Wednesday, October 17, 2012

Take THAT, Martha Stewart

"Hey Ash" Stu signed.
"Hmm?"
"Can you bake Monster Cookies for people at work for my birthday?" Stu asked.
"Sure." I said. 

It has been years since I last baked Monster Cookies. The last time I made them was probably back in when I was still in college. Ever since, life happened, and I never got around to baking that particular batch. Because of this, I lost the recipe. No big deal. This was when Internet came in to save the day. I scoured online for a recipe and found one almost immediately. I bathed Forrest, knowing it was going to knock him out for an hour or so, and put him in his bouncer with his warm fuzzy crocheted blanket. I was off to making cookies. It immediately relaxed me as I busied myself with preparing the dough. After using my faithful red Kitchen Aide mixer, I looked at the dough, and wondered to myself if that was supposed how it was to be. I remembered it being thicker, full of oats, and less...crumbly? 


I shrugged, deciding to give this a chance, and see whether baking the dough was going to help it to shape into pretty little cookies. After baking, I saw that the cookies did not turn out the way I had anticipated them to. It was flat. For a moment, I puzzled over the fact why they were so flat, and re-read the recipe. I had done everything right from A to Z. What was wrong? Was it my gas stove? I took a bite of a very flat monster cookie. While it tasted just fine, I was not satisfied..not at all, and went online once again. I found a different recipe, and discovered a difference right away.

The culprit of a missing ingredient?

Flour.


Ugh. I impulsively stuck my tongue out at the computer, and sighed. As immature as it was, I wished the lady was actually right front of me I can tell her, rather sarcastically, how amazing her recipe was. Right. Simultaneously,  I kicked my own butt for losing my family recipe for monster cookies. I tossed a hard piece of a flat cookie into a bin, and sighed once again...kind of dramatic, really. Being a perfectionist that I am, I was unable to send off this crappy batch of cookies to Stu's work. No way; no ifs, no ands or no buts. I know...that meant making my life harder.

I could have sent the cookies like that with Stu. I am sure people will choke it down for Stu's sake and lie through their teeth how lovely of a baker I am. I mean, who would lie to a man on his birthday? 

But no....I had to fix this sorry excuse of cookies. 

I can see myself being that mom that spends wee hours into the morning sewing a costume, while popping Adderall pills as a stimulant to stay awake (kidding about popping the pills, but I will probably be chugging down strongest coffee known to man), for her son some day. 

Yep, I totally stole that idea from Desperate Housewives

I disdainfully looked at the flat cookies and put it away. Once again, I gathered all the ingredients...including flour....and....

I chucked the remaining batter into the trash while shaking my head at my own stubbornness and perfectionistic tendency to make the whole thing right.  By the way, the batter did taste bland. What? I had to sample some--I was very good for my whole pregnancy and did not sample batter! Anyway, off it went...in the TRASH. Good riddance and good bye.  


I started following the new recipe step by step. I was lost in my cause when I suddenly heard a loud screech coming from behind of me. Startled, I dropped a plastic measuring cup filled with flour all over myself. Holy batman, settle my heart. I turned to Forrest. He was jerking around his little fists in the air, angry, and hungry.

FEED ME, FEED ME, FEED ME! NOW! NOW!

Yep, my little boy needed me. I had no time to change my flour covered shirt and resigned to such state. I stopped in midst of making the new batter, and left the mess on the floor. I fed and changed Forrest then returned to the kitchen with him in his bouncer. I silently apologized to him for being a crappy mom of the day. Forrest snuggled once again in his little bouncer and gave off a big burp before falling asleep. If it was not for the screwed-up recipe that I attempted to bake then I would be playing with my son by now. But no.

Then I turned to discover my little fur face was busily licking off the table with remaining flour and crumbs from my previous flattened cookies. Busted! I screamed at Layla. She turned her snout to my direction and grunted as she plopped her hinds on the floor, not caring that she was caught, and drooled in anticipation as I cleaned up after her mess. 



40 minutes later, the mess was cleaned up, and I finished the new batch. I nodded my head. I was finally satisfied. This was what I had remembered what the dough was supposed to look like. 


I diligently worked on scooping cookie dough onto the cookie sheets and turned around to put the cookies into the oven. I nearly tripped over 50 pounds rug mat that was salivating heavily by the stove. Thankfully a broken ankle was not in my cards today. I shooed Layla away. She budged only an inch. I pretended to pick up a piece of dough and threw it across the room. Layla gave me a bored stare. She wasn't buying my bluff. She knew I was faking it. Darn it,  dog, mooooooooooooooove will you?! 

Okay I did not say aw darn it. I used a different D word. Nonetheless, Layla yawned, showing off her long pink tongue and toothless gums, and stretched her oblong body. She watched my every step with an anticipation and hope that something was going to fall on the floor. One would think stuffing herself with flour would fill Layla up.....yeah right. I shot a glaring look at the dog. Once again, Layla yawned and settled onto her stomach on the floor. That dog really didn't care if I had shot her death stares. Her stomach ruled her mind. Never mind that she was fed twice a day with top brand dog food, and 1-2 treats for bathroom breaks. Her starving act may work on others, but not me.The oven beeped every 15 minutes and I removed the cookies and put them on cooling rack. Layla salivated  and shook her flank with excitement. I shook my head at her and said, so not for you, dog. 



Now, as a Basset Hound owner; you cannot trust a Basset ALONE with cooling cookies. I spent the whole morning guarding MY cookies. Bet Martha Stewart didn't have to do that with Paw-Paw (a Chow Chow). I bet you even more money that Martha didn't have to deal with Paw Paw drooling over her feet, and trying to hurry everything up before a baby wakes up. I chuckled at this thought and grinned to myself.


By nearly 2 pm, the whole ordeal had come to an end. I put away all cooled cookies into a bin, cleaned up the counters, washed the dishes--yeah, we live in the middle ages and do not own a dishwasher--and swept the kitchen floor of whatever remaining crumbs that were not picked by Layla's vacuuming mouth.


I plopped on the sofa, kicked up my sore feet, and held Forrest close to my chest. I blew the air out of my mouth and silently thanked the gods up above for not throwing me with a burning down stove or something equally insane. Stu will have to really kiss my feet tonight and thank me profusely for going through hell to bake him perfectly delish cookies. At least I was going to treat myself to watching American Horror Story on Fox after a long hot shower tonight. 

Martha Stewart entered my mind again, and I thought....Well take THAT, Martha, try to do all that with a baby and a constantly hungry dog. 



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3 comments :

  1. You know how they say the extra special ingredient is love? well those cookies have blood sweat and tears AND love. LOL.

    No for real...all the shenanigans just made the cookies full of three times the love.

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  2. SO ummm how did MY dog end up at YOUR house? I swear. My dog... it's like he knows where I am trying to go and just gets in my way on purpose. I've nearly killed myself tripping over him so many times. Once in the middle of the night I got up to use the restroom and he got off the bed and laid perpindicular to the foot of the bed and when I came out I didn't see him in the pitch black and tripped and seriously thought I was going to break something -- either a bone or his skull.

    Oh yeah and the cookie thing -- I'd've started over too.

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