Here’s the problem with how I bake pretty much anything: I approximate. I’d always hoped that baking would become intuitive to me someday, like some kind of untrained culinary genius that shot from the womb of Julia Child, but that hasn’t happened yet. So now I just pretend. It’s like having an Easy-Bake oven at 35 years old, only way more pathetic.
I generally don’t consume my own creations; for me, it’s the process of baking — and Decorating The Shit Out Of Everything — that I really, truly enjoy. I prefer having other people taste-test for me, people who didn’t chain smoke their taste buds away for 10+ years. But these cookies? I pushed small children out of my way to get to them first. I hid them from my loved ones. I ate more than ten but less than twenty. I told my boyfriend to invest in a sexy cookie costume for future role-playing. These cookies made life seem practically bearable. Don’t you wish I’d measured the ingredients now? Welcome to baking with A.D.D.!
Here’s the “recipe,” as far as I can remember. Sometimes I throw stuff in willy-nilly, yelling “BLAM!” and doing a little jazz hands action.
I am always alone when I do this.
Start with the Nestlé Tollhouse Cookie dough recipe, modified as follows:
*Use 1 stick margarine, 1 stick butter
*Add 1/2 cup flour
To the dough, add:
1 cup milk chocolate/1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
1-2 cups shredded sweetened coconut
2 cups oats, rolled or otherwise
1-2 Tbsp orange zest (I used a whole orange)
Bake for 11 minutes at 375. Remove from oven and unhinge jaw. Open giant, gaping maw and pour cookies down throat. Have heart attack. Die happy.