Monday, December 14, 2009

Chocolate Eclairs

These are the things I know about Chocolate Eclairs: one of my brothers likes them, they are messy, they are served chilled, and the custard reminds me of what I believe liposuctioned fat looks like (my only knowledge of what liposuctioned fat looks like comes from the movie BASEketball - so I think it's a pretty accurate image). Especially when it squeezes out the butthole of the eclair with the first bite. And it always does.

So I've never been the biggest fan of Chocolate Eclairs. There, I said it. Close your dramatically dropped jaws. I can already feel a huge weight lifted off my shoulders. I've been carrying around that baggage since childhood. But since I don't really like eating things after I've baked them anyways, I didn't see a problem. Other people like Eclairs. Plus, there's always the possibility that I'd like them more after making them...

RECIPE TIME!! I found my recipe at - duhhz - and you can find it right here. Follow along, take notes, visualize pure fat, and get your custard game face on. People are watching, you know. (Just me. I'm watching you. Right now. ps - you're cute in an eclair sort of way.)

This recipe has 4 different parts (recipe duration: one lifetime) which means I had 4 totally unique opportunities to seriously do things wrong. Call me opportunistic. Seriously. I hate my other nicknames. Plus I reach for the stars, kid.

First up was the filling recipe. This involved boiling milk. Opportunity #1!!

I have a thing for burning the life out of milk. I stop paying attention and BOOM brown milk crust on the bottom of the saucepan. Then there's the heavy sigh that always follows, the downward glance at my kitchen floor, and the agonizing saucepan sponge scraping that I (my mother) must endure.

Well, I have good news mom, no burnt milk! I know, I know, three cheers for Molly. A hero's welcome, I'm sure, is in store for me where ever I go. But seriously, I was excited. Even though the not burnt milk still looked like this:

vanilla bean I love you, but you're bringing my warm milk down

I soldiered on because vanilla bean wasn't going to make me cry any more tears that's what I'm most awesome at. Next up was whipping the egg yolks, sugar, corn starch, and warm milk and vanilla bean mixture together until they were light and fluffy and fearful of my awe-inspiring wrath. Done and done!

More stuff happened and once I was all done stirring and cooling I put Jabba the Hutt the custard filling (there is a striking resemblance, right? I was worried the custard might force me to be its slave girl any second) in the fridge to cool for a couple hours. Mostly for my own safety.

next time, I wanna make something that resembles a Wookie

On to round two! The pastry recipe!

I guess since the custard is so painfully sweet, the pastry must be painfully not sweet. And painfully not sweet it is. Quote of the evening from my mother upon tasting the batter: "Ew." I mean, I wouldn't go quite that far. Granted she thought she was sampling the custard and was maybe just half-surprised - but still. Ew was a little harsh. It's just pastry dough for the sake of pastry dough. And it only tastes a little bit like warm human flesh. (honest.)

This part of the recipe was my favorite part for this reason:
"Using a pastry bag fitted with a large plain tip, pipe fat lengths of dough (about the size and shape of a jumbo hot dog) onto the lined baking sheet..."
Gale Gand, creator of this recipe, I'm transferring my mother's earlier "ew" to your yuckcount. (get it? like a bank? hm?) Seriously, girl, that's a terrible idea. Everyone knows that the only dessert jumbo hot dogs worth their weight in inappropriate-food-reference-gold are the solid chocolate ones that sit in marshmallow buns. Get with the times, Gale Gand, and one more time: Ew.

Side Note: I am terrible at making fat lengths of dough in the size and shape of a jumbo hot dog. Maybe it's because I didn't have an appropriate pastry bag. Maybe it's out of principle.

I'll never be a street pastry jumbo hot dog vendor

Off to the oven went these semi-phallic, freshly coated with their recipe part three egg wash shine.

Hey - so now's as good a time as ever to tell you this. The truth is, I disastered this recipe. Straight up. Here's the proof:


this one has bunny ears. bunny ears.

Shit just don't look right. Like, on so many levels. Like, especially on the bunny ears level. Clearly, my downfall was the hot dog formation. I could have quit, you know. Right there. Done. But I'm the type who cries when throwing out already-made custard not a quitter!

