When it comes to cookies, I've never really been for what the amateurs call "subtlety." I like 'em gooey. And overloaded. I want 'em hefty. And chewy. With at least one layer of ganache and two of caramel. And if you can squeeze some frosting in on top, well, I'm not going to complain.
The holiday season is here for reals, guys. Snow flurries are falling, cheeks are rosy, and children are penning letters to Santa.
Which is why I've barricaded myself in the kitchen, brought eight pounds of butter excruciatingly slowly to room temperature, and covered every person, animal and thing in the house in a fine layer of flour dust.
That's right. It's cookie time.
Dear Greek Yogurt: I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but you're not fooling anyone. Well, actually, you appear to be fooling everyone. But not me. Do you know how many years it took me to get to the point where I could choke down regular yogurt? Like, twelve. Other members of the white-and-creamy family? Not so lucky. Cottage cheese will never grace this table. And Fred? We do not even speak its name. But here you come, sashaying in, glooping it up like the King of Creamytown. Ick.
There's a spider on my laptop. Like, right now. As I'm typing.
I have protocols in place for dealing with this sort of thing. Well...I have wadded-up Kleenex. Same diff. But this guy isn't skittering around. He's just sitting there being leggy. And violence in the face of such passivity seems sort of rude.
But that doesn't mean I'm not concerned about his agenda. In fact, given his behavior over the last couple of weeks, I think this might be the spider version of being on strike. So far he hasn't made any demands, but I feel like this prolonged lurking must be a prelude to some kind of extortion. If I start offering up recipes for cardamom-fly smoothies, please come save me.
