*Note to readers: I recommend getting thoroughly intoxicated first if you desire the full, authentic experience of baking what I have (not-so-affectionately) deemed drunken peanut butter blossom cookies.
peanut butter, sugar, brown sugar, shortening, flour, vanilla extract, milk, salt, egg, Hershey kisses
- Plop out ingredients into the first bowl-shaped thing you can find that’s big enough to hold everything—i.e. a pot.
- Spill flour, sugar, and baking soda all over self. Let loose a string of choice invectives to relieve self of unpleasant feelings. Spend some time peering at the half-cup of shortening you’re supposed to add with some consternation because what actually is in a half-cup of shortening?
- Mix things by hand because you’re a strong, independent woman, goddammit, with one hell of a muscled arm. You don’t need a bloody mixer.
- Take chunks of the peanut buttery cookie dough and roll into little round shapes reminiscent of eyeballs. Ugh. Why did self think such unappetizing thoughts?
- Stick the pan into oven of fiery death. Forget to wear oven mitts and burn the shit out of your hands. Feel triumphant for about a second because you had a premonition that you were going to burn your hands off by attempting to bake cookies while rather inebriated, then realize that fucking up your hand is nothing to celebrate and resume sulky, dejected baking.
- Wait for cookies to bake.
- Return to oven at 2.5-second intervals to peek at the dough and wonder why it’s not done already so you can crawl into bed.
- Realize you somehow managed to leave it in there for too long in between all your checkings-in and pull out cookies in panic.
- Shove Hersey kisses into each cookie. Spend some time feeling inordinately proud of self for successfully baking the best peanut butter blossom cookies ever made at 3 a.m. on a Saturday morning while half a dozen drinks swish about unpleasantly in your stomach. And they’re not even for you, though some of them will undoubtedly have the privilege of warming your tummy rather than your friend’s new apartment.
- …and then realize with horror that the bloody things are already starting to harden and simulate the consistency of a rock rather than being chewy and soft as desired.
- Decide it is too late to do anything about it (and anyway, your friend is going to eat these, not you) and leave the baking trays and cookies out on table. Stare at the carcasses of used cutlery everywhere and unceremoniously shove all into sink. Will deal with later.
- Crawl into bed.
- Wake up a few hours later all nauseous and headache-y (pre-stages of imminent full-blown hangover) to find entire apartment smelling of peanut butter cookies. Vomit into toilet and promise self you’re never, ever going to drink again for the rest of life.
- Realize in the morning that the reason cookies are like bricks is because you somehow forgot to add milk. Lesson learned: never, ever attempt to make peanut butter blossom cookies while intoxicated. The end.