|Thanks to the Two Writing Teachers blog for hosting Slice of Life Tuesday!|
Rage baking is easy. It's just like regular baking...except more dramatic. You get out all of your rage, and you end up with (in my case) chocolate chip cookies. A win-win, really.
So, last night, when the mean reds were circling around me like vultures looking for a meal, I knew what to do. I peered into my pantry and spied the bag of Ghiradelli chocolate chips I had hidden in the back corner in an attempt to fool my sweet tooth. The package crinkled in my hands as I grabbed it and tossed it onto the granite countertop behind me. My silver canisters of flour, sugar and baking powder followed and were soon joined by the eggs and two (!) sticks of butter that the recipe on the back of the bag called for.
I lined up my ingredients like a soldiers ready to head into battle. And with that, the rage baking began. I tossed flour, annihilated eggs (no shells, don't worry), liquefied butter, and beat it all together into submission. Despite the sweet aroma that floated around me, my brow remained furrowed as I dug the mixers even deeper into the glass bowl that held my concoction. The oven chirped a cheery tune, signaling that it was preheated and ready, but I wasn't ready to be cheerful. Yet.
I eyed the recipe on the bag. Two cups of chocolate chips. I scoffed. A mood like this calls for the whole bag. An evil grin spread across my face as I shook the bag until every last chip was in the bowl. As I folded the chocolate in (more aggressively than necessary), I realized that I was already starting to feel better.
Scoop, plop, repeat. My tray that has the evidence of years of rage baking written all over its well-seasoned surface filled up quickly with tiny mounds of batter that would soon morph into rage cookies. I opened the oven and shoved my first batch in, slamming the door.
As my kitchen filled with the seductively sweet aroma of freshly-baked cookies, I felt the mean reds fade into a more subdued rosy hue.
Rage baking: works every time.