Quincy wanted to bake with me yesterday. She pulled out the chocolate chips and measured them in the pyrex measuring cup. "Just enough for chocolate chip cookies," she told me suggestively. What the heck, I thought. I was in. I'm the type of person who knows herself well. To resist cookie dough is simply ridiculous. It's like trying to jump in the pool without getting wet. If you are the type of person who can resist cookie dough, I don't trust you. Yes there are raw eggs in cookie dough, but I roll the dice with that, too. It tastes like heaven, so I'm willing. We mixed and measured and formed our little cookie dough balls on the baking sheet... All the while nibbling little dough bits as we went. The baker-helper knows she gets special privileges -- licking the beaters, extra sampling of the dough, and the first cookie when it comes out of the oven. Quinny took full advantage.
Today when I came home from yoga, exhausted and purified and starving, nothing in the whole wide world sounded better than a cookie. So I had one (okay, dammit: two) and it made me happy.
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