So I was sitting on the couch, and I was like, “I have so much time on my hands right now. I could be writing a blog post!” So I turned to trusty ol’ Younger Brother and said, “Quick! Give me a topic to write about!” And he said, “BACLAVA!” And I replied, “OKAY!!”
So, here we are.
Baclava’s a pretty good topic, actually. Really, though! Have you guys had baclava? It’s delicous!
Phyllo dough baked to a fluffy cloud and steeped in the golden wonder that is honey … yum …
Anyway, I could go on and on about the deliciousness of baclava, but I decided to go a less common route and share the story I’ve prepared about baclava. You may notice slight similarites to “The Gingerbread Man,” but ignore them. This is a totally 210% original story to me.
(I’m making all of this up. I haven’t prepared anything. I’m doing all this on the fly. But what could go wrong? :D)
Once Upon A Very Merry Time,
There was the wife of a blacksmith. She ordinarily could be found in the shop, helping her husband, but today she was feeling rather ill and weak and had stayed home. After she had rested a few hours, she felt much improved! She got up and began tidying up the cottage. She finished with that, and her husband wasn’t due home for several more hours, so she sat down and thought aloud.
“What can I do to kill some time?” the blacksmith’s wife wondered. “I’ve done all the household chores. I can’t go to the shop; by the time I get there, I’ll just have to turn right back around and come home. It’s slow going on foot.” Then, it hit her! “I’ll cook something for my husband!”
So the blacksmith’s wife rifled through her recipe box and found an old family recipe for baclava, that her great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother had brought over from greece. Well, somewhere thereabouts.
So, the blacksmith’s wife began assembling all of the ingredients and making the baclava.
Two sweaty hours later, the blacksmith’s wife looked with satisfaction upon the finished baclava.
“You are going to be so delicious!” She said to the baclava.
“I beg to differ. I think you’ll be delicious, my dear creator!” The baclava replied.
The blacksmith’s wife screamed and picked of the recipe. In very small print at the top, read, “Magic, Human Eating.
“A magic human eating baclava?” Exclaimed the blacksmith’s wife. “Really? Who–” But she didn’t get another word out because the baclava ate her.
Long story short, when the blacksmith came home, he was eaten, and soon the baclava had eaten the entire village until it itself died from lack of food.
I thought that was rather lovely, didn’t you? Especially for just winging it!
Who knew baclava could be so malicious. *sad head shake*