I was inspired, at 9:30 on a Sunday night, to follow a simple, three-ingredient recipe that my more Betty-esque friend Audrey had posted on her blog days earlier.
In the process of rolling out the “dough” that I’d created with melted rather than softened butter and whole wheat flour, I was reminded by my fiancé that I had called myself a “decent baker” recently. “I can’t cook, but I can bake,” I had told him as we strolled the aisles of a grocery store a few weeks previous.
But I had to admit tonight that I might be a worse baker than I am a cook.
I haphazardly rolled the dough on our kitchen table—a spot I was reluctant to make greasy (because grease was my problem here), but was desperate for counter space in my New York kitchen.
It didn’t look like Audrey’s.
“Maybe you want to just put some peanut butter on a pan and put that in the oven?” He referenced a hilarious anecdote my dad likes to tell about how I tried to bake peanut butter cookies with one ingredient—peanut butter—when I was younger. My age at the time differs according to who’s telling the story. Dad might say I was… 17. I say I was 10. Regardless, it foreshadows the rest of my kitchen-inhabiting life.
I live with this disability, despite the fact that I love food. Sad, that I can’t eat anything I make or make anything I’d like to eat.
Anyway, here is Audrey’s oversimplified blog post about Scottish shortbread cookies. And here are some photos for comparison:
I tried adding more flour, and then more sugar, to the dough to make it more doughy, but it didn’t work, and it didn’t taste good, and i couldn’t get my heart shapes to stay while transporting from table to cookie sheet. At 9:54 pm, I gave up.
Whatever Audrey. Eat your Scottish cookies then.