After all that fancy talk last night about not making sugared hearts, I eventually gave in to temptation and did indeed break out the paraphernalia of baking. Without, though, checking first for all necessary ingredients. And when it came time to drizzle icing, there was only granulated sugar. And not the proper sprinx.
Undaunted, and not wanting to drive (suffer with me here) the two blocks to the store for powdered sugar, I told my son to google "how to make powdered sugar". Without googling, he said to just put some granulated in the food processor. "They add an anti-sticky ingredient to the commercial stuff, but you don't really need that." Mr. Science.
So I did that. After about thirty seconds, I removed the top of the Cuisinart: no change. Okay -- so I buzzed it again, this time for about a minute. When I removed the top clouds of sugar dust floated up. Briefly I considered all the things we breathe-in during a lifetime: pollen, smog, lint particles, hairspray, the swirled bouquet of a glass of wine, baby powder, dirt, what else? What other microscopic bits are, as I type, clinging to my alveoli? Ground black pepper? DDT? Polychlorinated dibenzoflurans? (Note to self: get back to the subject.)
Back to business. What I thought while lacking success in making my own powdered sugar was: I can't imagine a sweeter death than asphyxiation by sugar dust.
I complained to my son that his suggestion was failing and he said, "oh, you have to do it for a long time".
Me: "How long? Two, three minutes?"
R."No. Fifteen. At least."
Fifteen minutes?!! I don't think so. Fifteen minutes of continued metal-blading in my 30+ year Cuisinart (the original model) would surely hasten it to its impending death, sugar dust aside.
The results, made with granulated sugar, a tablespoon of butter, hot water, vanilla and two drops of red food coloring, were acceptable, but a bit odd texturely. Pretty, though, with the glistening of undissolved crystals.
And the sprinx (gawd I love that word), which have the shelf life of twinkies and pre-date my move back to B-Street by I-don't-know-how-long, were acceptable also. Let's be honest here: pretty much any homemade cookie, slightly warm, drizzled and sprinkled, at 11pm, is fabulous.