I’ve given up buying store-made cookies. This is no small thing, considering the hundreds, probably thousands, of pounds of cookies I’ve bought in my lifetime. Along with bananas, cereal, and milk, they were the staple of my years from ten to thirty. Now that’s all behind me as I’ve entered the world of homemade cookies. This isn’t to say I didn’t make cookies before, but it was always a Project, something special that took time and made a mess, and they were gone too quickly. Maybe it’s because I’m faster in the kitchen now, or more accustomed to washing dishes, or maybe it’s the Kitchenaid mixer that can cream frozen butter and sugar while I lounge on a divan and eat bon bons. But I can tell you that homemade cookies are easy. And more rewarding than anything to come out of a cellophane package.
To put this to the test I invited a Maori warrior to our home to eat some cookies. If they were tasty, I would be spared a gruesome and painful death. My trial begins as the warrior princess assumes a braced position against the wall, ready to spring forward and rip my intestines from my abdomen like taffy if the flavor isn’t spot on. First she regards the cookie, checking for proper caramelization and adequate chocolate melt.
Uh oh, a threat display. I try to hide under my apron.
A second taste. I feel my knees go weak. Oh lord, she’s found a chip of eggshell! All could be lost!
At the penultimate moment, the warrioress pauses, lets the flavors merge on her palate, and declares the cookie to be scrumptious. I am saved, a bug left alive under a hovering boot so I can scurry on my way, live to bake another day. Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!