Of course, there really wasn't enough custard to fill them up in a delicious manner (of course). Figures. However, the chocolate glaze did a good job of hiding the misshapen forms. Which is really just a sad plus when you think about it. They taste like eclairs, by the way. But they are still misshapen. And I am still disappointed.


TASTE: 3/5 > Honestly, they taste pretty okay. I mean, I still don't really care for eclairs so my opinion means about as much as my dog's opinion (so I guess a lot?) but it's just not enough to change my mind about eclairs. Sorryz.
EASE: 3/5 > despite the awful that I created, it really wasn't that hard to do. I mean, all I had to do was make a jumbo hot dog shaped pastry thinger. And I failed at that. But it's not even hard - to some people...I guess.
FILTH OF KITCHEN: 5/5 > Pig sty. Chocolate glaze everywhere. Custard in places I'd like to keep out of conversation. Sadness all over the walls.
DID THE DOG EAT IT THE DOUGH: You know what, the dogs were more interested in the cat than in my baking. It's like they don't even appreciate me!
IMPRESS-O-METER: 3/5 > So much potential. I'm pretty sure though it's the eclair with the bunny ears that brought me down. That and how ridiculous they all look, of course.

Monday, November 23, 2009

Mini Moon Pies

There are a few things I know for certain:
  1. My parents think I'm perfect just the way I am.
  2. Ponies have flowing rainbow manes and tails, smell like strawberries, taste like sunshine, and breathe cartoon hearts.
  3. The moon is absolutely delicious.
There may be other absolute truths in this world and I'm open to suggestion...all I'm saying is that it's probably just these three. And no others.

This recipe (found here) was rich with discovery, dishonesty, and deliciousness. The 3 D's of baking. I mean, I found this in a kitchen drawer while gathering my ingredients...

Maybe you can't make out the detail - let me help you. That pink design down the center? Cat faces. That thing at the end? You guessed it. It's a hook. And the fork prongs you're eying curiously...something's wrong there you say? One prong is definitely rectangular. I'm lost. Utterly lost. I think it's a back scratcher for cats. And that's my best guess.

Moving on. Cookies! The moon! Space travel!

I got you excited there for a bit, right? Stay with me and I'll have you eating part of the Final Frontier in no time.

I liked this recipe right off the bat. The recipe lady herself prefaces it all by saying "Homemade marshmallow is one of my favorite things to make." That's setting the bar pretty high! I'll tell you what my favorite thing to make is: friendships! And then there's this other thing: the recipe actually mentions that you'll need a cookie cutter right alongside the ingredients. Love at first sight?

Let me tell you, love is a bumpy bumpy road full of deceit. First off, the recipe clearly tells me to preheat the oven before anything else. Then it walked me through making the super sticky chocolate-y dough. Man this relationship is really getting off to a great start! So supportive! So helpful! So...stick the dough in the fridge and leave it there overnight?

Love is a bumpy bumpy road full of trying to make you forget that the oven is on and hoping your house burns down. But I shook it off because I am woman, I roar, and I only have the patience to let dough cool for 2 hours anyways. Anything over that is ridiculous. It's called playing hardball. Deal with it.

I thought that would be my first and last letdown with what promised to be an outrageously yummy cookie recipe. I let my guard down. I began to trust again. And then a moon pie stomped on my vulnerable heart.

Let me ask you this: off the top of your head, can you picture exactly where in your kitchen you keep your trusty candy thermometer? What's that? You don't own a candy thermometer? Oh, and you're not Willy Wonka? Because here I was, thinking you were Willy Wonka. With a candy thermometer. Tucked behind your ear. That's where one keeps a candy thermometer right?

WHO KNOWS? Seriously, this recipe goes so far as to politely inform you that you need a round cookie cutter (round! you could use a handful of ordinary kitchen items to make a round cookie cutter!) but fails to mention you may need a candy thermometer? The nerve.

