I Heard It Through the Grapevine

I spent much of my weekend preparing for a totally meaningless and fun Edible Book Festival at the unnamed university’s library. The Festival offered few rules and tiny prizes, but that didn’t matter. I was in it for the festive business of wild artmaking.

Art project. You can tell by the way you suddenly feel inspired to throw eggs at it.

Art project. You can tell by the way you suddenly feel inspired to throw eggs at it.

I had an idea I loved and loved thinking about and loved imagining how it would be received. Tiaras, bouquets and double-stick tape aside, it was fun thinking. It was fun to buy pie crusts and phyllo and I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter in spray form. No, I didn’t use butter and a basting brush because I am an artist, not a pastry chef. This is art. No one is going to willingly eat it. Anyhoo, my first attempt turned out beautifully on Saturday, two days before today. It didn’t stand a chance of surviving to this morning, except that it did. Last night, I made another, slightly larger pastry book that turned out just as crunchy but less elegant. I packed them both to transport 2.2 miles and hoped one would make the brief trip. To my surprise, both survived. I put them on a marble lazy susan borrowed from my boss Gianna and put the pastry books out among the exhibits.

It won a small prize I will put toward a science kit for my grandchildren, which is great because baking is science and science kits for my grandchildren are also fun – for me.

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