There's a moral to this story

This past weekend was full of great food and it was cooked by other people. I didn't cook a thing. Not even toast. That's my favourite kind of food. Stuff that magically appears with no effort on my part. In a previous life I think I was a Princess and people fetched and carried for me  and I didn't have to lift a finger. Somehow I've retained the memory of those wonderful times and I'm spending a lot of my current life pissed off that I have to do all of those things myself. 

On Sunday, we went to Cheesefest so not only did I eat my weight in cheese samples, I also managed to chug down some chips fried in duck fat (mmmm healthy) and a pork belly burger with caramelised apples and some funky (in a good way) BBQ sauce. I'm thinking I may try to recreate those burgers at home. It'd be a great meal to do for a crowd and it was delicious. 

We bought some cheese.  Oh how we bought cheese. I am a cheese-a-holic and if I ever turn into a serial killer and wind up on death row I'm going to ask for a cheese platter as my last meal. And since we have 43 blocks of cheese I'm all ready for guests so if you want to come over please feel free . Bring crackers. Cynthia, you're in charge of bringing wine. 

  

When I got home on Sunday , I felt the urge to bake. Cookies no less. The idea has been rattling round in my head for about a week and would simply not be silenced. That was my first mistake- listening to the voices in my head. I've been trolling Pinterest and the internet looking for inspiration. And I continued searching when I got home from Cheesefest yesterday. Because I was so full of cheese I needed something sweet. After two hours, I finally narrowed it down to Ginger Molasses Cookies or Chocolate Chip.

Then I decided I was feeling way too lazy to bake cookies. 

An hour later, in  a flash of motivation I decided it was now or never.   And I chose Cinnamon and Brown Butter Chocolate Chip.  I'd have those babies done in time for warm cookies for a late supper. That was the plan as it played out in my head. 

This is a slightly complicated recipe. First you have to brown the butter without burning it.  Then you have to cool it to room temperature. Then in another bowl you have to get some of the dry ingredients together. Then you have to add other stuff to the cooled butter and beat it until your arm falls off. Then with your other arm you have to add the dry ingredients. Finally you have to add the chocolate chips and stir them in by hand with a spoon. I used every bowl, measuring cup and spoon in my kitchen.

That's when I took a breather and decided to clean up a bit and turn the oven on to heat in preparation for the delight of baking my own cookies. So I flicked my eye over the recipe to see what temperature the oven had to be on, when out of the corner of my eye I saw this in the recipe. 

Cover the bowl tightly with plastic wrap, and refrigerate the dough for at least 12 hours. 

I'm pretty sure I said WTF! out loud. And you all know how much I abhor swearing. I've heard of resting pastry and even refrigerating cookie dough but for 12 hours? Really? The dough didn't do anything but laze around in the bowl. If anyone deserved a 12 hour rest it was probably me, not that lazy arse cookie dough. But I was determined these cookies were going to be awesome and so I accepted I was just going to have to get up at the crack of dawn and bake those cookies before I went to work. Every time I deviate from a recipe I end up scraping stuff off my ceiling. 

That early am cookie baking? Didn't happen. I got distracted by a load of Bloggers Quilt Festival posts. I excel at finding things to distract myself. 

So when I got home tonight and told Mr. P it was too hot to cook dinner and that I hadn't even eaten lunch until 3pm so I wasn't all that hungry anyway I had totally forgotten I had 23 hour old cookie dough cooling its chips in my fridge. Until I opened the fridge at 7.00pm to get a drink and saw it sitting there looking at me with accusing eyes. By this stage I had 23 hours of my life and about 17.00 bucks in cookie ingredients invested in a finish.

I said WTF! And you all know how much I abhor swearing. And then I took the cooking dough out of the fridge and sat it on the bench to come to room temperature as the recipe called for (making the whole resting in the fridge for 23 hours kind of redundant if you ask me since it was at room temperature yesterday before I put it in the fridge) and then I rolled those cookies into balls and threw them in a 180C degree oven to torture them for 10-14 minutes.

These cookies are da bomb. Cinnamony and chocolatey and buttery deliciousness.  Mine are also the size of man hole covers, so I can eat three without feeling a shred of guilt. Run off and make them now. Just don't forget about the 12 hour compulsory rest after the first leg of the race. 

  

The moral of this story. Things are only ever effortless with food when someone else takes responsibility for it. ( I just sent Mr. P down to the shops to get my dinner - a pack of salt and vinegar chips) Lessons learned: Read the freaking recipe BEFORE you start cooking.