I was well on my way to baking the Chocolate Crinkles. I'd shaped the dough into cute little 1" balls and rolled them generously in powdered sugar. Twelve little crinkles in perfect rows. I lovingly picked up my tray to put in the oven.
Today's lesson: Spheres roll.
Four little crinkles rolled off of the tray and met their Maker on the 350-degree heating coil at the bottom of the oven. Tiny flames flicker around the coil and suddenly big billows of smoke gush from the oven.
Kim: "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!"
I slammed the oven door shut and turned it off. The smoke crept out the sides of the oven door. Panicked, I hit the fan atop the range hood and ran into the hallway to fan the smoke away from the detector.
Kim: "ohpleasedon'thavethesmokealarmgooffDavid'sstillsleepingandit'll scare him to death"
After a few moments I opened the oven door again and rescued the immolated crinkles with nothing but a BBQ fork, a
metal spatula, and a steady hand. Unfortunately, the bottoms are now charred to the oven floor. So tomorrow I have to clean the oven before I do anything else. Joy.Kim: "My cooooooooooooooooooookies!!"
Dough is back in the fridge until tomorrow.
Some days you ain't meant to bake cookies, I guess.
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