…in which I finally find a recipe for peanut butter cookies that don’t taste like meat.
I don’t have pictures of the cookies. The Teen and her friend raided the cookie jar. Perhaps they should have attended my church to hear the Good Reverend Doctor preach about gluttony. Only a few lone chocolate chip cookies remain in the cookie jar, begging to either be eaten or to have some new friends join them.
I do have some shots of the Boy enjoying the last cookie.
The Boy serving as my tester.
The seal of approval
I’m trying not to be a snob (ever notice how a statement like this is always followed with a but, however, or some other contradictory ending?!) BUT I have decided to only use quality products in my baking. I tried no name, store brand, and no frills, and they taste just like they sound: crappy.
Now I have peanut butter cookies, oatmeal raisin, and chocolate chips under my belt.
Me thinks it’s time to bake for profit!
* I usually equate this with anyone who does something half assed. This time, I’m using my words for good.