Well, after riding the emotional roller coaster a few times too many, I had to turn to my mother. She kindly informed me that we have a candy thermometer. In it's original packaging. Just because. (Just because clearly there has never been any use for a candy thermometer in everyday life.)

oooo I hate you so much candy thermometer!

I tore that sucker open and got to making my homemade marshmallow. I was all smiles again - this is supposed to be the fun part! Right? Wrong again! Have you ever made marshmallow? With a candy thermometer? You have to boil water, sugar, and corn syrup. The accompanying sound made me fear for my life. I was pretty sure something was about to explode in my kitchen.

when I see this picture, I imagine this being someone's favorite activity. Why did I ever trust this recipe?

Why was this recipe trying to kill me?
I'll tell you why...because I was getting too close...I was only hours(!) away from tasting the moon.

I took my emotions out on whipping the marshmallow...


The cookies were done cooling and so it became sandwiching time. (I forgot to mention the whole cookie baking was like any other time I've had to roll out a dough - entirely too sticky and rather uneventful.) I love sandwiching time! Cookies go from ugly little disks to the most adorable double disks with gooey middles. What could be better?


Now the cookie sandwiches had to sit for two hours. I was starting to get the feeling this recipe was asking me to give up. I mean, the recipe initially claimed there were only 2 hours of inactive time involved. By my count, I should have been up to 14 hours (the suggested overnight + 2) already. What else was it going to lie about? Except for everything else it had already lied about (which was a lot).

Two hours passed and I finally got to dipping the sandwiches in the melted chocolate. Again, uneventful. Again, the cookies had to sit for 2 hours.

16 hours is a lot more than 2 hours. I just want the person who created this recipe to realize that. 16 > 2.

Was it worth it?


Biting into one of these Moon Pies is like biting into heaven...if heaven tasted like chocolate and marshmallow and all that is good in what I'm saying is that it was exactly like biting in heaven.

When I look back at the lying and the attempted soul-shattering this recipe sent my way, I can only make sense of it now. Not just anyone can taste the glory that is the moon. It takes determination. It takes rolling with the punches. It takes more or less 16 hours. But probably more. Who's counting anyways?


TASTE: 5/5 > Heaven.

EASE: 1/5 > Two words: Candy Thermometer.

FILTH OF KITCHEN: 4/5 > Marshmallow is sticky. As is anything one may need a candy thermometer for. Plus the chocolate dipping. I'm feeling filthy just reminiscing.

DID THE DOG EAT IT: At one point, I dumped a good amount of powdered sugar on the floor. The dog most certainly ate it.

IMPRESS-O-METER: 3/5 > They may taste great but they honestly look like turds. The three points it does get are from the fact the marshmallow is homemade (don't forget to bring that up every second of everyday) and that it's the moon. Still - it looks like a turd.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Maamoul: Stuffed Date-Orange Cookies

How do you pronounce “maamoul”? I have absolutely no idea. I figure that’s as good a reason to bake a cookie as any. I’m sure no one would notice if you just produce an “m” sound and then casually trail off. (Cultural ignorance!)

Still, it must sound pretty fancy when you introduce these cookies to acquaintances at social gatherings. I can see it now…

‘Jan made chocolate chip cookies – let’s give Jan a hand, shall we! Come on mutual acquaintances!’ your friend Bruce says because he talks like that. He also calls people dears. He’s that guy.

‘Three cheers for Jan!’ Susan adds.

But you hate Susan and you hate chocolate chip cookies. And you really hate Jan. And Bruce. Whose acquaintances are these anyways?
That’s when you step forward, Tupperware chock full of Ma..m…l, with a frightening grin.

‘I made stuffed Date-Orange cookies.”

The room goes silent. Chewed chocolate chip cookies are spit into napkins. Acquaintances, mid pat-on-the-backs for Jan, stop abruptly. Someone slaps Jan. AND SCENE.

At least that’s how I imagine it. You probably should just call them Stuffed Date-Orange cookies is what I’m saying.

On to the baking!!
First off, find the recipe HERE and follow my every move.

