This could be a fairly substantial wrench in the works of my attempt to live here: Portland destroys chocolate-chip cookies. In the two months (as of tomorrow!) that I've lived here, I have made two batches of chocolate-chip cookies and each time had at least half of the batch stolen from my loving arms by an accident of fate. Portland is for many other things -- donuts, cake, really amazing chocolate-maple torte at the new vegan restaurant on Williams Avenue -- but it is fighting me tooth and nail on my favorite dessert and I do not know if I can live with that.
The first time around my roommate and I made cookies but got lazy and kept half of the cookies in dough form in the fridge. There was a whole ridiculous process involving trying to give a cookie to a boy I like -- me, predictable? -- which went horribly wrong and ended with me accidentally leaving the cookie dough in his car instead. Don't even ask. In any case, it made its way into the fridge of a house I don't frequent, and by now it is either eaten or stale and weird. Information on its condition has not been forthcoming from the consignee and I have decided to write off dough, tupperware, and quite possibly boy as a bad job.
Tonight I have the house to myself. I don't like it much when this happens, actually; I've gotten used to having 49 housemates around at all times and find it creepy to be in a two-story house (we are not even going to discuss the basement) by myself all evening. Goblins, you know, the usual. Plus it's just too quiet and lacking the vague comfortable background noise of not being that dude in the Twilight Zone episode who finds himself the only living person in the world. I digress. My solution to the emptiness, naturally, was to make some cookies to keep me company. This time I located a second cookie sheet and made two batches like a normal person... who forgets that the second batch has been in the oven nearly as long as the first and should not stay in an extra ten minutes. Precisely half of my companion pastries are now hanging out in a sad blackened heap in the trash can.
It may not seem remarkable, but that's because you're not thinking about it logically. I love cookies. I passionately love cookies. I love cookies to the point of inappropriateness. They are kind of the first thing on my mind at more or less all times, including times when cookies are really not supposed to be a priority. (Someday I will probably regret announcing this fact on a blog read by at least three of my ex-boyfriends, but sometimes the truth demands sacrifices.) For me to leave my cookie dough behind, or stop thinking "oh my god cookies soon are they done yet?" long enough to let the cookies burn, indicates something more or less unprecedented in my environment. So I blame the city.
Portland, Oregon: leave your cookies at the city limits. You can get them back from the sheriff when you ride out first thing tomorrow.Posted by dianna at September 11, 2007 09:48 PM