Om nom nom nom nom

Since one of my husband's favorite foods, ranking right up there with "meat," is the chocolate chip cookie, it's always sort of been my mission to find the perfect recipe for this sweet treat. I decided to scan the Internet for the most acclaimed and popular ones and landed on two finalists: The Real Simple recipe and the New York Times recipe.

I made the Real Simple cookies back in August, just a few days before, little did I know, I would end up having a baby. So it's not necessarily surprising that I didn't get back to this little experiment until today, when I finally made the Times cookies. The unofficial focus group of two (me, my husband) found both cookies delicious, but I believe the winner by a narrow margin is Real Simple -- in large part for its perfect texture. It's also a simpler (duh) recipe.

There are two items I consider essential when baking chocolate chip cookies. The first is Madagascar Bourbon Vanilla Extract -- it's the best vanilla I've found that is readily available in the Des Moines area. You can get it at any number of grocery and cooking supply stores, including Williams-Sonoma. I also think the key to getting a nice crispy, brown bottom to each cookie is to line your baking sheet with parchment paper. Thanks to my husband's super shopping skills, we have a basement stockpile of the stuff. We were once in the supermarket, where I sent him to get me "some parchment paper" (no, I was not numerically specific) and he came back with four rolls. When I laughed at his excess and asked him to put three of the rolls back, he refused. "The price will never be lower," he said, even though the parchment paper was not on sale. "Might as well stock up." Of course, the irony of this statement is that it turns out there is a coupon for $1 off on the inside of each parchment paper package. But the phrase "The price will NEVER be LOWER" has become a family favorite.


"The price will never be lower."

One of the unique features of the Real Simple recipe is that it calls for a cup of dark brown sugar -- I think it gives the cookies a nice, rich flavor.



The finished product was a really delicious, can't-keep-your-hands-outta-the-cookie-jar creation. Even I couldn't resist eating copious amounts of them, and while I love chocolate chip cookies I don't have a major sweet tooth (though I was eight months pregnant...).


Real Simple chocolate chip cookies

THE REAL SIMPLE RECIPE

2 sticks unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 cup packed dark brown sugar
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 large egg
2 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
kosher salt
1 1/4 teaspoons baking soda
12 ounces semisweet chocolate chips

1. Heat oven to 375° F.
2. Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper or aluminum foil.
3. With an electric mixer on medium-high, beat the butter, sugars, and vanilla for 3 minutes. Add the egg and beat until combined. In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and the baking soda. Reduce mixer speed to low and slowly add the flour mixture to the egg mixture until combined. Stir in the chocolate chips.
4. Scoop the dough into tablespoon-size mounds and place on the prepared baking sheets, 2 inches apart. Bake until lightly browned at the edges, 12 to 15 minutes.
5. Cool on the baking sheets for 5 minutes. Transfer cookies to wire racks and cool completely.

So fast-forward to today: the first snowfall of the season -- that I will acknowledge. My holiday decorating is pretty much done, so it was a great afternoon to stay in and bake some cookies before Christmas goodie baking season (which I LOVE) kicks into high gear.

Today I finished making the Times cookies, and I have to admit they came out pretty dang good. A unique feature of this recipe is chilling the dough in advance, but I also think they would come out pretty tasty without doing that.


New York Times chocolate chip cookies

THE NEW YORK TIMES RECIPE

2 cups minus 2 tablespoons (8 1/2 ounces) cake flour
1 2/3 cups (8 1/2 ounces) bread flour
1 1/4 teaspoons baking soda
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 1/2 teaspoons coarse salt
2 1/2 sticks (1 1/4 cups) unsalted butter
1 1/4 cups (10 ounces) light brown sugar
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons (8 ounces) granulated sugar
2 large eggs
2 teaspoons natural vanilla extract
1 1/4 pounds bittersweet chocolate disks or fèves, at least 60 percent cacao content
Sea salt.

1. Sift flours, baking soda, baking powder and salt into a bowl. Set aside.
2. Using a mixer fitted with paddle attachment, cream butter and sugars together until very light, about 5 minutes. Add eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Stir in the vanilla. Reduce speed to low, add dry ingredients and mix until just combined, 5 to 10 seconds. Drop chocolate pieces in and incorporate them without breaking them. Press plastic wrap against dough and refrigerate for 24 to 36 hours. Dough may be used in batches, and can be refrigerated for up to 72 hours.
3. When ready to bake, preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a nonstick baking mat. Set aside.
4. Scoop 6 3 1/2-ounce mounds of dough (the size of generous golf balls) onto baking sheet, making sure to turn horizontally any chocolate pieces that are poking up; it will make for a more attractive cookie. Sprinkle lightly with sea salt and bake until golden brown but still soft, 18 to 20 minutes. Transfer sheet to a wire rack for 10 minutes, then slip cookies onto another rack to cool a bit more. Repeat with remaining dough, or reserve dough, refrigerated, for baking remaining batches the next day. Eat warm, with a big napkin.

