Riding on a cookie cloud

A massive blizzard ruined all our retail therapy plans for the weekend. So we did what all normal people do,sat inside warm houses chugging cups of steaming hot chocolate and catching up on some favorite shows. But unlike others who would have made a sensible choice of watching some beaten to death reality shows PC Man decided to tune in to the food network.

I have nothing against food network really. It always warms my heart to see people effortlessly whipping up dishes after dishes giving domestically challenged people like myself those delusions of grandeur that even we could easily be running a gourmet restaurant. Just as I was enjoying such moments of fantasy PC Man interrupted by a comment of how we should perhaps try making some home made cookies. Herein lies the difference. While such shows give me the sensible inspiration to dial for a take out he gets the inspiration to cook.

He is an eternal optimist and bless his kind soul he still has hopes that his wife would someday prove to be as good as any of those crisp white apron clad ,knife wielding chef. It was hard in the beginning to break the news gently to him as to how culinary challenged I was while he looked up every time thinking I would produce a sadya feast in a jiffy. But years have mellowed him down and he has now scaled down his expectations to bare minimum standard which I happily continue to maintain. But on this particular day I guess the cold from the outside had crept into my brain and caused the whole system to freeze that I found myself even weighing that option.

I have had no doubts on my baking skills. They are outright non existent. Every time I have gone near the oven it gives out a creepy get-away-from-me vibes so strongly that till date I have tried to minimize our rendezvous as much as possible. We get along with each other but let's say we are not the thickest of friends. But then again the brain freeze had rendered me incapable of recalling all the bad blood between us. Ina Garten's pretty pink apron and Anna Olsen's Soft clean oven mitts bewitched me. Perhaps the curse of the baking gods would finally be lifted and like the lady of the cake I could maybe do a good job at this. After all it was baking cookies and no rocket science,right?

......Umm....WRONG!

So we set out with PC Man surfing the inter of the net to hunt for that perfect foolproof recipe. We hit a jackpot where the mission would get accomplished by following just 3-4 steps. It even had rave reviews from 50 odd people. Souls as culinary challenged as myself falling over themselves thanking the lady for providing such a easy peasy recipe. Yep,this was it PC Man decided. Knowing very well never to leave the preparations to his super skilled wife he got hands down getting the sugar,butter and flour. Carefully weighed it all to exact proportions he mixed them all and handed them to me so I could just give it that magical fuzzy touch. Elated and dizzy I mixed them all with my daft seasoned hands dreaming of giving those wannabe chefs a run for their money. Iron Chef America,move right over and hail for the new star chef in town.

Soon enough under adept guidance and watchful eyes of PC Man the dough was ready. Nothing could go wrong now could it?I assured him I could totally take over from here and he should just go plop himself on the sofa and wait for some tantalizing goodies. I got the fancy cookie cutter wiping it clean a la master baker style ,cut it all out and plated them over the sheet and voila!into the oven...Perfect!I beamed.

Waited patiently for 25 minutes with my nose in the air for that warm aroma to fill my wannabe chef heart.

The smell did come.....

Not exactly aromatic but sort of waxy....a wee bit burnt. Hmm time to check the oven...

Smoke blinded me for a moment...checked the cookies,nothing seemed wrong. Perhaps need some more cooking time,a little smoke is perhaps natural my frozen chef brain told me and I obliged..

10 minutes went by. My beauties still didn't look ready for the pageant.

Gave it another 10 minutes undeterred by the, now wee bit strong burning wax smell.

Ignoring my elite chef advice at the end of 40 minutes the exasperated PC Man decided to check on the little beauties and let out a loud yelp. I mistook it to an expression of elation until the smoke filled the whole room. Wading through it all like a badly choreographed bollywood dance number I found my way into the kitchen ,where PC Man stood looking not so pleased with something that resembled a nasty hideous blackened alien forms stuck steadfast onto the sheets.

Hmm..still wondering what happened??read on...

I totally place the blame on the recipe for deceiving me. In the interest of all my fellow culinary challenged brethren I hereby issue this precious little tip - This wax paper guy is nasty. Not only does he leave your cookies charred and stuck hard on to himself which no force on earth can remove ,smokes like a chimney inside the oven and he will get fire engines knocking at your door. NEVER confuse him with parchment paper guy who is perhaps more sweet and baker friendly.

Sigh! But I think I just got an inspiration out of this to write a guide book for HOW NOT TO BAKE to share all my gleaned knowledge with the likes of my tribe. I will also probably throw in an offer of being the first to taste my baked goodies as a part of the book promotion . Perhaps a fancy cover like " The tales of Beedle the Bard" and hand written notes and caricatures I might even convince amazon to buy the rights and I could make a fortune *daydreams away*
With such a irresistible offer I'm sure my book will be the on the best sellers list in no time. Any courageous guinea pigs takers out there??