On eating a little more this morning, however, I’ve decided that the cake really isn’t sweet enough for me. Possible mods for next time include using less lemon juice (I didn’t have Seville oranges, so I mixed lemon and orange) as well as large-grain sugar sprinkled over the top after the syrup dressing. Maybe both. Hmm.
I have a deep hatred of hemming squares. Tablecloths, napkins, anything that looks a lot like a simple hem, but done with extra-skinny margin will fill me dread.
Naturally, this is problematic if one has decided to try out cloth handkerchiefs since, having cut and ironed one’s squishy cotton flannel squares there’s really nothing to be done other than the hemming to transform them into useful hankies.
Except, I really hate hemming them. So what did I do? I’d actually sucked it up, marked little margins for myself, trimmed the corners and pinned 6 out of 8 of the squares so I could whip them through my machine (quilter-style) as quickly as possible and get it over with.
As I sat there, staring at my pile of slightly uneven, slightly crooked-edged proto-hankies though, I wished harder for a Serger than ever I have in my long and inconstant history with sewing. After all — how easy would that be? Just whip them through, serge the edges and not only do they look tidy and stay raveled in the wash, but I’d gain an extra inch across each side of useable nose-blowing space. They wouldn’t be sloppily-stitched, slightly-coming-apart-at-the-corners, obviously handmade (and not in the good way) handkerchiefs. The whole thing was making me kind of blue.
Then it occurred to me: I may not have a Serger, but that didn’t mean other people didn’t. I hopped to and started calling around dry cleaners that had alterations people to ask how much it would cost to get the edges of eight 11″ squares of flannel serged.
One place the guy just kind of stammered and said their tailor was in Monday to Friday so maybe I could call back? The next place put their seamstress on the phone (after about a minute of “What? I don’t know why she wants to talk to you, but she asked for you. No, I don’t know what it’s about — she asked for you!” in the background) where the lady promptly informed me that she had no idea how much it would be: she needed to see the work first. Come by on Monday. Freak.
People, I know I’m not always in touch with what everyone considers normal, but is what I’m asking that strange? They have a serger, I don’t. I have straight edges (minus those trimmed corners for 6 of the squares, damnit) that I don’t want to hem, and money that I’m happy to pay for some quick serging. Easy solution, yes?
We’ll find out on Monday, I guess…