This blog post is both a recipe (no way in hell am I calling it a how-to because no one should cook how I do) and a confessional.
In case you weren’t already aware…I hate cooking. And it wasn’t until today that I finally realized why. I hate it because I’m completely out of my element in the kitchen. Put me in front of a boardroom and I will give a kickass presentation no problem. Put me in the kitchen and I will fall on my ass because I spilled flour on the hardwood and slipped on it in my UGG slippers. (I actually did this today by the way).
I used to be a dancer for cripes sake and yet for some reason, the kitchen is the one place I have no grace; neither physical (I flicked hot and sharp cookie crumbs into my eye while trying to break the cookie free from the cookie sheet) or emotional ( I can often be heard saying things like, “What the–?? DID I REALLY JUST DO THAT?!” while cooking–and that’s the G-rated version.)
Today, while making cookies I; knocked over the salt and pepper shakers no less than seven times, dropped eggshells into the batter, stirred a spatula full of flour onto my sweatshirt, totally melted–not softened the butter, seared my thumb, substituted marshmallows for chocolate chips which I thought was brill but really was stupid because they literally glued the cookies to the sheet and subsequently caused me to shred 1/2 my batch, ripped the spatula handle out of the spatula head, came thisclose to dumping more flour into my recipe instead of the sugar I was supposed to use, and as I already confessed, slipped on flour I spilled on our hardwoods. And this isn’t even everything. The rest is too painful to bring up again.
So no, I don’t like cooking. Nosireebob. Will that ever change? No. Am I much happier getting yummy take-out and putting it onto beautiful Kate Spade china, yes.
Here are my sad, sad little cookies.
*What the French
