All of my blog posts seem angry, don’t they?

Today I made cookies. Maybe I’ll post pics later, but what I can tell you was that they were a pain to make. Now, I am quite good at making cakes and brownies because I’ve had a lot of practice, but it has been quite some time since I’ve made cookies, so I just went from the recipe on the back of the box of mix.

I had to add one egg and a softened stick of butter. My first thought was How the hell is this gonna turn into a mix with these ingredients?

Turns out, I probably should’ve had one of those electric mixer thingies, but all I knew to use was a whisk. So sure, I popped the butter in the microwave and let it “soften” for a bit. I added the mix and cracked the egg, then picked out the little shell fragment with my fingernails.

Unsure of what exactly to do next, I pulled that old stir-the-mix trick and stuck the whisk into the bowl of eggy, buttery, powdery wonder. After a minute of breathing in the cookie dust that had arisen as I stirred the now hardening butter into the mix, I pulled out a fork and literally started mashing the mess I was trying to make into dough.

The butter had formed little cookie-mix-powder-covered balls and was sticking to everything- the whisk, the fork, the bowl, and to itself. I finally gave up and shoved my hands into the evil mix, kneading it like people back in the olden days before electric whisks probably had to do. It was actually extremely fun, and if there is any such thing as over-mixing cookie dough, you can be sure that I did just that while I mashed the hell out of it.

Finally, I made the dough into little letter shapes, stuck them on a cookie sheet or two and stuck them in the oven. Once the timer was set, I spent the waiting time dancing around the kitchen to some good old Panic!, with frequent trips to check the state of the cookies I had worked so hard to create.

Finally, about ten minutes after they had first met the fires of the cookie forge, I was able to pull from the oven a lovely smelling batch of Funfetti cookies, spelling out in broad, clumsy letters, PROHIBITION.

Cheers to you, National History Day, for having a project that allows me to host work parties and create yummy treats for my partners and I. And cheers to my hands, for willingly taking on the messy task of creating workable dough out of the cookie mix from hell.