When Josh and I got married I wanted to start out as Super Wife. Our apartment was our first place on our own apart from our parents and the week before we got married and I was living there by myself I cleaned up after every little mess and had so much fun just cooking meals left and right. That phase has long since passed. Trust me.
One night I had a craving for some good ole Nestle Toll House chocolate chip cookies with a cold glass of milk. I wasn't quite ambitious enough at the time to make up my own batch so I drove to Walgreens and got the prepackaged kind in the squares that you just place on a cookie sheet and bake. The only instructions you really have to follow on this one is setting the oven to the right temperature and setting a timer. Easy enough.
The smell started to fill the apartment and I knew we were in for a good treat. After all the slaving in the kitchen over ripping open the packaging, these cookies better be good. I went about my business as the cookies baked and when the timer went off I skipped to the oven excited to see the golden brown cookies with their melted chocolate chips bubbling ever so slightly at the top. What I found was more like this:
I was devastated. How could I ruin the easiest cookies in the world? I'm going to suck at this Domestic Goddess crap. I frantically dug the wrapper out of the trash to make sure I did everything right, temperature: 375 (check) time:9-11 minutes (I did it for 10, check). What the what?! The burned cookies incident would be a mystery until a day or two later when we made a frozen pizza and discovered that to be burned too. What we finally realized is that our oven bakes 20-25 degrees hotter than what the actual temperature is set at. All I could think when we discovered that was, "I AM NOT A FAILURE!"
Since then, most of my baking endeavors have been successful. Most.
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