A Dream Fulfilled

Yesterday, a customer at Albertson’s complained to my husband about the rising price of groceries. A valid complaint, but things got a bit awkward when she likened Albertson’s to Hitler, “raising food prices to kill off the poor people.”

This is not the same woman who refused to purchase pork chops because there were both male and female chops sharing the same package. Fraternizing, if you will. Their pork chop genitals were probably co-mingling. I mean, I get it. No one should be asked to purchase pork chops who are basically having an orgy on that little styrofoam plate. Also, none of this has anything to do with my dream. I just wanted you to know about it.

Now let us run far, far away from pork chops and Hitler. My dream began with this recipe on Sophistimom. I’m not gonna lie to you, America. I was born to purchase a skillet to be used for no other purpose than to bake an inappropriately large chocolate chip cookie. Oh, I might use it to sautee vegetables or something. But even if I do, I won’t be able to help leaning over my broccoli whispering, “You know what you were really meant for, skillet. Don’t forget the night I melted an entire stick of butter in you, added sugar, flour, and an egg. Then I folded in some dark chocolate chips. When we were done, you had the most fulfilling night of your life.”

What? Yeah, it is. An 8-inch, deep dish chocolate chip cookie. And yeah, I know the photo is very poorly lit. But don’t worry – the poor lighting in no way affected the deliciousness of the cookie.

Big Cookie Night was such a big deal that we kept B.T. and Baby Ham up a full hour after their normal bedtime to wait for it to bake. B.T. finished dinner loooong before the cookie was ready, but refused to leave his booster seat. We kept telling him he’d still get to eat the cookie if he got up, but he didn’t believe us.

His eyes look a bit heavy from all the waiting. For a two year old, waiting an hour for something is like an adult waiting two hours. Or a month. Something in that range.

The moral is: bake a big cookie, America. But not all the time. The cookie is meant to fulfill your dreams, not give you heart disease.