About my evil, science-embracing childbirth

Five weeks ago, I gave birth to my son in a hospital using doctors, Pitocin, and even an epidural.

I've learned that, to some people, this makes me a bad person. I didn't squat over a rainstick in my bedroom while creating a birth quilt with my mother, grandmother, and 17 of my closest female friends chanting in unison. You know, the NATURAL way.

I get it: Pregnancy and childbirth are natural processes that have been happening on this planet since human life first came into existence. Cave women didn't need doctors. 14th-century mothers didn't get epidurals. No one induced Mary Hanks Lincoln's log cabin labor, and look how well that one turned out. This is all true. But you know what else is true? A lot of women also used to DIE DURING CHILDBIRTH. Like, a lot of women.

Fact: If I'd been one of those pre-modern-medicine pregnant chicks, I could be dead right now. My doctors elected to induce my labor three weeks early because I had pre-eclampsia -- a potentially fatal condition of elevated blood pressure that I believe I read affects about 20 percent of all mothers, including several in my family. I could have gotten very sick had I continued carrying my baby until labor happened naturally. Everything else about my pregnancy was normal and healthy. I felt great and had almost no pregnancy complications -- but without the medical care I received I could, like I said, be blogging from Deadsville right now.

I believe medicine -- and, quite frankly, science in general -- gets poo-pooed way too much in this day and age. No, I didn't experience and fight through the pain/illness like pioneer women did. And no, I don't feel guilty about this or like I "cheated" at having a baby. We live in 2011, and I'm okay with what that means. Despite my somewhat incongruous opinions on cell phones, I DO actually believe that technology is our friend.

I've read about hospitals and doctors going overboard with inductions and C-sections, and I don't disagree that there are highly questionable medical practices out there that need to be examined. But in my situation, I'm sure glad I received the medical care I did and that the NICU was available nearby in case my son needed it.

And if you used a midwife and a water tub at your house and eschewed all drugs during childbirth, I am happy for you and wouldn't dream of judging your decision. But there's nothing wrong with me for making a different choice, and I find it annoying that there are people out there who want to tell me there is.

That is all. And now a picture of my cute baby.

Some poor kid is going to have me as his parent. This is serious.

Most of my methods of documenting things are not very useful. For example, there's this blog of worthless drivel. I take photos that don't make a ton of sense to people. I don't really do scrapbooks or fill in the blanks on those special journals you can buy that say: "Today I am feeling _______." Uhhhh. I don't know. Fine? So needless to say, when I became pregnant I did not rush out and buy all the souvenirs for documenting pregnancy cravings and recording doctor's appointments and body measurements and baby kicks and whatnot. I'm 29 weeks and have yet to take a profile photo of my sticking-out belly. And yes, I can hear you gasping in horror through the innernets. I know I am a horrible person who doesn't deserve a baby.

To make up for my lack of pregnancy documentation, I am taking a few moments to jot down the prevailing thoughts that have occurred to me since joining the league of the hormone-crazed. They are listed below for your reading pleasure. Or disgust.

First of all, can I just say that not every person in the world needs to be, can be, or should be a parent? This little fact seems to escape 75% of the people I have encountered on a daily basis over the past decade. Get a clue and mind your own business, people. Our society's overall level of nosiness astounds me. I mean, I've certainly found that questions like "Why aren't you married?" or "Why don't you have any children?" from people who are practically complete strangers are GREAT ice-breakers in any social situation and definitely will not potentially result in someone awkwardly bursting into tears or anything.

If I thought the insensitive comments I heard before I became pregnant were bad, I still wasn't prepared for the ridiculous advice/reaction I received after I became pregnant. I was 32 years old when I became pregnant; I will deliver the baby at age 33. Last time I checked, these numbers do not qualify me for Guinness Book of World Records status. But I have been told both that I am "awfully old" to "finally" be having a child and also that I'm "too young." I have definitely been told on several occasions that I am probably going to kill myself or the fetus due to such factors as eating shrimp, drinking Diet Coke, too much protein, too little protein, flying on an airplane, riding on a bus, coloring my hair, too much sun, lack of sun, carrying a bag of groceries 15 yards, using a midwife, not using a midwife, standing, sitting, lying on my back, and breathing. Okay, I may have made that last one up. But the bottom line is this, people: When you are pregnant, EVERYTHING WILL PROBABLY KILL YOU so you should really try to be more careful and not do anything at all for nine months while taking every precaution but just try to relax and enjoy the pregnancy and definitely don't make any excuses about being pregnant in any situation because women give birth all the time and no one wants to hear about it. You heard me!

