I have not yet been to the gym today, which means that I have to go run at some point. This makes me very unhappy, and is EXACTLY why I usually go first thing in the morning. Then there’s nothing to dread for the rest of the day. I love working out while I’m doing it, and after doing it, but I detest the moments BEFORE I go do it. I also hate trying to find a clean sports bra. I need about 400 more, or maybe just a roll of industrial strength duct tape.
In my fervent denial of pending exercise, I decided to bake my cookies. I made the batter, which was a pretty giant pain in the ass, truth be told. It involved breaking up a LOT of chocolate bars (white, dark, bittersweet) into various sized chunks, a double boiler (a hated device of mine–why deliberately SLOW cooking??), and making a mess that I will have to clean (something I dread more than exercise). I put the first two trays in the oven, and then sat down at the computer to check emails. This is part of my very regular cooking routine: Apply heat, go play on computer. It’s also probably why my keyboard is so gross, as mentioned in an earlier comment to my sister (p.s. the comma key is only working about 30% of the time now).
I had gotten an email from Chris re: some wedding stuff we’ve been mulling over. Like how a trip to Italy is seeming more and more impractical with my school schedule, the strict cruise schedules, and the fact that the right now, the American dollar is worth about the same amount as the free packet of soy sauce that comes in Chinese takeout(I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that in China, they use American dollars to wrap up those packets of soy sauce and sweet and sour sauce so they don’t roll around in the bag during transport). And how we’ll probably have to fight with people at the reception site to allow me to bring in the quantity of fairy lights that I want. So I replied, and it ended up being this EPIC email, with a full description (in novel form) of what my dream wedding would be like. I was so caught up in my own bridefulness that I didn’t even notice that I had left the cookies in for too long, making the bottoms kind of blackened like a cajun seafood dish.
Ordinarily I’d swear for a few minutes, write an email about how Dorie Greenspan is an evil woman, and then throw the lot away. But these cookies were EXPENSIVE to make, and I had successfully gotten the grand rounds guy to pay, again, so I need cookies to give to them. DAMMIT. And I had already told him what kind of cookies (triple chocolate covered cherry with pecans, I called them), so if I don’t find a way to salvage these, I have to make this exact recipe AGAIN, and I don’t even LIKE them. Or making them. And I haven’t even cleaned up from the first batch, and buying the ingredients means I’ll have to eat another half bar of Ghirardelli white chocolate, which was 300 calories I did NOT need to tally yesterday. PISS.
Fortunately, the tops are beautiful, so if I can just sort of remove the very bottoms, then dip the bottoms in melted chocolate…wait. I’m having an epiphany. I think these cookies can be saved like a sinner at an old school Baptist revival. I’ve got to get to work. I may just screw them up further, and you’ll know if that happens, because I’ll just add an amendment to this post consisting solely of variations of the “f-word.”