Chewy Chocolate Chip Cookies: the Desolation of Bebe
By 3_dogNight on February 05, 2014
Originally posted at Chocolat and a Baby Doll
I never noticed how loud everything was until I had a sleeping baby in my house. Every. Single. Thing is impossibly clamorous. Living with a sleeping baby is like living with Smaug. I tip toe around, trying not to make a peep, but then UPS drives by and the dogs go all bat shit crazy. I had to buy a spray bottle to keep with me while my daughter naps as a friendly reminder to the dogs that barking at the UPS man is not worth it, lest they want a few piddly-ass drops of water sprayed in their general direction. It seems to work; the dogs fucking hate my spray bottle.
The loudest activity I could possibly do, short of hiring a mariachi band to come play in my living room, would be to cook. So that’s generally what I choose to do during my daughter’s nap time. I tell myself, naively, that I can be quiet. I’ll quietly take the saucepan out of the cabinet. I’ll quietly knead dough in my stand mixer. I’ll quietly turn the oven on. Did you know that all three of those things register only slightly below a sonic boom? It’s true. My oven, microwave, and toaster, it just so turns out, beep louder than any other kitchen appliances on the market. So I’m totally winning there. But in regards to me being able to cook without waking up Smaug, I’m coming in dead last. And it looks like I’ll be switching to wine because opening a bottle of wine is a lot quieter than opening a can of beer. Unless the cork crumbles and then you have to awkwardly push the cork into the bottle, in which case my expletives could be baby waking loud. But my expletives will also be posh and sophisticated and possibly even in French because I’m drinking wine. The saying, “excuse my French” suddenly makes sense. Merde!
Today during my daughter’s afternoon nap time, I decided to make some chocolate chip cookies. Hiring that aforementioned mariachi band probably would have been a wiser choice. And the quieter I tried to be, the louder I ended up being. The dragon was summarily awoken and fire was breathed in the form of tears. Thankfully, though, I got her back to sleep with a pacifier and the blanket her grandma knit for her. It has holes in it that she enjoys weaving her little fingers into for comfort. It turns out that little sleeping dragons love knit blankets from their grandmas.
Now, let’s talk about those chewy, nap, disrupting cookies. When I was younger I loved Chewy Chips Ahoy, not so much for the flavor, but for the chewiness. I would microwave them for just a few seconds and they would come out perfectly warm and chewy. It was a quick alternative to a fresh from the oven, homemade cookie that would make do in a bind. Every so often, when I’m perusing the cookie aisle to see if Oreo has any new limited release flavor out, I’ll spot those Chewy Chips Ahoy and get a pang of nostalgic craving. I was pretty excited when I found a chewy chocolate chip cookie recipe on Pinterest, and was quite eager to give it a try, thus my sacrificing precious nap time in order to whip up a batch in order to see if maybe, just maybe, they could fill that chewy chocolate chip cookie gap left behind by my beloved Chewy Chips Ahoy, but without that chemically, packaged cookie taste. I was pretty disappointed. These cookies weren’t bad, no chocolate chip cookie is bad, they just weren’t great. They called for corn starch, which I had never seen in a chocolate chip cookie recipe, so I surmised that maybe the corn starch would be what ultimately made these cookies chewy. It turns out that no, the corn starch just gave the cookies a corn starch like texture. Plus, the recipe says to wait and not eat these cookies warm right from the oven. What. The. Fuck. That’s blasphemy because that’s the best way to eat cookies. Everyone knows that. I obviously refused to wait, on principle, and it turns out that these cookies are better straight from the oven. So I don’t know where the misguided advice to wait stemmed from. Frankly, this recipe is quite silly: calling for corn starch and waiting to eat them. Maybe I messed up somewhere making them, like I didn’t whip my butter enough or scrap down the sides of my stand mixer properly or something. Who fucking knows? I’m only thankful that I didn’t waste my bittersweet Ghirardelli chocolate chips on these cookies, then I would be truly sad and even a little angry; my bittersweet Ghirardelli chocolate chips are like gold, sweet sweet delicious bittersweet chocolate gold.
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