All I Want is to be Home

Well, these posted backwards, despite my best efforts, but here goes nothing.

We're finally home -- back in the Upper Midwest, Ophelia and I are. We are SO happy. It's cooler. It's lush. I walk out my back door and I see a Bluff in the distance. This is all pretty awesome.

Since we got to NC, our goal was to get back. We're here now; we're home. And we're lovin' it.

Finally, after a week, the kitchen is set up, and Ophelia was ready to roll. Her first project were these cookies, also known as cookies to die for. They are seriously that good. Like "take the last cookie and I'll hunt you down" good.

Apparently the recipe is from a book called Beat This but I got it from my cousin Dan. I ate three of them. Don't judge me.

What do you think of our new kitchen digs? Ophelia loves that she has a little counter all to herself. She's made friends with the recipe box, so no fighting there for attention. They work well together.

We're still adjusting, but hey, we're here! Looking forward to more baking in this space!

M&O Productions

The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship...

Welcome to my new blog, chronicling my undying love and affection for my new, shiny, lovely Kitchenaid mixer Ophelia (see my account information for more on how Ophelia was named) and all things foodie (I'm sure there will also be snippets of life around here, as well). Yes, I'm jumping on the food blog wagon. Now, if it's anything like 4th grade and the Oregon Trail, I am going to kick ass at this.

Now, those of who you know me, know that I have a bit of an obsession with Ina Garten (Barefoot Contessa) and her amazing powers of food awesome. Yesterday, I made her chicken piccata with her roasted vegetable orzo salad. And then I spent the rest of the night in a lemon-induced Ina stupor. My friends topped the night off with brownies and this killer cookie dough frosting (P., I need this recipe, hint hint:). This was a good thing, as we then went to see Momma Mia. What a sour end to the night, although the music and company was good. So, I came home and baked. And then I baked some more the next day, as well. ABBA said to take a chance, so I thought I would. Story as follows:

Again, those of you who know me also know my consternation with cookies. I can bake bars like Martha Stewart on crack. Pies and cakes have nothing on these meaty Midwestern hands. But, cookies. Cookies, my friends, are the place in the trail where, instead of hiring a guide to get across the river, I consistently try to ford it myself, and sink every time. Every time I think it's going to be different. Every time I flunk out. I burn them, or leave them doughy. I make them uneven and flat, almost disgusting. How do you make disgusting chocolate chip cookies? Talent, I tell you. Talent and sheer dumb ass bad luck. Chocolate chip cookies are, quite literally, the bain of my existence. They taunt me in my sleep, the bag of chips calling me names from my kitchen and daring me to try to make them again. Never one to forgo a challenge, I always answer. I've tried the recipe on the back of the Toll House bag of chips, in my Good Housekeeping cookbook, on AllRecipes.com, from my family's own recipe stash. None of them have been successful. I made three, count them three, batches last night. All of them are not great. One is marginal, the other two down right ridiculous. Back to the drawing boards. Anyone have a great chocolate chip cookie recipe and dummy-proof instructions they'd care to share? Ophelia would appreciate it.

Signed,

Cookie Monster

PS -- to tide you over until I post some food pron, above is a picture of Ophelia at the start of our inappropriate relationship (read: my undying love, admiration and worshiping at poor Ophelia's shrine). Ophelia had no idea what she was getting into. My amazing friends have created a baking monster. At least I love her a lot.