The Story of a Cookie Puddle (And My Baking Skills)
Hey all, it’s August! How have you guys been? Today, I wanted to share with you a story that demonstrates how terrible of a chef (or baker in this case) I am!
I finally had a break from school–it was the weekend! And better yet, my parents were out of town, so what better way to flex my brief independence than to prove to myself how great of a baker I was by baking chocolate chip cookies, one of the most complex desserts that one can make… definitely not for the faint of heart!
I set out on my bike, with the crucial task of collecting ingredients for my soon-to-be triumph. Only the best quality chocolate chips, butter, flour, baking soda, vanilla, sugar, and eggs could quench my cookie craving.
As I cruised through the neighborhood with my ingredients, my dreams of scrumptious chocolate chip cookies began to manifest, and I was almost sure that everybody in the neighborhood was standing by to watch my success.
Quarter past 7, it was time. I prepared my ingredients. Half a stick of butter? Into the bowl it went. Cream that with ¾ cup white and brown sugar? Easy. I was practically baking in my sleep.
Uncertainty struck when I was faced with measuring the right amount of flour. I swear, it’s not my fault, this was all because… uh… the flour shouldn’t have been so clumpy out of the bag! Yes, that’s it, the manufacturers simply messed up the quality of this bag, it had nothing to do with a mismeasurement on my part… no way!
So anyway, I added what I thought was a good amount of flour. I put everything else in the bowl… at least I think I did… wait did I? After leaving the dough in the fridge for half an hour, it was time to bake! The oven had preheated, the dough was mixed and chilled… everything seemed to be in order. Into the oven they went, and all that separated myself and my reward was about 15 minutes.
Each minute saw an exponential growth in my excitement. When the timer on my phone went off, I was ecstatic, and could not wait to retrieve my beautiful, golden cookies.
I donned mitts, and put in motion the very final step.
Out came the cook–… a horrifying sight lay before me.
Instead of golden brown balls of goodness, there was a… puddle… that was light brown and the consistency of freshly mixed, unhardened concrete. I was mortified. My dream of conquering my cookie desires… the way that I sought to prove to myself that I could bake, would not be satisfied that night.
But hey… maybe it still tastes good? I left the puddle out for an hour or so, and parts dried up a bit, however, the center of the puddle remained similar to a shallow divot after heavy rainfall. I sampled a piece of the monstrosity. Upon hitting my tongue, I was t-boned by a very unpleasant, strongly artificial flavor. This “batch” was a lost cause.
I went to bed that night in defeat. The next morning I even refused to look at the oven, for I had suffered a grave failure and felt that a sizable chunk of my soul had been taken as collateral.
But, as it’s commonly preached, failure is a step towards success, so I guess from this endeavor I hope to never not pay attention to a cookie recipe again.
So yeah, that’s my story, I hope that the cookie puddle that I made was somewhat enjoyable for you guys.