This recipe uses a food processor and food processor only. I thought that was odd but hey, I can’t even pronounce the name of the cookie so who am I to judge? I put my judging cap on anyways – of course I am to judge, I’m captain judgment – and stuffed the dates and crap into the mixer. Hey PS dates are super sticky. These dates are sticky like if I got sticky date goo (i.e. this filling) stuck in my hair, well I’d probably have to use bubble gum to get it out. It’s that serious.

The greatest part about the food processing (it had so many great parts) was that the dates were so sticky that the food processor started making this purring sound. It purred hard then it purred soft then it stopped purring all together. And pureeing. After much persuading, it tried again and succeeded. Yay!

It looked like toxic waste sludge. Yum!

The other greatest part about the food processing (see, so many parts!) was that my food processor is only a 4-cup food processor. I’m not some fat cat fluent in corporate mumbo jumbo who goes out buying ritzy food processors that can fit more than a softball. Because the economy.

This mainly came into play in the second part of the recipe when I was supposed to combine all the dough ingredients into the 4-cup food processor. Hilarious! It didn’t work.

I wish some lady who claims she's been around the block a few times was around to give a helpful suggestion...

My mom, after telling me she’s been around the block a few times (mooOOOOoooom) suggested I take my newfound cutting in butter skill (life’s a learning rollercoaster kids) and there was success.

I like the no dough chilling time about this dough. I found that it even helped to keep handling this dough after I made the little balls so I could make it a little softer and less likely to crack when it was time to pinch around the filling and seal the cookie. I still had a bit of trouble when it came to this part, however, because the filling was just so sticky. I felt like the recipe called for me to be part octopus and use my eight clean and tentacled hands to craft the little balls. It was seriously hard with my two, pathetic human hands. It just one of those times when you wish you had a helper monkey. You know, like every second of every day.

While not picture perfect, these cookies still came out super yummy. They crumble really nicely in your mouth and are just buttery enough without being overpowering. The filling is almost a little spicy in its fruitiness thanks to the crystallized ginger. And thank heaven for powdered sugar clumping – I mean dusting.
Plus, these cookies make it okay to slap your acquaintance Jan in the face. Amateur.


TASTE: 4.5/5 > really yummy but could have used a little something still. Not sure what that something is.

EASE: 4/5 > not too hard to make really. The only thing that was hard to deal with was the stickiness of the dates. SO STICKY.

FILTH OF KITCHEN: 2/5 > I managed to keep it somewhat clean with this recipe. I think not having to roll out dough helps immensely. I’m pretty sure there’s a good amount of powdered sugar in my hair, however.

DID THE DOG EAT IT: He came. He saw. He was genuinely uninterested and stared at me with a puzzled look. I guess his palate just really isn’t up to snuff. (I’ll have you know, the IMPRESS-O-METER just tipped its hat to me, said ‘Good day, madam,’ and skyrocketed through the roof.)

IMPRESS-O-METER: 5/5 > Jan got slapped in the face.

"what's a palate?"

Thursday, October 22, 2009


After the Orange Cookie Sandwich disaster that will now be known forever as "October 21st, 2009: Worse Than the Hypothetical Horrors Awaiting Us All in 2012, Theoretically of Course", I needed a pick me up. I woke up this morning shaking my fist out of anger. It was weird. After a cold shower, a few slaps in the face, and some tears (there was something in my eye - get off my case) I was ready to face the world.

It has always been a dream of mine since starting this blog 2 days ago to make Hamantashen. What can I say, I'm a dreamer. Little triangles filled with gooey goodness promising outrageous difficulty all for the sake of a little hat. That's an idea I can get behind! Little hats! Adorable!

I was immediately impressed when I read this recipe in my Betty Crocker Cookie Book (pg 274 if you're into that sort of thing). In two sentences, this recipe managed to teach me more about Purim than I retained from literally years of Hebrew and Sunday School.

So gather round children and I'll tell you the story of Purim,
These rich, filled cookies, celebrate the holiday of Purim, which honors the victory of the Jews of ancient Persia over Haman's plot to destroy them. Haman was an advisor to King Ahasuerus, and Hamantaschen are "Haman's pockets."

