Tie Me Up, Martha!- Cream Cheese-Lemon Bows- 81 eggs, 62 1/4 cups of sugar, 59 1/2 sticks of Butter, and 66 2/3 cups of flour used so far- 130 recipes to go!

July 30, 2010

Martha's Cream Cheese-Lemon Bows

André's Cream Cheese-Lemon Bows

Has Martha has ever considered getting into the sex toy business? These are the types of thoughts that randomly float into my noggin while I’m baking all these damn cookies. This particular thought struck me as pretty funny, although fairly tasteless. But seriously, think about it. As a powerful single woman with a name consumers trust, who would be better positioned for this sort of commercial venture?

You know with all the queens that work at OmniMedia, someone must’ve brought the idea up at a late afternoon creative board meeting. I imagine the product would be impeccable. Fuzzy handcuffs made from the finest Peruvian shearling. Fine porcelain Objekts du Boudoir, crafted by gifted Italian artisans – dishwasher safe- microwave safe, too for the more adventurous.

Cream-Cheese-Lemon Bows is the recipe that instigated these thoughts. Maybe it was the sensuous decadence of cream-cheese or possibly the thought of being tied up in pastry- I dunno. Maybe I need to seek professional help.

To achieve the bow shape, the moist and sticky batter is squeezed from a pastry bag with a diamond tip to resemble little bow ties. The result is a delicate, delicious, lemony cookie lightly sprinkled with powdered sugar that can’t be transported anywhere! I attempted to bring these to my workplace to surprise some of my coworkers at a meeting only to open the container to reveal broken lemon-bow-bits. My coworkers still devoured every crumb. What can I say? A delicious cookie is still a delicious cookie, broken or not.

So, while we’re on the topic of the sex toy business, I have a story to share. If you are of the faint of heart, or you’re my mother, you might want to stop reading this about here.

Back in the late ’80s living in a dank and dark utility basement flat at an impressive 5th Avenue address shared with twelve other ne’er-do-wells (and one bathroom), I struggled to make ends meet as a young theatre student with a part-time job at a Times Square record and sheet music store. New York City is an expensive place to live, even poorly. I had taken a few side gigs as a piano accompanist as well as some modeling jobs for local art classes. Back then I had a leaner physique and my need for funds overshadowed my Catholic shame. Some of the local colleges paid good money for young models to stand, or even better, recline around in the buff while a room full of equally young artists furiously sketched you in charcoal. Despite the occasional draft and inappropriate staring, it was easy money.

It was at one of these classes I met Jake. Jake was a young art student, who like myself, was struggling with the day-to-day expenses the city demanded of it young and promising inhabitants. Jake was from Jersey with piercing blue eyes and a long blonde mullet. (Mullets were quite popular in the ’80s. Almost as popular as cocaine and Duran Duran.) He was every gay man’s ’80s Music Video fantasy. Thick eyeliner gave him the mysterious brooding European look and his pleather parachute pants and military overcoat jangled with the added accoutrement of safety pins and old war medals he had shoplifted from a Canal Street thrift shop, no doubt.

Honestly, I was a bit smitten with this provocative stranger. That is, until he spoke. A thick Jersey accent will shatter all illusions of romantic grandeur in a heartbeat.

Jake mentioned he had a side business in commercial photography and asked if I’d be interested in doing a little modeling.

“If you have a few hours this weekend, I can get you $500.”- he said.

Five-hundred dollars would pay my rent for the next month and leave me another hundred for booze and groceries. I agreed and scribbled down the information.

On Saturday afternoon, I arrived at a small loft in the West-Village. After being buzzed-in and ascending five flights of stairs, I reached Jake’s small apartment. He had two large lights set in front of a large sheet of white craft paper. There was also an older gentleman in the room with thick glasses and a large, bushy moustache. Jake introduced him as the client who would be overseeing the shoot. The older gentleman shook my hand roughly and without letting go, moved me into the light to inspect me further. Wheezing from his wide and veinous, rosy nose he smiled and muttered something undistinguishable to himself.

I looked over past his shoulder to the corner table covered in leather straps, metal hoops, and various sinister-looking accoutrement.

“Uh… What exactly am I modeling, today?” – I asked.

The client chortled with a heavy rasp.

“Leather!”- he shouted in an even thicker Jersey drawl than Jake’s. “You know, chaps, straps, stirrups, belts, and rings. The usual.”

“The usual?” – I thought to myself.

“Jesus, Jakie, you didn’t tell this guy what he we was doing here?”

Jakie explained to the client how we had met and how he assumed I understood the type of modeling he was talking about.

My mind was racing. I didn’t even know how one would wear half the stuff on the table. I was literally shaking on the inside.  I was nervous. More than nervous. The client and Jake could tell. In an attempt to calm me down they explained that I was simply modeling merchandise for his Jersey-based company’s catalogue. He also explained that my face would not be included in the photo so there would be complete anonymity. They also promised they would conduct themselves in the most professional manner and that I could count on their discretion. I began to breathe easier. A great calm came over me with a sudden greedy thought.

“Feel Okay, now?” – the client asked.

“I’d feel better with $200 more.”- I winked reaching for a studded belt, a dog collar, and a whip.

2 Responses to “Tie Me Up, Martha!- Cream Cheese-Lemon Bows- 81 eggs, 62 1/4 cups of sugar, 59 1/2 sticks of Butter, and 66 2/3 cups of flour used so far- 130 recipes to go!”

  1. Alyse Says:


  2. Tommy Salami Says:

    Da hell you tawkin bout, wut accent?

    But soft, what light on yanda winda breaks?
    It’s my ol’ lady Julie, and she’s the sun. Madonna mia, she’s hot. Fogeddaboutit.

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