Woman Loses Cookie Bake-Off, Sets Self on Fire

This is a short story inspired by Robert Olen Butler's "Tabloid Dreams".

This all started 14 years ago at the 77th Annual Cookie Bake-Off in my hometown of Muncie, Indiana. I entered the competition as a joke initially, after having been pressured by my friends at the home to sign up. We would often make fun of how seriously those middle aged soccer moms, with their minivans and classic short haircuts, would take the competition. I found it hilarious how much effort they put into it, spending months developing new recipes for some stupid bake-off where the grand prize was a gift card to Bakers Square with a whopping $25 on it. Well anyway, I signed up for the competition with the full intention of baking the worst possible tasting cookies. Me and the girls really got a kick out of that idea, just imagine the judges’s faces when it was time to taste my cookies!

The night before the bake-off I stayed up all night making a list of the worst combination of ingredients I could legally put in these cookies. I don’t remember the exact list (it’s probably laying around somewhere) but I do remember it including avocado, Moroccan chicken bone marrow extract, powdered kiwi seeds and the most important ingredient of them all, vegemite. The last thing I remember before passing out at around three in the morning was thinking, “wow, I am a culinary genius”.

The next morning, I woke up on the floor of my room with papers sprawled all over the place and a pen near my hand. I slowly got up and onto my feet and walked over to the dresser to check the time. At some point during my rambunctious brainstorming session the previous night I had lost my glasses and could hardly see anything. I moved my face about an inch from the alarm clock and squinted my eyes as hard as I could, then freaked out. It was 9:30! I was supposed to be at the bake off at ten o’clock for check in! I threw myself back onto the ground, scrambling around lifting papers up to my face in an effort to find the correct list of ingredients. Eventually, I found a piece of paper that vaguely resembled the words “Moroccan” and “extract” so I picked it up, slowly got up again, grabbed my car keys and ran out the door (and by “run” I really mean “walked at a slightly faster pace than my normal speed of 1.5 miles per hour”).

I still needed to pick up all the special ingredients for these cookies I was going to make, since the competition only provided us with the basics, and I was almost certain the local grocery store wouldn’t have them. Fortunately for me, I have an Albanian friend named Shtjefen who runs a little shop just down the street from where the bake-off would be held with all kinds of foreign foods and products. As I was driving the weather became an issue. A mix of hail and heavy rain fell on the city which made it very hard to see. On top of that, I still hadn’t found my glasses and driving became increasingly difficult. I couldn’t be bothered, though, I continued to drive as fast as possible to reach my destination.

After an interesting car ride and a few minutes of shopping I had arrived at my destination with a bag full of ingredients and only three minutes to spare. I went to the check in booth and registered my ingredients, where I got many odd looks, just as I had expected. Apart from the minor mishap earlier that morning, everything was going according to plan. A few minutes later, the announcer got on the microphone and explained the competition to the crowd made up in part my my friends who had come to support me. He also briefly introduced the contestants, giving special praise to those who had won the bake-off in the past, something I found very annoying. With the introductions and all done, it was time to get baking. We all took our places at our designated kitchens and the next thing I know I was running around this kitchen putting things in bowls, mixing ingredients and preheating ovens. The hour and a half on the timer flew by, and before I had even fully taken in what had happened it was time to present my cookies to the judges.

When the announcer called me over to the judges table, I felt surprisingly nervous, which was strange since my goal here was to make the grossest cookies possible. I was so nervous, in fact, that I grabbed the cookie sheet without baking mitts and burned my left hand. I played it off, though, and acted as if nothing was wrong although it did hurt pretty bad. The cookies were a peculiar shade of greenish brown with disgusting lumps all over them. It’s safe to say they were the least appetizing cookies I have ever seen. The judges’s faces when I handed them out had me cracking up on the inside. I could not wait for them to take a bite. After a few moments of worried inspection the judges all took a bite. I stood there anxiously waiting for their reaction like a child just before opening his birthday presents. Time seemed to have slowed, the next three seconds felt like an eternity. Finally, the judge furthest to the left looked at the cookie and what he said made my jaw hit the floor.

“Wow,” he exclaimed, “these are delicious!”.

“Yeah, what’s in them?” chimed in another judge, “they’re incredible!”.

I was utterly lost for words. I just stared at them in wonder and disappointment. “Lots of things,” I explained after a moment of hesitation, “I can give you the complete list if you would like.”

