The difference is in the details
After 23 hours of mixing, baking, cutting and frosting, this year’s gingerbread project is finally complete.
As I stood admiring our effort before delivering it for display, I thought about how the gingerbread car came to be and all that went into making it.
Last year’s house was a huge undertaking … literally. The peak of the roof stood at least two feet above the counter top. The walls themselves took 27 cups of flour, four cups of molasses and two cartons of whipping cream to make. That doesn’t count the 5-pound bag of powdered sugar that went into the glue frosting or the candy that adorned it.
My friend Michelle and I were certain we couldn’t out-do the size of last year’s gingerbread house. Instead, we decided to double the creativity.
Honestly, it was a hair-brained idea that I never thought we could pull off: A car made of gingerbread. But the more we thought about the complexity of it all, the more appealing the project became. We’re not a couple of women who take a challenge lightly.
So we started with a foam board model and ended up with an amazing work of edible art.
Except for the plywood platform, a tiny toy six-pack of soda and a couple sunglasses borrowed from dolls, our car is entirely consumable, right down to the chocolate-covered donut wheels.
It’s pretty amazing what you can do with some Zingers, a little bit of nasty smelling black licorice rope and a fluff of cotton candy.
We even hung some fuzzy dice made of pink marshmallows from the glass candy rear-view mirror and put coffee skid marks on the gray frosted road.
We spent a lot of time, not just building a gingerbread car but also strengthening a friendship. We haven’t laughed that hard since our trip to the Grand Canyon last summer.
The personalized license plates on the gingerbread car are made of frosted crackers. One says “Thelma” and the other “Louise.” That alone explains a lot.
Our amazing frosted creation is much like our friendship—the difference is in the details.