Rebel Cookies

The neighbors are smoking cigarettes and playing croquet.

The other neighbors are throwing a party in their RV.

We will not speak of my windsurfing session today. Let’s just say I was about to break my rig in half and throw it to the kiters.

One day I told my roommate it might be nice to have more than two sauce pans. He asked why. I said because we might need to use more than two sauce pans. He said what am I? A gourmet cook?

I have since made enchiladas, fried rice, carrot smoothies, couscous and meiso soup. It has been years since this house has seen anything but frozen pizza and Campbell’s. Soon I will make phad thai, black beans and rice, and stir fry. My other roommate has already started calling me the Chef.

There’s something unwholesome about making cookies after dark. I like it.

I turbo-softened the butter using the high-intensity drying light in the bathroom.

While blending the sugar and butter I almost dropped a steak knife on my foot.

The first batch of cookies are out of the oven. I have cracked a PBR in celebration. Or in rebellion.