Thanks Betty Crocker! I mean, I refuse to go along with the pockets thing - no one would make a cookie shaped like a pocket. I don't care about translations. That's just ridiculous. Julie and Julia ridiculous. (sorry but she thought 90 year old Julia Child knew how to use the internet circa 2002. Unbelievable, Julie! Unbelievable!) Anyways, I digress.

I got to making the dough for this little labor of Purim love, wearing my favorite 3-cornered hat and a smile that could light the world. But my heart was heavy. I was scared. Was I going to be able to make these as adorable as the millions (literally millions) of professionally assembled Hamantashen I have consumed in my 22 years?

I had another reason to be nervous. The recipe called for plain bread crumbs to thicken up Apricot goo and this was the only package my neighborhood Giant had to offer:

Um those have been on the shelf since 1972, right? Are they kidding with that packaging?

I tentatively "cut in butter" to my flour/sugar/baking powder mix for the first time ever. "Tentatively" turned into all out dough groping. I think it was as I was manhandling the crumby dough that I gained a little Purim courage. I made that dough my Haman bitch - for my people of course. If I had a noise maker at the time, I would have ring-a-linged it with one hand while I abused the dough with my other hand. (Get it? Purim!)

I set the greatly anticipated dough in my fridge and promptly forgot about it for 4 hours longer than I had intended. Yay for priorities!

Upon returning to the rock hard dough, I was nervous all over again. This was probably due from my baking inexperience. I have this constant feeling that the first second I do something just slightly off what the recipe says, my entire kitchen will explode and someone will end up poisoned. Pots and pans all over the places. Kids crying. Adults combusting. It's not good. This is something I need to work on. Yay for blogs on helping me become a better me! High fives all around!

No one exploded. In fact, the dough rolled out easily once I let it hang out and enjoy the counter for a few minutes. Then I went along my merry way making the delicious gooey filling for the Hamantashen.

I chose poppy seed and apricot fillings because they are the best and I won't discuss this any further. Get over yourself Prunes.

Really the rest was rather simple. All it took was cutting out 3" circles from the dough, putting a leveled teaspoon of goo in the center and folding up the edges of the circle to make the triangle. I could have accomplished this all even with a noisemaker in my hands. That should probably be one of my rating categories instead of "ease". Ease is so basic and boring. Can this cookie be made while holding a noisemaker? I like it.

They baked for 15ish minutes probably and then...well then, it was love at first sight. Seriously, these are amazing Hamantashen. They were literally perfect. The cookie part itself was absurdly yummy and a little biscuit-y. Not at all dry. The apricot filling I made with little bits of pecans is the kind of stuff I imagine Unicorns munching on in between giggle fits and bathing in sunshine and happiness. And the poppy seed, even though I bought it pre-made, was a delight.


TASTE: 4.75/5 > Incredibly yummy but I'm uncomfortable giving a perfect score for taste right this moment. Sorry Hamantashen, it's not you, it's me.
FILTH OF KITCHEN: 5/5 > Again, rolling out dough creates cleanliness issues. Plus, now I have an ant infestation. Gross.
DID THE DOG EAT IT THE DOUGH: Better yet, he spoke for the first time ever and told me I was doing a "bang up job, champ."
IMPRESS-O-METER: 5/5 > Not only is this cookie appropriate for the most fun (only fun?) Jewish holiday ever, anything you have to make into a tiny adorable package like object is bound to impress. I mean, you don't have to tell people it was ridiculously easy to make. And you can share your 2 sentences about Purim! Learning!

SHOULD YOU MAKE THIS COOKIE? Only if you can handle being the most popular person at Purim.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Italian Chocolate Sandwich Cookie

Hey Giada De Laurentiis from Food Network, I get it. You're Italian. Every recipe in the world with some derivation of the word "Italy" in the title is clearly yours and yours alone. Great job with the whole Italian empire, Giada. You really stuck it to the man when you shaped the country like a boot. What's that? You claim an Italian cookie recipe? Oh Giada. You're so silly. Surely you jest. Well, I'll humor you.