I won the bake-off that year, and left with a lousy gift card and my spirits crushed. All I had wanted to do was make the worst cookies ever, and I had failed.

As I was walking toward my car to go home a young lady approached me and asked my name.

“Bertha,” I responded, with a sad tone in my voice.

“Nice to meet you,” she said enthusiastically, “my name is Cara. I’m from the Regional Bake-Off Organization. I noticed how well you performed here and I was wondering if you would be interested in joining our competition.”

I was completely caught off guard. This woman didn’t understand, there was no way I was joining another bake-off.

“Before you say no,” she continued, “we offer a $1,000 cash prize to our first place winner and smaller prizes to second and third place.” This caught my attention, but I was not in a great mood and I didn’t want to think about another one of these stupid events.

“No, I’m sorry,” I responded, “bake-offs aren’t really my thing.”

“Okay,” she said, handing me a small piece of paper, “well here’s my card if you change your mind.”

Fast forward to September 24, 2015. I am standing on the stage of the Pillsbury International Cookie Bake-Off: Volcano Edition waiting to be called up to the judges. Since the local bake-off in Muncie, I have won 328 different baking competitions on all seven continents over the course of fourteen years. I was named most influential person of 2012 by TIME magazine. I have received an honorary Nobel Prize for my contribution to the cookie baking industry and my work on revolutionizing the classic chocolate chip cookie recipe. I was invited to the White House in 2014 to receive and award from the President of the United States himself. My face has appeared on the cover of Sports Illustrated, Vogue and countless other major magazines all over the world. Bertha Hagenzov has become one of the most recognized names in recent history.

And there I was, standing in front of an elite panel of judges, the most respected in the industry, waiting for the results of my final bake-off. To my left stood some of the most famous bakers in the world, Laura B. Jones, Zachary Efren, Jorge Rodriguez and Bobby Flay to name a few. To my right, a thirty foot wide ring of fire that was built into Madison Square Garden specifically for this event. It seemed somewhat over the top, but I guess it fit the theme of the competition being volcano and all. Behind me stood a crowd of nearly 20,000 people, all eager to hear the results. Howie Mandel walks over to the judges who hand him a sealed envelope containing the names of the top three contestants. At that moment, the only thing I could think about was how badly I wanted to win this competition. My entire life’s work had lead me to this point. This was the culmination of my career, the final test to determine who would reign supreme.

Although, there were over fifteen of the best bakers in the world up on that stage, everyone in that arena knew that the real competition was between Laura B. Jones and I. She was my biggest threat, the only person who could possibly challenge my skills. I stood still, sweat running down my face, nervously anticipating the outcome.

“The results are in,” Howie announces, “in third place winning $250,000 and a brand new mixer, Zachary Efren!” The crowd claps respectfully and Zachary goes up to receive his prize. “In second place, winning $500,000 and a brand new set of mixing bowls, Amadou Guilloux!” Again the crowd claps and cheers.

“And finally ladies and gentlemen, your 2015 Pillsbury International Cookie Bake-Off: Volcano Edition Champion, please give it up for, Laura B. Jones!”

My heart sinks. Tears run down my eyes. I can’t believe it. Larry, my head manager, runs over to hug me, while LBJ, as her fans affectionately call her, celebrates her victory. In the midst of all the commotion, I lose my glasses. I walk around the stage trying to find them but it is too difficult with so much going on around me. I keep walking though, unconsciously heading right for the ring of fire. I don’t notice it there, and walk straight into it. The crowd gasps. I don’t realize it at first but after a few seconds I realize my apron had caught on fire. I panic. I drop to the ground and begin rolling, but the fire spreads to my pants and jacket before I can put it out. I continue to roll, wondering if this is how I will die. I feel the flames engulfing me, the heat penetrating through to my skin. I keep rolling and rolling.

The next thing I know I’m in the hospital. I try to remember what happened but my head hurts too much. Later on, Larry tells me I fell off the stage and hit my head on the floor, causing me to become unconscious. He goes on to explain that the security guards extinguished the fire before I was seriously burned and the doctor says I will be alright. He hands me a folded up newspaper.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“This morning’s New York Times,” he answers, “check out the headline.”

The paper read:

Woman Loses Cookie Bake-Off, Sets Self On Fire

It was at that moment that I promised myself to never, ever, enter another cookie bake-off again.