The world has been depressing me lately- if you know me well, you know that this is why I risk becoming an ignoramus by avoiding watching the news. So anyway, tonight, I thought I'd give you all some good news. Or at the very least, some happily uneventful news.
Last night I baked a batch of cookies. "Last night" makes it sound like I did it, you know, around maybe 6 or 7... the normal, early hours of the evening which are often utilized by the good, decent folks of the world for making cookies.
This however was not the case for me.
No- the craving for chocolate chip cookies began (as it always does) around 11:20 PM. And when the craving for cookies arises it must be satisfied. Every person who is halfway decent knows this. So, be it 11:20 at night or 7:15 in the morning...cookies must be had.
However, for people in possession of a palate as delicate and refined as mine, a cookie craving is a tough thing to quell. I am not what you would term a "cookie lover". My desire for cookies manifests itself rarely but powerfully. And when it does manifest, the craving is not just for any old cookies. One of those little blue package of oreos will not suffice; nor will a day old tub from Stop & Shop.
No, these cookies have to be fresh. Made from scratch with nothing other than Tollhouse chocolate chips. And most importantly of all, they must be in the oven for the exact right amount of time: long enough so that they develop some shape and lose all their potential to poison the consumer with Salmonella- but short enough so that they are not crunchy or brown, but still slightly raw creating a melt-in-your-mouth sensation when you bite into them.
It's a delicate, refined science.
Which means I am the only who can be trusted to create this delicacy.
But there is a tragic side to my tale of cookie love. (I know, I promised a happy story- stick with me.)
Generally, the desire for cookies arises during a time when my hunger is at its peak. This means that when I bake them I am ravenous. And the cookie dough is so luscious and tempting- all pale- brown like it is, glistening with little turds of chocolate...
The long and the short of it is that I inevitably consume copious amounts of raw cookie dough.
You can see why this is disturbing. Not only I am eating entirely RAW cookie dough (bacteria!!) but I am satisfying my hunger with the only option available to me. The cookie dough.
This impedes the entire goal of the process- to get delicious, tailor-made to my specifications, fresh-from-the-oven chocolate chip cookies. Because when I eat the cookie dough, I am both reducing the amount of cookies I will eventually get AND I am satiating my hunger. By the time my delicious fresh cookies are actually done and out of the oven, I am far too stuffed with the cookie dough to enjoy them.
Truly a devastating tale.
Your little hearts will be warmed, however, to hear that last night's baking adventure did not have the sad ending it normally does.
Yes, dear readers, take heart, for last night- last night I exercised my little-used self-control in order to save the cookie experience.
I. Resisted. The Cookie Dough.
Well, I mostly resisted. I had to eat a little, you know, the bits that got stuck on the metal beaters. I mean that's practically a rule. A rule of good dish-care. You have to lick the dough off the beaters. Can't let that stuff go through the dishwasher. You might as well just throw your dishwasher in the ocean and then stuff it inside a volcano for all the use you'd get out of it after letting cookie dough-covered BEATERS go through it...
Anyway. Beater cookie-dough consumption having been moderate and completely justified, I was still satisfactorily hungry by the time my delectable, under-baked morsels came out of the oven. At which time I proceeded to eat four, with a glass of milk.
It was a happy night.
And that, my friends, is what all news stories should be like!
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