baby, really, it’s cold outside

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When baking, it is commonly advised that you bring your refrigerated items to room temperature. I don’t know why and since I rarely bake I just do what I’m told. I usually pull my eggs and butter out and re-read the recipe, like, 30 times before embarking on the task which is typically plenty of time for things to come to temp. Typically. Today, though, as the outside temperature never felt the pleasure of hitting double-digits, ‘room temp’ took on a whole new meaning. My butter was warmer in the refrigerator. Always trying to be a clever girl (except for when falling in love with jerks) I decided to warm my butter and my coffee in front of the fire on a makeshift table of sorts. It worked like a dream except for the few ashes in the butter (it’s walnut wood so I thought that it might impart some smokey, nutty flavor) and the fact that my cutting board is now slightly charred. Character, I think.  The result? Six dozen chocolate chip cookies to be distributed to friends and co-workers and the young boys (Me: Mrs. Robinson. Them: Seven Benjamins) across the street. 

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Tomorrow is the Winter Solstice and I plan on burning some items in hopes of getting my house going soon (I GOT THE PERMIT! NO LONGER IN PURGATORY!) and, still, forgetting this stupid pain in my heart. What will you do?

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