Hub and I have been a little bummed lately so I decided to cheer us up by making chocolate chip cookies. Three cookies in, it was a brilliant idea. Six cookies in I realized I should have eaten dinner first. Husband-cat powered through all dough related items and seemed none the worse for wear. I'll call it a win.
Along the way to this glutinous end, I got to experiment with our oversize oven. Until I met Cece (aka Lady E) I didn't know there was a whole methodology to assessing your oven. During previous adventures she informed me that our oven runs twenty degrees hotter than it says it does. This is information I need because I like my cookies toasted along the edge, soft in the middle, not raw at all. Not the easiest thing to achieve. On our oven, this takes three minutes instead of the ten called for by the recipe.
Way back when Psycho Bambi and I were room-mates, we had an oven we affectionately called our nuclear option. It mostly went unused because Bambi don't bake, but I had decided to make cookies for the second Lord of The Ring movie. Lolo and I were driving to theater two cities away so we could see it before it left theaters because we're geeky like that.
Imagine my surprise when smoke started pouring out of the oven before the recipe's ten minutes were up. I tried another batch. This time it spat out charred chunks at the five minute mark. Yanked at three minutes, I couldn't separate cookie from pan. I finally found the perfect balance at thirty seconds with the door half-open. In the end my 60-cookie recipe ended up being a sad sack of twelve cookies. TWELVE!
Nonetheless, any outing that has cookies can be considered successful. Lolo and I spent two hours after the movie talking about medieval military strategy for sieges and advancements in movie technology. Also, the base sexism and stupidity of not training and arming women and children if you know the enemy is going to slaughter them anyway. You know, the usual things us girls like to chat about.
...Well, there was one discussion of Legolas' hotness with Lolo firmly on the "hell no, blondy" side and me on the "but he moves like a cat! imagine the possibilities" side. When Hub and I started dating that conversation came back to haunt me. Lolo made sure of it, Husband-cat being the first blonde I ever dated and all. (I regret nothing.)
BB Legolas. by ~flatbear on deviantART
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