Saturday, July 9

earning the stripes.

i will always try to eat all the cookies.
i mean,
they're singular circles of all things scrumptious,
and they're sweet,
and they're portable,
and i'm just sayin',
they sure do go down the hatch pretty darned easy!
that's what i want.
that's what i've got....
but not for long at this rate-
they make it too tempting, y'know?
plus, you can power down three in a row without breathing hard,
and that's really the secret to successful cookie crushing.
quantity and rapidity-
like, the efficiency of shark-gluttonous action.
this particular batch of treats is especially good.
i know, i KNOW,
i say that every time,
but i can't help but tell the truth, man.
check the see-for-yourself-type teleport:

there're chunks of freeze-dried strawberry in there,
and brown sugar,
and half a cup of sour cream.
vegan sour cream, obvi,
does that sound wrong?
it makes 'em sooooo smooth, tho-
and in contrast to the chunks of berry,
and the millions of miniature chocolate chips.
a little extra blendy bloppage never hurt anybody.
i didn't actually count the chips, btw, but i used a lot.
here's how it worked:
1 stick of butts
1 cup of brown sugar
.5 tsp salt
2 tsp vanilla
^creamed together, and blended with
.5 cup vegan sour cream
2.25 cups flour
1 pkg freeze dried berries
.5 tsp lemon extract
3/4 pkg mini dark chocolate chips
1 tsp lemon juice
that's it.
375F for 13 minutes,
and we can call that a cookie, kids.
the real activation came from the icing.
crushed strawberries, lemon juice, lemon extract, vanilla, powdered sugs,
and a drip and a drop of almond milk,
blended thick to keep it rich and right and ready,
without being all kinds of runny.
coupled with ganache?
that's the hottness you can see,
and the even-hotterness you can taste.
i doo-do that cookiemonstrous-style sh!t.
that's real.
in other news,
i feel a little like the bandleader on a sinking ship.
i'm serious.
i'm the ONLY artist at the studio,
playing loud, fresh, and hard,
as we droop a little lower,
and get a little saltier,
as this deck we're hittin' slips towards sealevel...
i don't hate it.
not one bit.
i'm wary of the sustainability of the situation.
i don't mind working a lot,
i don't even really mind doing all the doo-doo walk-ups,
but i'm unsure of whether or not i can maintain a non-stop rockin' pace,
day in and out, early to late,
for a whole entire entire summer.
i s'pose we're going to find out,
and honestly, i'm up for the challenge-
i may be the sour deal of the decade,
but i'm still cranking away at the stacks on stacks of tall orders and hard styles
that this woodsly goodsly gulag can dispense.
that's my move, for now.
grinding away the rough edges,
grinding away at those movie checks,
grinding away until i'm either a smooth sunovab!tch,
or i've been gristed into flour.
and i'd make the sourest of doughs, from the bitterest of seeds, son.
it's all really happening,
and i'm over here like the milky way man,
the ol' cucaracha dishwasher-
holding fast in the face of chaos,
mostly because i know how this story plays out.
i have a lot of work to do,
i have less time than i thought to do it all,
and none of it is really taking shorts in a triage scenario-
everything has to happen, because it all always really is.
i'm faced with a quandary, friends-
keep playing until my trumpet gurgles underwater,
or build a raft, and sail off towards more welcoming seas.
the party is/is not over,
but i may still come crash on your shores;
never quiet, never soft.....

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