A Refreshingly Mediocre Cookie Recipe

A Refreshingly Mediocre Cookie Recipe

A refreshingly mediocre cookie recipe and skipping because it’s October. Of course there will be skipping. On the hour. Every hour. Please know that I know that you know that the moments are rare when someone asks me [moi, yo, watashi] for a cookie recipe. [Okay–for any recipe.] Let’s face it. I’m not the friendly neighborhood go-to-for-recipes kind of gal. I don’t remember the last time someone asked me for a recipe .[Except for this one.] Third of all, I’m okay with — no — I’m splendid — about not being Betty Crocker Baker-ina. It doesn’t have a thing to do with not wanting to bake–I just don’t bake. There are times when the desire to have the scent of real and true something yummy wafting through the house compels me to bake something.

But that doesn’t happen very much.

At all.

This important information was originally posted four years ago. Four. Since then, there have been more of you asking for the recipe. [My sense of importance has grown astronomically because of this very fact. Before? Meh. I was a bug.] To celebrate the day of October that you are reading this, here. it. is. It’s the time of year when cookies shall be made and consumed with enthusiasm. [And by “the time of year,” I mean January to January, all the times, and all the seasons.]

I firmly believe that you will be astonished (if not stunned) by the lack of anything clever in this recipe — other than the secret ingredients [there are two of them] which I will now divulge.

Before that happens, allow me to introduce you to a stack of refreshingly mediocre cookies made from the refreshingly mediocre cookie recipe.

Now back to the secret ingredients. There are only two. They are true and right. [Those aren’t the ingredients because who has any of either in storage. And if anyone has read this far and finds themselves giggling by what I just threw down, let’s have lunch, because seriously–I’m known for these cookies not for my sense of humor.]

Back to the secret ingredients.

The first is complete silence.

The second is music playing in the background.

In that exact order.

You need complete silence to begin the delicate balance routine [yes, I envision gymnastics] of cooking baking [the hair on the back of your neck just stood at attention and I know it–I have received the cooking vs baking lecture enough times to realize the error of my ways–and I did it only to vex]. The music is for any dancing that takes place as you collect ingredients, find measuring spoons and cups from the cavern of your utensil/cookie cutter/extra canning lids/funnels/rolling pins/salad tongs drawer that is the size of a refrigerator box, as well as clamoring through the cupboards locating cookie pans and cooling racks.

Might I interest you in another look at the refreshingly mediocre cookies?

As refreshingly mediocre as these cookies are I tell you they are never around for very long. Not that I think people throw them away or anything like that. I see people of all walks of life casually tasting a refreshingly mediocre cookie and then another and another. They’re delicious.

Now–here’s a very important step.

Fight over who gets the beater.

Or simply sneak into that spot behind your cupboard and crouch down slowly so your knees don’t pop. Eat the batter off of the beater like the champion you are.

If you happen to be in the house by yourself dancing and making cookies–it’s yours. [Say that in the voice of the Beast as he opens the doors to the library and announces the gift to Belle.] The beater is yours–and don’t be shy about how much dough is left on that thing. Oh no, no, no.

Once you’ve consumed as much dough as you want to consume (because you are the boss of you and because it’s tasty) use a scoop to portion dough onto the cookie sheets.

Or–or–plop some dough into the palm of your hand and munch on it a little bit like a horse with its head in a feed bag as you trot dance around the kitchen.

You will eventually cook whatever amount of appropriately apportioned dough is left for 8-10 minutes. That makes for a chewy cookie. Cook it for longer if you’d like to play hockey with the little morsels.

Take them off of the cookie sheet and place them gently, somewhat tenderly, on the cooling rack.

Voila.

Ta-da.

That’s it.

If you perceive that this is indeed as refreshingly mediocre a cookie recipe as you have ever seen in your life — remember that I mentioned that at the beginning.

By the way. If you are ever in the vicinity and “sense” that I’m beginning a batch of refreshingly mediocre cookies — you have it on good authority that the beater/mixing apparatus covered in cookie dough [pause] is yours.

Again — in the voice of the Beast.

~grin~

Hoorah for the wonderful month of October!

By-the-way. It’s worth noting that I successfully wrote a first day of October post and didn’t even mention that one word that starts with a “P,” and rhymes with “bumpkin.” The rest of the month there will be no such thing happening.