Look y'all, there is a reason that my husband does most of the cooking around here. When he makes stuff, it is exquisite. People drool. They make yummy noises. They're willing to put up with our disaster of a house and our constant bickering (just ask my sister-in-law and her husband. Tommy and I are totally just like...that couple on that old show where the old dude sits in the chair and says rude stuff and the wife has curly hair and putters around and they argue all the time. Except we don't do any of those things besides the arguing part) just to eat the things he makes. I, on the other hand, can barely follow a recipe. Frozen pizzas frequently appear on the table undercooked. I didn't even know how to crack an egg when I met the man. I would put stuff into cold water first and then slap it on the stove to boil. Stuff that wasn't rice. Stuff that was noodles or vegetables. Noodles and vegetables. It was bad.
But last week, when I resolved to be Super Totally Momish for the entire day, I was forced, against my will and the very call of reason, to prepare a batch of cookies with the assistance of my two toddlers. It was a real case of the blind leading the blind.
How Not To Make Chocolate Chip Cookies
1. Tell your three year old boy that you are going to make COOKIES! YAY! before you check to see that you have all of the necessary ingredients.
2. Upon discovering that you only have half a bag of chocolate chips, do not make half a batch of cookies. Do not make a full batch with only half the chocolate. After perusing the stash of leftover Easter candy, do not decide to cut up chocolate eggs, which are, in fact, made entirely of chocolate. INSTEAD, cut up eight miniature twix bars which contain chocolate, caramel, and wafer (triple underline that baby right there) and add them to the half empty bag of chocolate chips.
3. When you realize that the butter is still in the fridge and therefore not "softened" (as per the instructions), toss two sticks into the microwave for 12 nanoseconds because you are deathly afraid of exploding butter. If you have no idea what I am talking about when I refer to "exploding butter", then this recipe is probably not for you. Feel the butter. Note that it may not be technically "soft" but decide that it can't be that important. Right?
4. When you begin to mix together the dry ingredients (see? I know what I'm talking about. Sort of) notice two things: a) that you own the most enormous box of baking soda you have ever seen in your life. Spend more time taking photos of said remarkably large box than you do on actually preparing the cookies
5. What kind of house is this? Who the heck runs out of All Purpose flour? It serves all purposes. Isn't it some kind of mandatory element once you have more than, say, 1.6 children? Who's in charge around here anyway?
6. Decide that the whole wheat flour you discover will not only be a fine substitute but that it will also make the cookies healthy. Do not modify any of the other ingredients to compensate in any way. Mentally pat yourself on the back for your innovation and contribution toward ending youth-onset type 2 diabetes.
7. Double the amount of walnuts that the recipe recommends.
8. Turn the mixer speed way up and then way down and then way up and then way down in an effort to get all the stuff (cold butter) that is jammed inside the whisk attachment to come flying out and mystically "cream together". As per the recipe. Repeat as necessary for up to and including 19 minutes.
Friends, I do not know what a hamster snack is, but if I did, I would say these were just like them. Only enormous. An enormous snack for some kind of freakish rodent. They were gritty. They were obscenely sweet. They were paper thin. They were translucent.
If you don't have kids of your own, I imagine that you were a kid at some point in your life so I will ask all of you this question: Is it possible for a child, when presented with a cookie that ostensibly contains all of the desired ingredients, to dislike the fine treat that has been handed to them? I think yes. They claimed (I never imagined I'd raise such skilled liars. They're surely angling for something.) that they were fine. Yummy even. But the looks on their faces told a much different tale.
Please, if you have any sense of self preservation, don't ever let me tell you how to cook. Well, okay, let me tell you how. I love telling people what to do. But please, whatever you do, do. not. do. what. I. say. It can only end one way and that way is not with you winning the Nobel Prize for Bake-tastic Goodness (or whatever award they have for cooking. I don't know these things. I mean, did you read what happened with the cookies?!).
For the prompt at Mama Kat's: A recipe that went all kinds of wrong.