Summary: AU in which everything Brittany has told us is true. A series of oneshots and short stories revolving around Brittany, with appearances from other characters.

"It's not that. It's just that most of us don't know how to bake. I find recipes confusing."
- Episode 1.09, "Wheels"

Of Confusing Recipes

Brittany opened the recipe book her mother always kept in the kitchen counter next to the toaster (wow, wasn't that convenient!) and bit her lip. It couldn't be that hard to bake a cake for Santana's birthday, could it? Flipping past all the dumb recipes for things like tuna casserole and stuff made with chicken parts, she finally spotted one that didn't look too difficult: "Simple Vanilla Cake." The name even said it was simple, how cool was that? Brittany grinned. She could totally do this.

"In-gred-i-ents," Brittany sounded out carefully. That was the stuff she needed to bake the cake, right? "Two cups of sugar." She paused after the first item on the list suspiciously. Santana said that sugar broke the rules of Coach Sylvester's diet, so she would have to use that fake-sugar stuff instead.

Smiling once more, she bounced happily over to where her mother kept the coffee-making-stuff. She spotted the artificial sweetener right away; it was always in the little pink packets. Knowing that she needed two cups, she opened the cupboard and took our two drinking glasses, careful not to drop them on the floor because they were made of glass and could totally break if she dropped them.

It took forever to open enough packets of fake-sugar to fill up two glasses, but when she was finished, Brittany was very proud of herself. Baking was a lot of work!

She went back to the open recipe. "Four eggs."

Well, that was easy! All she had to do was get them from the fridge. After putting them next to her two cups of fake-sugar, she went back to the list.

Fortunately, none of the other ingredients came in little packets, so it didn't take too long to get them out. After filling two-and-a-half cups with flour (she wasn't sure if it was all-purpose or not, but she figured it would still work), one cup of milk and three-quarters of a cup (she figured that must be more than half, so she just didn't fill it all the way to the top) with oil. The recipe called for vegetable oil, so she chose the green one. That had to be made of vegetables, right? Because it was green.

She was stumped on the last two, though. "Two-and-a-quarter tea spoons of baking powder, and one tea spoon of vanilla." She frowned. "Where do I get those from?"

This dilemma took far longer than it should have to figure out. Since she didn't know where the baking powder was, baby powder would work, right? It sounded similar. And she had lots of vanilla-smelling perfume. If she sprayed it hard enough, it could fill up a spoon!

After retrieving the necessary ingredients, as well as a quarter from her mother's purse, she went back to the kitchen. She found the spoons in a drawer and decided to use the big ones, since she her mother put a lot of fake-sugar in her tea, they must be the tea spoons.

She filled two spoons with the baby powder (stolen from her little brother's nursery without waking him from his nap) and sprayed her perfume really hard at the third spoon. Eventually, the spoon was full of the perfume, wet and runny like water that smelled good. Coughing (more perfume had ended up in the air than on the spoon, even though Brittany had aimed very carefully), she picked up the recipe book again and went to the instructions part.

"Preheat oven to 350 degrees F," she read aloud. With a shrug, she went over to the oven and turned the dial to 350 and pressed the on button. Easy. "Line baking pan with par-ch-ment paper."

She didn't know what parchment paper was. Oh well. Regular paper would do that same job, right?

"Grease the paper and sides of the pan well. Grease with what?" Then it hit her. "Oh, mom uses butter to make things greasy." She took out the stick of butter from the fridge and rubbed it all over the inside of her pan and on both sides of the paper quickly. She put the now-deformed butter back into the fridge, a smile of accomplishment on her face.

"In a large mixing bowl, beat the sugar and eggs together."

Well, that was easy. She got out the biggest bowl they had (it was usually meant for popcorn, but that was okay, they could wash it out after) and poured in the fake-sugar and dropped in the eggs. What was she supposed to beat them with?

