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Woe is me. I tried to make cookies last night. Amy has to take part in a bake sale fundraiser for one of the shows she's doing (this is an odd Toronto theatre tradition, holding fundraisers for specific shows...keggers for the Fringe, bake sales for kid's shows, I guess) and because she's so busy I was going to bake my ooey-gooey so-good-you-want-to-die chocolate chip cookies for her to donate. Something went terribly wrong. Maybe it was the margarine - I tried a new brand. Maybe I beat them too long - who can tell me the exact definition of "fluffy?" Certainly it had to do with the flour - I added the requisite amount, but the dough was still so runny I could never have made balls out of it. So I added more. It wasn't the doubling - I triple checked my math, and anyhow I always make a double batch. The doubling amounts have been written in the margins forever. Maybe the cookie gods were set against me. Whatever it was, the cookies I can always fall back on, the ones I've made dozens of times, turned out rubbery and lumpish rather than thin and delicious. The good news is that, should the NHL ever get it together and start playing hockey, I have a couple dozen pucks they can use. Afterward I was inconsolable. Yes, as Amy pointed out, they're just cookies. Nobody died or anything. (Though eat a few of these cookies and who knows?) It's not the end of the world. But a) I wanted to help Amy out, not send her off cookieless, b) it's a massive waste of food, since I made a double batch and c) I've also had trouble lately with waffles, something I used to make flawlessly all the time. How can I not be able to make waffles? It's just Bisquick, for crying out loud. I think it's happening. I think I'm becoming that guy. The guy who isn't capable of making a sandwich, never mind a complex meal. The guy who asks his wife where the milk is kept, who dries the dishes and then leaves them on the kitchen table because he has no idea where anything goes. Oh, I have to go...Red Green is on. |
