[I have a thing I like to do. They call it cooking. There are a few favorite things I enjoy whipping up, but ultimately I enjoy all recipes, even if it only requires separating perforated cookie dough squares and arranging them on a pan.]
Last night I made quite the southern dish of rice and gravy with
a side an entire plate of cookies. There were also some mashed potatoes involved, but I swear they weren’t instant. I wouldn’t be a real chef if I dared to make something so atrociously easy. Oh yes, that’s right, I am in fact not a chef. Thank you Idahoan loaded style instant mashed potatoes. Without you, how would I ever have gotten all of those chocolate chip packed squares divided in time? Whew.
After I clicked the last burner knob into the off position, I realized I hadn’t the slightest intention of eating anything I prepared. From the cookies to the ridiculous vat of rice and gravy, I had enough food and dessert to easily feed a family of four. Sadly, I am but one measly person. Why did I make an entire package of cookies? I don’t even eat cookies. Like ever. At least, I rationalized, the rice and gravy was not a lost cause seeing as I could eat off of that all week. But, the cookies? The cookies were futile.
I suppose what happened there was the result of my subconscious attempting to create a sense of false comfort by having a plate of cookies sitting on the kitchen counter. When you are young, single, and living in a tiny apartment where you can hear the next door neighbor blinking, it is easy to lose that i’m-at-home feeling. I must have absent mindedly come up with this cookie ploy while lost in the dairy aisle somewhere between the milk and I-can’t-believe-it’s-not-egg… or whatever. While I have yet to eat any of the cookies, maybe, just maybe, the maintenance guy will steal a couple while I am at work. That would be fantastic. I must go take cookie inventory now, but I have left last night’s non-meal recipe below. Bare with me, however, I am not good with specifics when it comes to seasonings. Just throw that shtuff in there until it tastes like Channing Tatum’s abs. Continue reading