The wooden spoon would have to do. She hit the eggs until they broke and then mixed them in real well, making sure to hit the batter really well. It did say she had to beat them, after all. After she felt like the eggs and fake-sugar had been properly punished (though what she did wrong she had yet to figure out) she did what the recipe asked and added the flour, milk, oil, baby powder and vanilla-perfume into the bowl. It said she had to beat it for another minute, so she mixed them all up and smacked at that batter until the little hand on the clock had gone around one whole time.

"Pour batter into greased baking pan."

It was kind of gross and gloppy when she poured it, and a lot of it stuck to the bowl so she had to scrape all the still-dry bits out into the pan with her fingernails.

"Bake in preheated oven for thirty to forty minutes until golden brown." She opened the oven and shoved the pan inside quickly, 'cause it was hot in there and it made her hands hurt.

Brittany figured that an episode of Zoboomafoo took about thirty minutes, so she skipped into the living room and turned on the TV, changing the channel to the On Demand one and choosing her favourite show. Zoboomafoo the lemur taught her tons of cool animal facts, and she laughed really loudly when both of the Kratt brothers ended up falling in a big mud puddle. She always loved it when that happened.

When the show was over, she turned off the TV and went back into the kitchen. She put on her mom's oven mitts because she knew that the cake would be hot now and didn't want to give herself an ouchie-burn, and opened the oven.

The cake didn't really look 'golden brown.' It was kind of a sickly yellow colour, and still really lumpy, but she took it out and turned off the stove anyway. Maybe it was supposed to be lumpy. Wasn't that why you covered cakes in icing? So that they looked smooth instead of lumpy?

The recipe said she had to unstick the cake from the pan with a knife, so she used a butter knife to cut it free. She put all the dirty spoons and glasses and bowls in the dishwasher and turned it on, hoping that clanking sound was normal.

It was harder to peel off the paper than she thought it would be, once she'd dumped the cake out onto a platter, but eventually she did get all the pieces off and threw them out. She took out the icing and put it all over the cake, trying to make it as smooth as possible.

Now it looked better, at least. Much more cake-like.

Brittany grinned and went to get some candles, sticking in a handful since she didn't know how many sixteen looked like. Santana wouldn't care if she got the number wrong, as long as her cake tasted good.

When Santana came over after dinner like Brittany had asked her to, she looked at the cake like it was an alien baby or something.

"You baked this? All by yourself?" she asked suspiciously, staring at the still-kind-of-lumpy cake with eleven candles stuck in it at odd angles. "Did you get your mom to help?"

"Nope!" Brittany said proudly, "I did it all by myself. Don't worry, though, I followed a really simple recipe!"

Santana sighed and took the lighter away from her best-friend-with-benefits and lit the candles herself, wondering how on earth Brittany had managed to bake a cake without hurting herself and secretly hoping it wouldn't give her food poisoning if she tried it.

Brittany sang 'Happy Birthday' for her, loudly and off-tune because that's how it's meant to be sung, and Santana blew out the candles out of obligation. The cake honestly didn't look that bad when Brittany cut into in and gave her a piece, so she decided to risk it in order to make Brit happy.

"On three, okay?" she said when Brittany had gotten herself a piece and taken two forks out of the cutlery drawer.


"One... two..." Santana counted as both girls scooped up a forkful of cake. "Three!"

Santana gagged and spit her mouthful into the sink, immediately turning on the tap and putting her tongue beneath the stream. Brittany looked sadly at her piece of cake, the gross undercooked lump of... ick still in her mouth. It didn't taste like cake at all!

"Spit it out, Brittany."

Brittany spit her cake into the sink like Santana had, watching as the lump dissolved under the stream of water and a chunk of eggshell became visible.

"But I followed the recipe so closely," Brittany said quietly, her lip quivering a little. What had she done wrong?

"Let's go get ice-cream," Santana suggested quickly, taking away Brittany's plate and putting it in the sink next to her own.

"Okay." They linked pinkies and Santana led her out of the house.

"Recipes are confusing," Brittany told her as they walked down the street to the ice-cream parlour that served the chocolatiest rocky-road ever. "Even the 'simple' ones."

"Of course they are, Brit," Santana agreed, never missing a beat. "That's why we're never trying to bake anything again, right?"