First, the triumph. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you (as yet unbaked, in this picture) CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE PIE.
That's homemade pie crust, by the way. The story behind this beauty is that - well, you may recall that I'm not eating candy at all these days, and other treats only on Fridays. Jeremy recently decided to join me in this effort, which is great for the solidarity effect. But. Having Jeremy along for the ride means that he encourages me to push the envelope a little. Like last Thursday night, when we were hanging out and I mentioned how I could hardly wait until Friday to make Chocolate Chip Cookie Pie. He said, "why don't you make it tonight, and we'll eat it after midnight?"
You'd better believe that 12.01a on Friday found me sitting on the couch eating a slice of pie. It was soooooo good, but I also don't think I will EVER do that again. When you eat treats only once a week, it's asking a lot of your body to deal with that special occasion in the middle of the night, right before you go to bed. I could feel the effects of it for the next 36 hours. It was...intense. Also: delicious.
Now on to the tragedy, which also happened on Thursday, now that I think about it. Miriam had ballet class at 4.30. I was feeling all smug and with-it when I got dinner all prepped before we left the house, including taking the homemade pizza crusts out of the oven so they could be ready to be topped as soon as we got home.
At least, I thought I took them out of the oven. I smelled smoke when we walked in the door and this is what I found:
So, so sad. I was convinced these were my best pizza crusts yet. But I didn't spend five dollars on fancy American mozzarella cheese for nothing, so I whipped up a fresh batch of pizza crusts (I practically willed the dough to rise faster) and dinner was only what, 90 minutes late? No big deal.
This last one is a culinary triumph, but not my own, except for the fact that it ended up in my tummy;
It's Fattoush from New York Fries, via Dubai Mall. It tasted as good as it looks.
Probably better, actually.
You'd better believe that 12.01a on Friday found me sitting on the couch eating a slice of pie. It was soooooo good, but I also don't think I will EVER do that again. When you eat treats only once a week, it's asking a lot of your body to deal with that special occasion in the middle of the night, right before you go to bed. I could feel the effects of it for the next 36 hours. It was...intense. Also: delicious.
Now on to the tragedy, which also happened on Thursday, now that I think about it. Miriam had ballet class at 4.30. I was feeling all smug and with-it when I got dinner all prepped before we left the house, including taking the homemade pizza crusts out of the oven so they could be ready to be topped as soon as we got home.
At least, I thought I took them out of the oven. I smelled smoke when we walked in the door and this is what I found:
This last one is a culinary triumph, but not my own, except for the fact that it ended up in my tummy;
Probably better, actually.