But, I cook all the time, and that gives me this false confidence that I can just handle whatever comes my way in the kitchen.
So maybe we're on the couch watching the Hulu at 9:30 PM and Sous Chef Brian asks if we have cookies. No, we don't have cookies because I haven't made any. I make a pretty mean chocolate chip (I know this is contradicting the above) and I tend to keep the dough in the freezer but there's none on hand. Sometimes I keep the cookies in the freezer. But no, nothing. I offer him frozen blueberries.
He sighs. I jump into wife mode. I will make cookies. Then he says he doesn't want chocolate chip. I start rattling off cookie types (none of which do I have a reliable, go-to recipe for).
Want oatmeal?
Sugar?
Peanut butter?
I could make brownies.
Snickerdoodles?
I don't even know what a snickerdoodle is.
Time passes, and it's 10 PM and he says he wants oatmeal. I Google. We want a soft, chewy cookie. I find a recipe. I throw ingredients in a bowl. I cream the butter and sugar. Together, we roll the cookies into balls, dip them in sugar and lightly press them down with a glass. 10-12 minutes in the oven.
A landmass. A continent. Shatteringly crisp cookies, almost the texture of a Nature Valley granola bar, but flat. Super flat. They seem almost fried. No more late night baking.