I'm going to hit on a few key ingredients and steps but you can find the full recipe for Giada's Italian Chocolate Sandwich Cookie on Food Network: The "I'm from ITALY Cookie"

Before I get into the cookie making I must make this public service announcement. Dear Cookie recipe creators: I know you live in a make believe world of sunshine and gumdrops but I do not. Would it be so difficult for you to mention the necessity of a specific cookie cutter BEFORE I make the dough? Like in the first sentence? I, unlike you, do not have an arsenal of various cookie cutters of all adorable shapes and sizes. I know what you're thinking Giada, how absurd! You don't have peons from Food Network HQ to get you that in 35 seconds or they're fired? No Giada (and every other cookie recipe sage ever), I don't. Thanks for all your not help. Please just do me a solid and tell me about 1 3/4 inch round cookie cutter I'll need in the ingredients or something. Or the title. 1 3/4 inch Round Cookie Cuttered Italian Chocolate Sandwich Cookie. That sounds nice.

Now, on to baking!

This cookie sounded not only delicious but also interesting. If completed successfully, it could rank very high on the Impress-Your-Friends-O-Meter. Sandwich cookies are, by nature, the best things ever invented. With every bite of delicious cookies you also get a mouthful of either creamyness, chocolateyness, or ice cream(ness). There are so many other things in this world that would benefit from being sandwiched with the aforementioned fillings (ahem, ECONOMY, where's your delicious inside?).

So immediately I was interested. Plus, this recipe has some wonky ingredients. Orange zest? In the cookies and the cream? Cornmeal in the cookies? Giada! You're playing with fire, girl!

I set off making the dough and it seemed easy enough. The recipe basically asks you to dive right in with your hands and go nuts. I did. And honestly, I thought I was doing an excellent job. But the cornmeal worried me. Right from the start. I like cornmeal. I like polenta. I do not understand where they fit in cookies. It made the dough look grimy...almost like the grit in red clay (hey Art School, thanks for all the jobs you got me!) and that made me uncomfortable. Sure, gritty clay has always looked delicious but I wasn't positive that today would be the day I'd want to eat a fistful of it.

I soldiered on and refrigerated the dough for a couple hours even though it still didn't look quite right. I was supposed to form it into a a round shape and plastic wrap it before refrigerating and, while I did do this, it was a rather crumbly creation. In hindsight, I probably should have added a bit of water or something. But what's that they say about hindsight? Hindsight is Italian Chocolate Sandwich Cookies?

The next step in the recipe was clearly my downfall (ps this cookie takes a turn for the worse FYI). Rolling out the dough proved to be ridiculous. Not only do I hate rolling out dough (hey peons from Food Network, I bet yall do this for Giada, don't you...suckers) but this dough simply did not roll out. I tried. Really. I made a mess. Really! But no dice. I decided then and there to be bold. I was going to beat the crap out of the dough with my cold dead hands.

Here's the problem with this solution: Giada wonderfully suggested that the dough be 1/8 to 1/4 inch thick. That's all well and good when you are using your trusting rolling pin. These hands of mine not only don't do eyeball measurements (they're hands, silly!) but they also do not pound out dough (giggle) in an even and/or flat manner. I got some lumpy, gritty dough out of this. Some parts were thick, some were was a mess.

I'm super smart (duh) and great at problem solving (double duh) so I got out my trusty 1/3 cup thinger to use for my cookie cutter. It was swell! I gave myself a solid pat on the back, managed to cut out an odd amount of cookies (super smart!) and went on baking them.

Things got weird. Half of the cookies looked like this:

Yum! A perfect Sandwich Cookie!

While the other half looked like this:

What the hell is that?

I was not amused.

After the whole some-cookies-too-thick-some-cookies-too-thin debacle of 2009, I set to work on the happy creamy filling. Surly this would be successful!

It was. The cream was delightful tasting (you can't go wrong with cream). Except one thing. Clearly not enough creamy crap. Which is odd too because the recipe says it makes "28 cookies." 28 sandwich cookies? 14 sandwich cookies? GIADA GET WITH IT. ALL OF ITALY IS DEPENDING ON YOU! Anyways, there simply wasn't enough goo which was honestly, really too bad. Here's why...

