Last weekend I went to a double engagement party (that's two couples, not twice engaged) where guests were asked to bring a recipe to give to the couples. We also were encouraged to bring the finished product of said recipe.
Here's the thing. I don't cook. I just don't. I've lived in my apartment for seven months now, and until about an hour ago, I had never even opened the oven door (on a side note, when I finally did, I found a pyrex dish -- that's I'll never use -- but yay!). So I figured I'd make my grandma's suger cookies ... simple and fool-proof. I've made them so many times with my mom that I was able to buy all the ingredients (almost) without looking at the recipe. But when I got home, I hit a snag: no recipe.
No problem. I called my mom to get it. By the time she got back to me, I was short on time and I realized I didn't have cookie sheets or eggs. So I opted out of baking that day. But I still had a bunch of ingredients that I'll never use for anything else taking up valuable kitchen cupboard space that could be used for more useful things like storing shoes or purses I'll never use again. And so, the following weekend, I decided to bake.
I stopped by the grocery store in the morning for cookie sheets (and a bottle of champagne), came home, and got straight to the task at hand.
First: Mix all ingredients. A monkey could do this, so I got through it fairly easily. Although, admittedly, it got ugly for a few minutes when I inadvertently used the wrong size measuring cup and had to add fractions to compensate.
Second: Chill dough. Impossible to screw up.
Next: Preheat oven. Now, my apartment -- and everything in it -- is super old. So the idea of using a super old gas oven that's been sitting unused for many months was a bit unsettling for my dad. But me, well, I welcome adventure. So I turned the knob and hoped for the best. The gas did come on, but when I went to adjust for temperature, I realized my only options were off, low, and high. What the?? Then I saw a neighboring knob that had temperature settings, so I turned that knob to 400 -- and the burner came on. The 30 seconds or so that I spent staring at this unsolvable puzzle qualified as another very ugly moment in time. But once I switched the knobs, I was back on track.
Now, roll out the dough: The only challenge here is not eating the excess dough from between the cutouts. I may or may not have eaten five or so unborn cookies. Just sayin.
Decorate: At this point in the process I was already over it and just sprinkled some sugar on top of the batches. My attention span was quickly waning.
Bake: I threw two full cookie sheets on two stacked oven shelves and stood there waiting (because an oven that old doesn't have a timer). 6.5 minutes later, I was ready to pull them out. But damn, I had no pot holders. Luckily, a dish towel is a sufficient substitute as long as you're ok with throwing the cookie sheets urgently and haphazardly onto the range rather than setting them down lovingly. As I suspected, the top and bottom racks did not cook evenly. So I ended up with some semi-crunchy and some super-doughy Christmas stars (and a few candlesticks that may look a little too phallic to serve to some audiences). Still, all good.
So ... is baking my passion?
Negative. I simply don't have the self restraint to not consume thousands of calories -- either in dough or in alcohol -- during the process. And in the end, my baked goods are just a little sad. But it's ok. I have other good qualities.
