Or, An Exercise in Disportionate Effort.  Food art items are my favorite.  Last year’s Girl with a Pearl Earring pizza taught me I’ve got a little bit of a knack for food portraiture.  There’s a skill for the resume, alright. Â
Trudeaunut was my nemesis.  I despised the donut.  I cursed the donut.  I cursed baking.  Flour.  Frosting.  Trudeaunuts.  I tried to convince anyone else on the team to take my donuts.  “No, Jez.  I don’t want your donuts,” they’d say.  Then we’d laugh, and I’d devolve into cursing and sputtering about how much I hate donuts.  And maple syup.  And Trudeau’s face.
I tried making a mold of a Ken doll’s face to sculpt my maple-flavored donut holes.  Trudeaunut’s face turned out to be a spiced maple mush.  I tried wrapping it in fondant.  It looked more like a marshmallow than a Prime Minister.  Painting food coloring over powdered sugar was an embarrassing mess that I don’t want to talk about.  My kitchen smelled like spiced maple heaven and looked like a confectionery apocalypse.  But I learned how to make donuts.  Jelly donuts.  Maple buttercream donuts.  Cinnamon-maple custard donuts.
Friday night, the beast finally caved.  The dough rose in round, maple-custard-filled clouds of perfection.  The fondant rolled out smooth, and wrapped up those fat bombs like Christmas morning.  I learned to paint.  Badly.  The portraits I painted on Friday didn’t hold up as well as I had wanted, but they looked… Trudeauish.  It was a bad reproduction, but it was Trudeau’s face on a perfect quad of delicious donuts that I ate for breakfast.  Because that’s what we do to our enemies.  We eat them with maple syrup and coffee. --Jez