If it came down to a life or death situation I could paint a pretty awesome jungle mural or whip up some delectable crab wontons. I could style a bride's hair, give a french manicure or a healing head massage. I could probably even make a life-like bouquet of tissue paper flowers. (If you are trying to think of a situation where any of these skills could save a life, stop trying. It could happen, just go with it.)
But if threatened with the end of my life, no matter how hard I tried, there just seems to be no way for me to produce eatable cookies.
I just threw away a whole batch of rosemary shortbread dough. Shortbread. How hard is that? I printed off a fail-proof recipe from the internet and set about mixing it all up. I didn't start my project until late last night and the dough had to refrigerate for an hour. I was pretty tired so I thought, "Emily you are so brilliant! Jut make the dough tonight and bake them tomorrow. An hour, 10 hours, what's the difference?" Apparently there is a big difference because when I pealed back the lid of my storage container this morning, the whole thing was sour.
I've thrown away more batches of failed cookie attempts than I care to admit. Even Andy, who is quick to praise almost everything that comes from my kitchen, shakes his head at my baking. Each time I watch the pathetic lumps of baked dough drop into the garbage can I think, "I've learned my lesson. I won't even bother any more. I'll just admit defeat." But then the random cookie craving hits, or my need to produce something, and what do you know, I'm back in the kitchen studying the cookbook and promising to follow the recipe EXACTLY this time.
That is my problem. Baking allows for no creativity. Too much of one thing or too little of another and it doesn't work out. I prefer to just throw together ingredients that I think will combine nicely. Just wing it. That doesn't work in the cookie world though. Too bad.
So once again I have wasted perfectly good butter, sugar and flour and have nothing delicious to show for it. Now you know my short coming. Cookies. Don't ask me to make them for you. I can't do it. I really admit defeat this time.