Alright, so you’re thinking about cookies, huh? Not just any cookies, but the ones that give you a bit of an extra… smile. I get it. Sometimes life just throws stuff at you, and you need a way to unwind, to just chill for a bit. I remember this one time, man, it was a doozy of a week. Or was it a month? Felt like a year.
I’d volunteered – volunteered! – to help my cousin Jenny move. Sounds simple, right? Pack some boxes, lift some furniture. Nah. Jenny, bless her heart, is what you’d call a collector. Or maybe a hoarder, depending on your level of patience. Her old apartment wasn’t big, but it was like one of those magic trick boxes, just stuff appearing out of nowhere. We’re talking boxes of ancient magazines she “might read someday,” a collection of, I kid you not, over 200 decorative soaps she never used, and enough yarn to knit a sweater for a giant squid. And everything was “fragile” or “sentimental.”
So there I was, day three, covered in dust I’m pretty sure was older than me, trying to figure out how to safely transport a life-sized cardboard cutout of a movie star I won’t name. My back was screaming, my patience was thinner than cheap toilet paper, and Jenny was debating the emotional significance of a chipped teacup for a solid hour. An hour! For a teacup! I swear, I was about ready to just set up a tent in her old living room and give up on society.
By the time we finally got the last box into her new place – which, by the way, was on the third floor with no elevator – I felt like I’d run a marathon, wrestled a bear, and then tried to explain quantum physics to a toddler. All at once. I got home, collapsed on my couch, and just stared at the ceiling. My brain was fried. My body ached. I needed something, man. Something to just… smooth out the edges.
So, About Those Cookies…
That’s when I remembered I had some… special butter. Yeah, that kind of butter. A friend had gifted it to me a while back, said it was perfect for “creative baking.” Creative baking was exactly what my soul was crying out for. So, I dragged myself into the kitchen. No fancy recipes here, folks. This was survival baking.
Here’s pretty much what I did:
- Got the basics out: Flour, sugar (brown and white, ’cause why not?), an egg, some vanilla extract, baking soda, a pinch of salt. Standard cookie stuff.
- The Star Ingredient: That special cannabutter. I let it soften up on the counter for a bit. Didn’t measure too precisely, just went with what felt right. Maybe half a cup? Ish?
- Mixing it Up: Creamed the butter and sugars together in a bowl with a wooden spoon. No fancy mixer, just good old elbow grease. Beat in the egg and vanilla. Then slowly mixed in the flour, baking soda, and salt until it all just came together. Didn’t overmix it. That’s a rookie mistake, makes ‘em tough.
- Chocolate Chips, Obviously: Dumped in a generous amount of chocolate chips. Again, no measuring. Just poured ’em in until it looked like enough. Maybe a few extra for good measure.
- The Waiting Game (Sort Of): Some people chill their dough. I was not in a chilling mood. I wanted cookies, stat. So I just started dropping spoonfuls onto a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. They weren’t pretty, more like rustic blobs. But who cares about pretty when you’re on a mission?
- Into the Oven: Popped them into a preheated oven. Around 375°F, I think? Watched ’em like a hawk. Took ’em out when the edges were golden brown, maybe 10-12 minutes.
And that was it. Let them cool on the tray for a few minutes before moving them to a wire rack. The whole apartment started smelling amazing, which was a nice change from ancient dust and existential dread. I made a cup of tea, grabbed one of those warm, gooey cookies, and just… exhaled. That first bite, man. It was like a little piece of heaven after a week of pure chaos. Suddenly, Jenny’s 200 soaps didn’t seem quite so infuriating. Almost.
So yeah, that’s my “recipe,” if you can even call it that. More like a desperate plea to the universe, answered in cookie form. Sometimes, that’s all you need.
