G found his apron lying around the house yesterday – the one that his Grandma made for him and reluctantly parted with after Christmas when he specifically asked if he could take it back to Calgary.
‘Can we make cookies’ he asked as he put on his apron. ‘No, not today’ I replied because I had zero desire to eat cookies, much less make them. Which is nothing less than shocking, and possible evidence that the world has changed since Barack Obama took office. ‘But I have my apron on’ he said, as if that is the way one conjures cookies into being.
I relented, of course, because by that point he was already standing on top of a stool by the mixer. Waiting for me.
I remembered that I’d seen a recipe in the latest issue of Bon Appetit that had appealed to me. And I actually had most of the ingredients required. I mean, the butter was already at room temperature……the stars were clearly lining up.
So we mixed butter and sugar and coffee and vanilla (I didn’t have the almond extract called for). And folded in flour and baking powder and salt and chocolate chips.
When I pressed the dough into the pan, I had my doubts. Something just didn’t seem right. And when I pulled the bars out of the oven..I knew my suspicions were correct.
Way too much butter.
Once the bars were cut, and cooling on a rack, there were pools of grease on the cookie sheet, giving me the evil eye. I felt my stomach turn and my languishing cookie appetite vanished.
I don’t have a problem with butter in baked goods, per se. I’ll happily eat piece after piece of shortbread and pretend I don’t know what the number one ingredient is. But when cookies are shiny and my fingers glisten from merely touching them…..that’s not anything I want to eat.
Blame it on the altitude. Or the fact that Canada doesn’t sell its butter in carefully wrapped/marked sticks. Or that I had to hold a crabby Hen whilst baking. Whatever the reason for the failure of these bars deemed delicious by the article’s author, I won’t be making them again.
G was chomping at the bit to eat one of the finished products. After taking two bites he seemed close to tears. ‘I don’t like the coffee in these cookies….next time I don’t want to make cookies with coffee in them’ he wailed as he walked out of the kitchen. His dream shattered.
I felt so badly, I almost suggested we make some other cookies.
Except I was tired. And I’d used up all the butter.