‘Tis the season to bake cookies. My Kitchen Aid (which my parents bought me while I was in high school, that is how much I heart baking) thoroughly enjoys working its Kitchen Aid magic—beating those yokes, fluffing that frosting. So I would like to run down my Christmas Cookie List with you.
Chocolate Chip Cookies
Peanut Butter Blossom Cookies
Sugar Cookies
S’mores Cookies
Gingerbread Men Cookies
Chocolate Mint Wafer Cookies
Coconut Sandwich Cookies
Double Chocolate Cranberry Cookies
Hazelnut Meringues
Chocolate-Pistachio Cookies
Chocolate-Espresso Snowcaps
I know writing cookies after the majority of the cookies listed is a tad redundant since I told you it is my cookie list, but so is making twelve different types of cookies. Plus, I want to see how many times I can write cookies…we are at sixteen, seventeen if you include the use of the word cookie. So far Oatmeal and Chocolate are crossed of the list, which leaves me with ten different types of cookies to make before I have to leave out the milk and cookies on the big day. Yes, I still do the whole milk and cookies thing, I like to make my dad happy, and by dad I mean SANTA.
I know that after stuffing my face with the cookies I slave over a 375 degree oven to create, I will not be satisfied. There will always be one more cookie that I need to force feed myself with. There will always be one more recipe in my catalogue of Everyday Food magazines that is waiting for me to schmear dough all over it. If I felt nourished I would stop eating the heavenly treats that are produced by my nimble hands. But I can’t. My dad went on a liquid diet yesterday; apparently that is fun to him. Why not go on a liquid diet one day out of the month? Makes complete sense. When he told me what he was doing, I looked at him with a cookie hanging out of my crumb covered mouth, and informed him that I was doing the complete opposite.
My inability to show self restraint when it comes to cookies leads me to believe that I gain nourishment not from the cookies themselves, but from the process of sculpting a masterpiece. I become relaxed when I add my first stick of butter into Big Red. Rolling out sugar cookie dough fills me with glee—if you poked my tummy, I too would say “He He.” I find an immense amount of joy in watching my brothers scarf down a batch of Peanut Butter Blossom Cookies like it is their job. I don’t make cookies to nourish my physical body, though that’s probably obvious since only Santa can pull of the whole bowl full of jelly look. I make cookies to nourish my soul.
People get stressed out around the Holidays; you are probably biting your nails right now. Everyone has to find something that will fill their cookie jar. Try baking some S’mores cookies, I highly recommend them.
P.S. The total number of appearances made by the word cookies was twenty-eight, thirty-two if you include the word cookie. Sadly, that does not even come close to the amount of happiness I will be consuming by the end of this week. Dear Santa, please bring me a high metabolism.
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