Yesterday I baked a couple of batches of espresso biscotti dipped in dark chocolate. I had never made biscotti before, mainly because I’d never particularly cared for overly-hard cookies, but I had some this past weekend in a coffee house on my trip out of town and it was all kinds of delicious. Since I had never made it myself, I really had no idea what to expect, what the dough’s consistency is supposed to be, how it’s supposed to look going into the oven and so on. The dough? Is super gooey-sticky and I’m supposed to get it out of the bowl onto a lightly floured surface. Lightly floured means that you’re really going to need about a cup’s worth just to be able to knead it into something manageable and to prevent your hands from becoming espresso biscotti dough gloves because this stuff isn’t kidding around with the sticky. Fortunately I had the foresight to remove my wedding rings to prevent their certain destruction. I would have taken pictures to document my progress but I couldn’t operate the camera over the noise of my excessive profanity.
[Totally unrelated side note: the heater just kicked on and slammed a door shut somewhere in the house and I screamed like a little girl]
The biscotti turned out fabulous and today I’m going to attempt a lemon variety because I am determined to master this skill. I am nothing if not obsessive compulsive.
Shop til you drop or your husband says to stop. It’s the beginning of the year so Mr. Farklepants and I had the annual discussion of pulling in the reigns on spending until after tax season. Well, more like he made his annual declaration and I engaged in my annual listening. And the minute his statement falls out of his mouth I decide that the sweater I recently purchased is the best thing I’ve ever bought and I must go back and get one in every color. As if he just said to me, “we have to be careful about duck duck goose.” Which is another reason why I’m baking. It will keep me occupied so that I do not get in my car and go spend $100 on four $25 sweaters at H&M. Because sometimes I’m compelled to do exactly what I was asked not to do. I’m like a toddler that way.