"I'll bring dessert to the football game" I said. We're moved in enough to be able to do a little baking. Yeah, right.
Okay, it was just a cookie mix and pretty darn simple but I haven't used an oven where you actually have to bend over and put things in on a lower level. My first concern was that Gracie would come flying out of nowhere like the Cat Out of Hell that she is and land in a hot oven. Not exactly like the "cat on a hot tin roof" but too close to even think about.
So with one eye over my shoulder I slid the cookie sheet into the oven...kinda. Actually due to the slight slope of the cookie sheet they rolled off and into the oven, landing in various places such as the oven rack, the burners and the bottom of the very hot oven. Damn it!
Now there's smoke coming out of the oven and I'm waiting for the smoke alarm to scream and for the cat to leap in.
Snap! How do you get these racks out of here? Since they weren't budging and the smoke was increasing as my burnt offerings to Betty Crocker wafted out of the oven I attempted to scoop them off the burners with my plastic spatula.
Yeah, not a good move, I grant ya. Now the smell of melting plastic was added to the odor of singed cookies. After burning the top of my right hand I managed to figure out how to extract the racks and carefully laid them on the door of the oven.
Reaching over these with my distorted spatula I did manage to scoop up the errant dough pieces and without burning any body parts that begin with the letter "B".
After reinserting the racks I reformed the partially cooked dough (at least those that were worth redemption) on the cookie sheet again and put them back in the oven.
Shortly after applying antibacterial ointment to the blisters on my fingers the timer went off. I peeked inside and declared they could use about one more minute.
This was when one of the new neighbors stopped to say hi and welcome us to the neighborhood. The cookies were forgotten as I chatted away, happy to be in a place where I belonged and could get to know people until the smell of burnt cookies assailed my nostrils. Oh double snap!
I yanked them out of the oven and using the mangled spatula placed them on the cooling racks. Well, they weren't too badly burnt and I really had no options left, no time to try something else or run to the store, so I slathered a copious amount of frosting on them to hide their sins.
Nobody complained about them and most of them were gone when we left. They were crunchy (not my favorite form of cookie) but edible. I think the group was so bummed over how badly the Packers were playing they would have munched on cardboard and not cared.
I would have added photos but my camera battery is dead and I have no idea where the charger is. This is just one of many things that seems to have disappeared in the the Bermuda Triangle of our new home.
Tomorrow is another day.
Long Live the Cookie Queen