Just the idea of burnt cookies makes me want to scream. Cookies are meant to be enjoyed. They're meant to be sweet and comforting and indulgent. Taking such a delicious, nurturing image and prefacing it with 'burnt' is a travesty. It's criminal.
Oh, but when they come out perfectly . . . it's so great. There is an art to cooking them just the right amount of time. I may have perfected it. Note that I didn't say that I may have perfected the art of actually making the cookie batter. I mean, why bother when you can just buy those Toll House packages of jumbo cookies, break the little perforated cookie dough squares apart, neatly arrange them on a cookie sheet and pop them in to bake? I was so happy when I rescued my cookie babies out of the oven at just the right time. They're so beautiful! ::sniff, sniff::
Little things make me happy.
2 comments:
The great thing about cookie children is that you can just bake another batch if the first ones are messed up.
It's kind of funny how bizarrely the "cookie children" analogy breaks down if you try to apply it to real life.
If you bake a batch of messed up real children, there's no dumping them in the trash. You have to eat those burnt things, for better or for worse.
And would "baking" them be raising them or . . . what comes before that? ::juvenile snicker::
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