E.V.B.O. Part II

This is the follow up installment to E.V.B.O Part I, click here to read.


So I arrived for the Extreme Vanilla Bake-Off with ingredients, champagne and an electric mixer. [Note: for future culinary experiment/dates, hold them in your own kitchen. You’ll have your own equipment on-hand (e.g.: artisan mixer) and you’ll effortlessly know your way around, decreasing any disorientation that will crush your culinary adeptness and hold you victim to flirtatious nerves.] The experiment began well. We opted for the standard recipe, but decided on the mini-cookie version to facilitate smaller tasting sizes. After all, I wouldn’t want to get sick from too many cookies and have to go home, right? When it came time to add the vanilla, we split the dough into two batches, and our experiment immediately became a contest. I went to measure out the first addition of vanilla. Full disclosure, I was totally distracted by where the measuring spoons were, where the vanilla was—the fact that I really wanted to kiss this guy who was making me laugh and standing just close enough to drive me crazy—and so, of course, the extract went everywhere but the measuring spoon. (See note re: date location above). I stammered out something about the consistency of the vanilla and tried to find paper towels to mop up the now vanilla-y range. He, deservedly, laughed at me. Ok, back to the task at hand. We quadrupled the amount of vanilla in my batch; his was the control. I quipped about his ability to drop teaspoons of dough evenly onto a cookie sheet, and tried not to drink my champagne too fast. The cookie dough tasted amazing (mine considerably stronger on the vanilla—a good sign); we each got one beater to lick clean, and I realized things must be going well considering we were completely comfortable acting like sugar-crazed five-year olds in front of each other, licking spoonfuls of dough and, well, forgetting to check on the cookies. I smelled something burning, and my stomach sank. Wasn’t the timer supposed to go off? I pulled both trays from the oven. A minute more and they would have been scorched to a black crisp. Though not unbearable, the cookies were burnt enough to erase the subtle detection of any vanilla variation. My grand visions of vanilla conclusions began fading fast. What had happened? That’s when I was told the oven hadn’t really been working properly. (See note re: date location above). We still strained our taste buds to test the vanilla, but to no avail. I immediately suggested E.V.B.O. take two in MY kitchen. We did have fun, after all. And even though the extreme vanilla threshold remains unknown, I did discover a direct correlation between the level of cookie dough consumption and the brazen lack of self-control for a crush.