Bad cookie

I just baked bad cookies. It wasn’t my fault, really. I followed the recipe, the same recipe from my Best Recipe cookbook that never fails. It was the oven. I swear. I should have figured out something was wrong when after preheating the oven and opening the door, my face wasn’t hit with an overwhelming burst of heat. Instead, I was greeted by a comfortable warmth, the kind of warmth you’d feel if you were under a fleece throw on a chill night. I wishfully thought, “Hm…odd, but maybe this is what 350 degrees feels like.” I should have known better.

I put the cookies in there anyway and set the timer. Fifteen minutes passed and the cookies were just beginning to slowly melt. I turned up the heat and moved the rack closer to the top, hoping that the rules of physics would cook these cookies. But, nope. I set the timer for another three minutes and turned the heat up to 400. Still not done. Five more minutes and 425. Still a little bit goopy. Five more minutes and up to broil, and the cookies were still not golden brown. They were pale and soft as sponges. They looked like my belly, an unpleasant sight.

Quressa said they should be okay to eat. I was impatient and acquiesced, scraping two cookies off the cookie sheet with my spatula. They were indeed goopy and tasted like sugary butter with a strange gummy texture. Not good at all. And definitely there was no way I could send these to Eleanor at camp. I want my cookies to be the envy of all camp cookies, cookies that will make campers cry that I only sent a dozen. I will try again, once the oven gets fixed. In the meantime, I have four bad cookies with which to figure out what to do. Perhaps cookie sculptures?