I had an incident last week, that until now, has been quite difficult to think about. I fancy myself a delightfully decent cook. I don't come up with my own recipes. But I'm a great direction follower, and if I'm feeling adventurous I will embellish recipes liberally.
But last week, I failed miserably at making peanut butter cookies. I would like to blame it on being a bad recipe, but I'm not entirely sure that was the issue. Instead of being chewy, peanut buttery, and delicious they tasted like baking soda. Yuck.
It was a major ego blow, especially after I had really talked 'em up to Dr. J. He was nice about it, and told me it wasn't my fault and that it must have been a bad recipe, then downed a scoop of tiramisu frozen yogurt. And I agreed.
But my incessant desire for perfection left me feeling dissatisfied and generally aggravated. I needed to know WHY these cookies were gross. I reached an epiphany while reviewing the recipe. The epiphany was followed by a sinking feeling. I may or may not have (I really don't know...just suspect) used 1 tablespoon of baking soda when I needed a teaspoon. Oops. In America, people are innocent until proven guilty. So I didn't tell anyone. Until now.
Please don't tell anyone I can't measure!
I'm retrying (new recipe) peanut butter cookies in the am and I hope to share them with friends this weekend. I do my best work under pressure.