The cookies themselves are just not any good. They taste exactly like I imagined: a child's "I <3 MOM" coffee mug made in 6th grade art class for the holidays. It tasted like gritty red clay! How is this even possible! Did no peons taste these cookies, Giada? Well, they needed all the orange cream in the world and Giada only provided enough ingredients for a ridiculously little amount of cream. Not nearly enough to save these monstrosities. I should have known something was up when my dog helped himself to some wayward pieces of dough and started gagging. That animal will eat raw pasta. AND HE LIKES IT.

Here's my classy camera phone picture of the end result:

And the final verdict:
TASTE: 2.5/5 > Delicious cream. World's worst cornmealy cookies.
EASE: 2/5 > remember that time rolling out dough was impossible? I do!
FILTH OF KITCHEN: 5/5 > Anytime rolling out dough is involved, my kitchen takes a beating. Also, there was cornmeal from here to ya-ya.
DID THE DOG EAT IT THE DOUGH: yes and no. He did willingly approach it. It also made him gag.
IMPRESS-O-METER: 4/5 > The impressive factor is still there in the completed cookie just because of the flavors (mmm orange cream excites my palate is what they'll all say to sound smart) and the overall cookie sandwich promise.

SHOULD YOU MAKE THIS COOKIE? Not unless you hate yourself

My name is Molly and I'm a Cookie Monster

Let's get this awkward first date out of the way as soon as possible. You're looking at me thinking, gosh what a deadbeat. I bet she doesn't even have a job, you say. And I'm looking at you with leering eyes that say, oh man this could be the one...this could be the one! I'm considering calling my mother and telling her the good news. I'm an inch away from telling you that my dream cake is shaped like Olmec from Legends of the Hidden Temple with real red glowing eyes. But that's awkward and I want this to be special. So let's get to it. I mean, you could very well be the one.

I like baking cookies. I have no job so I have a lot of time to bake cookies. No, no don't up and leave! Hear me out. I plan use this time to accomplish something really special. I'm going to bake a whole bunch of different cookies. And rate them. And you will pretend that you are eating them and enjoying them with me.

I know what you're saying. You're thinking this sounds a lot like that terrible movie Julie and Julia. Here are some key differences:

1. I am not nearly as annoying as that Julie. She was the worst. Ever.
2. Julia Child is not my muse. Yes, she was a cool giantess. One of epic proportions. But I'm awfully short and a woman of her stature could very well make me pee my pants.
3. Why am I even going into this? No one saw Julie and Julia. It was a horrible movie. I won't even waste your time or insult your intelligence by suggesting you've seen that movie. No one has. I'm going to pretend I haven't either.

That was awkward. First dates are weird. But now that that's out of the way I feel better. Should we get down to the nitty gritty?

I am not a trained baker. I confuse parchment paper and wax paper. I set fire to dish rags. But I make a mean cookie. And I plan to make dozens of mean cookies. Cookies so mean that their mothers are constantly telling them to stop making that face because it will stick that way but they don't listen because they are that mean and SURPRISE! Their faces stick that way and whenever they walk down the street people go MAN! What a mean cookie! That's the kind of cookie I make.

I'm also going to maybe attempt making my own cookie recipes. I may even send you a cookie care package if you A) ask nice enough and B) have gone so far as to contemplate eating your own hand because my cookies sound so scrumptious. Well, one or the other.

I'm starting with various individual recipes as well as two cookie books as some structure for this blog:

Betty Crocker Cookie Book: The Most Delicious Collection of Cookies Ever (what a hefty statement that book makes. Jeez)

Big Fat Cookies by Elinor Klivans

I shall rate my cookies on various levels: taste, ease, filth of kitchen, whether or not my dog eats what drops on the floor, and whether or not they impress folks. Everyone knows that people only make cookies to impress others. I can't even believe I have to mention that.

So let's get started!
I'm making some cookies tonight and I'll report back sometime soon.