HEY GUYS GUESS WHAT I DID
I MOVED ACROSS THE GODDAMN COUNTRY. I’m in LA now to pursue my dreams/whatever. I have a place to live, I have a day job, all’s well. And I’m scared as fuck.
Back at home in DC, I felt excited and energetic and vibrant. My whole sense of self was based on being loud and determined and larger than life. Yesterday, I came back to the house nervous because some dude was a dick in the gym and people keep beeping at me in traffic. I’m uncertain and lonely and fifteen kinds of homesick. And I thought, is this all it takes to make me feel small?
And then I thought, woman, you just drove 2,400 miles. Of course you feel small. Bake some goddamn bread and don’t give up after only three days.
So I baked some goddamn bread. Here’s how.
You ever have a week where all you want to do is break things down to their smallest possible version, smash them flat, and bake them into submission?
Yeah. These are your cookies.
These cookies have other good qualities! They taste like summer. They are ridiculously thin and crisp. You can eat them by the fistful, the flavor profile only deepens over time and they stay good for weeks. But to be completely honest, the main attraction is shredding the shit out of some aromatics and then smashing stuff with a rolling pin.
I’ve made this recipe about 6 times now, but I am only 55% certain that I have discovered all the possible ways to fuck them up. I do not understand cookies. Cakes, I get. Cakes, I can diagnose like a human pastry tricorder. Cookies? I have never known what is going on in those flat bastards. I may never know. So I did some things, and they worked, but I can’t really guess why. These are catharsis cookies, not Greek Theater 302: The Cookies Of Emotional Completion. Proceed with caution.