The view from my kitchen at 8:00 AM.
Apparently I’m just More Inspired to bake at that hour than any other. So I set to work preparing the filling for a batch of Oreo Truffles that will be coming with me to an Ugly Christmas Sweater Party tonight and the dough for the nine dozen cookies I’m meant to be bringing to my department’s cookie exchange on Tuesday.
For the record, if you offer to organize a cookie exchange and assume that you will not have 100% participation, then The Universe will make sure that you have the highest level of participation that anyone has ever seen in a cookie exchange ever.
Because when 17 people are ready to swap-it-out, suddenly it seems more practical to exchange cookies by the half-dozen rather than the whole dozen.
Marcus doesn’t eat desserts (though apparently he is A Major Fan of cookie dough). I am but one person. 17 half-dozens of cookies is pushing it ’round these parts.
My morning baking session? Went off without a hitch. I rolled truffles and dipped pretzels, chilled cookie dough and all was right with the world.
When we returned home from lunch, I got cracking on my exchange cookies. Rolling balls, unwrapping mass amounts of miniature Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, preparing mini-muffin tins.
After pressing my dough into service and waiting the prescribed amount of time, I pulled my tins from the oven, and took them out to the garage to cool them down a bit.
Working with Mother Nature. It’s the Minnesotan way to get things done, you see?
I brought them in to “pry them from the pan with a knife” and discovered that something in the baking process had gone horribly, horribly wrong.
In an irreparable structural failure-sort of way.
As in, of the 84 cookies I baked (I still had a few dozen ready-to-go for tomorrow), THESE are my survivors.
In the spirit of Groundhog Day, I’ll be waking up to do it all over again (literally) tomorrow.
What is the biggest baking catastrophe you’ve ever experienced?