Gingerbread houses, like vacation home locations, are not created equal. What Michigan is to an 8″ tall gingerbread-in-a-box-kit, surely Lake Geneva is to my 2009 ginger and molasses creation. First, an explanation that must qualify this post. I had some clients over to my house for a Sunday lunch a couple weeks ago, and at the time, my gingerbread house was merely “framed”. No shingles. No lake. No pier. Certainly no royal icing window or cookie wreaths. My clients made fun of me. Where did I find all this time to bake? When did I think it was normal for a guy to mix up 13 pounds of gingerbread dough? I answered their queries on the spot, and provide that answer to you now. I, David Curry, certainly have a fair level of undiagnosed, untreated ADD. I know, you’re shocked. You see, while other men sit on their couches on any given winter weekend, I’d rather separate egg whites and scrounge in my cabinets for my secret stash of Cream of Tartar. I too watch Bears and Blackhawks and Bulls games (the Bulls and Bears with much shame), it’s just that at half time and when the games inevitably get out of hand, I roll gingerbread. I even work weekends, gladly and enthusiastically showing you vacation homes, but I still find time for December gingerbread.
This is my third year of making a gingerbread house, and I have to admit, this year, I was doing it with my heart fixed on winning the Chicago Tribune gingerbread contest. I wanted to win, and if the Trib won’t let me contribute real estate content (settling instead for the out of touch Umberger), they can at least plaster my picture on the front page of the paper. Me, clutching my gingerbread house. Tears streaming down my face. My hollow cheeks and blank expression boldly proving to the world that I eat, drink, and sleep gingerbread. And houses. Gingerbread houses. The Trib owed me the gingerbread crown, after decades spent on print advertising that garnered very few, if any, leads. I began construction on this house, and as if I needed another competition in my life, I entered the Lake Geneva fruitcake competition in the middle of the gingerbread marathon.
The fruitcake competition was tricky for me, since I don’t like fruitcake, and I’ve never made one before. Never one to let trivial details get in the way of my pursuit of culinary acclaim, I entered the contest. On a snowy Saturday morning, Thomas and I delivered two identical, obviously delicious, very heavy fruitcakes to fruitcake headquarters downtown Lake Geneva. Long story sort of short, I didn’t win. I didn’t place, and I didn’t show. My cake was made sans liquor, because I hate the taste of liquor in general, and particularly hate it when people try to force it into a sweet dish. I used only dried fruit, and toasted almonds, and made my loaf with homemade almond flour. The cake was moist, fruit and nut ladened, and tasted more like a Kransekake than a fruitcake. Nonetheless, I should have one, and the only excuse I can think of for not winning is that someone else must have cheated.
Back to the gingerbread house. It’s a pretty nice house, no? I eschew the use of “templates”, and refuse to first formulate a “plan”. I baked that gingerbread house like I write this blog. On the fly. I started by making several batches of gingerbread dough, 13 pounds to be exact. I bake the dough on silpats, because regular cookie sheets just aren’t big enough for my wall and roof pieces. The gingerbread house, pictured with little May’s head in the shot to provide scale, is made entirely of edible ingredients. I wanted to make the house true to my residential dreams, so I added a cedar shake roof (I’d never build a home without one) made from individual pieced of gingerbread, dusted with powdered sugar snow, and a pergola off the back (a necessity for dressing up otherwise boring patios). The water is frosting, the pier gingerbread bathed in more frosting. I even have a Geneva Lakefront Realty yard sign, lakeside of course as is the procedure for lakefront home sign placement here. I got a little burned out towards the end, and once I realized the competition had ended, I bailed on shutters and additional ornamentation that this little cottage deserved. I also made the fatal mistake of building the gingerbread pergola before I iced the brown lap siding, which left a void above the pergola. I’m a gingerbreaded embarrassment.
I constructed the gingerbread house on an aluminum foil wrapped plywood platform. The platform seemed perfect, until I realized it was too wide to get through any doorway in my house. So much for parading it down the streets of Lake Geneva positioned atop a horse drawn sleigh as was my original plan. Overall, I’m pleased with the house. You know who isn’t pleased with it? The Chicago Tribune. Not for any fault of their own, but because I thought the deadline for entry was December 18th, only to find out it was December 13th, five days too late. I missed the deadline, and I blame the fruitcake for my lack of focus. Or maybe it’s the undiagnosed ADD. Whatever the case, if you ever entertain the thought of breaking the young hearts of my children and working with another Realtor, first demand to see their gingerbread house pictures. Their lack of imagination and determination will be evident when compared to my Otto Young-esque gingery masterpiece.