Ummmmmm...so now what? In January, two days after I got a positive result on a home pregnancy test, I went to the doctor and took a blood test to confirm that I was actually pregnant. They called me with the results: "Yep, you're pregnant. Come back in eight weeks and bring your insurance card." Huh? Eight weeks? Shouldn't someone be telling me not to smoke crack or prodding my uterus or something? Or telling me when my baby is due? Anything? That was so weird to me. I actually said, "Oh, okay...I guess I'll get some books or something..." before I hung up with the nurse. No response. Did I mention: So weird? And terrifying. How do they know I'm not a total moron who's going to go home and chew on some Comet cleanser or something? Then, to up the ante, a few weeks ago I came across a blog post that scared the bejeezus out of me -- apparently after you deliver the baby they let you just take it home even if you don't know what you're doing. My friend Marsha did assure me that, at least where she lives in Arizona, they put you through a short "don't shake your baby class" (her terminology) before you are discharged. So there's that. Uhhhh, books! I'll get some more books or something!

Mommy knows best? Is the female parent in a male/female relationship supposed to do 90-100% of all parenting, because HOLY TURTLENECKS I DID NOT GET THAT MEMO. Everything I see is "Mommy this" and "Mom's that" -- even the neutrally named Parenting magazine is marketed with a tagline that it is "mom's favorite magazine" or something like that. Dads are apparently too clueless to even try and function...? Yes, I know that women make 80% of household consumer decisions, and that fact clearly plays into this phenomenon, but wow is it sexist on so many levels. When I asked my husband if he was offended by this disparity, I had to chuckle at his reaction: "Well, actually...now that you mention it..." And I see men are starting to mention it more and more.

Why, yes, I AM wearing rubber flip-flops to work because my fe-fi-fo-feet don't fit in any other shoes. Get over it. Despite being a superhuman supergiant, I have unusually tiny wrists and ankles and rather narrow feet in real life. But now that I'm pregnant I'm Fatfoot McCankleston. Guess I am officially not qualified to run for president. (Sorry; latent Hillary-related angst.)

I have craved all of the following foods so far: Wheat Thins, Cheetos, Three Musketeers bars, BLTs, toasted marshmallows, non-toasted marshmallows, nachos for breakfast, strawberries, strawberry yogurt, strawberry malts, really hot french fries, pickles, plain vanilla DQ soft serve, and peaches. The good news is, I haven't really craved the one thing I usually crave the most -- sashimi -- since I am technically not supposed to really be eating it. And I haven't, though some California rolls are sounding pretty damn good right now. All food sounds good right now, actually. Of all the myths you may hear about pregnancy, the one about being extra hungry is definitely in the "it's a real thing" category -- even if the "you're eating for two" one is not. Now go get me some Cool Ranch Doritos and let's try not worry about it.

All of the above being said, I have to say I rather enjoy being pregnant. Feeling the little baby kick is all-too-cool, and for the most part I feel healthier than usual. My friends and family have been exceedingly kind, generous, and supportive -- they'll even tell me I'm glowing (which I think is code for "your face is a puffy, sweaty ball of flesh that's enveloping everything upon it"). I haven't thrown up or any of those things they say will happen to you during pregnancy. Most of the time, I don't even really remember that I'm pregnant. (Don't worry, I do remember at the bar and on the golf course.)

While I am 100% utterly, completely, totally, redundantly terrified about being someone's parent, I have learned that it is clearly not the logical part of your brain that allows you to leap into this whole "having a kid" thing. Otherwise, you would never do it.

Because at the end of the day, the main thought in my head is "he's going to be SO cool."

Now if he can just overcome the world's most not-so-cool mother, we'll be golden.

Prelude to a hot mess

Okay, I'd like to officially put ESPN on blast for its coverage of the 2011 NCAA women's basketball tournament. Because, I'm sorry, it sucks.

This year ESPN has really tried to zazz things up, apparently, but I'm not sure any of the following "enhancements" were good ideas:

The addition of a "social media report" for the Final Four. No, it did not enhance my enjoyment of Sunday night’s national semifinal to know that “buzz1108” thought the keys to a Notre Dame victory were rebounding, shooting, and defense (Are you sure, Buzz? Just those three?). Attention, all people who work in television news: reading people's random, inane tweets on the air is NOT news. (Nor is showing other people’s YouTube videos or sharing the "scientific" results of your online opinion poll, but I digress.)

By the way, if you ARE going to read tweets on air, may I suggest “NCAAWomensBKB,” which offered these actual tweets Sunday night:

What the heck? Where’s the “there’s 54 seconds left in the game” tweet? The "56 seconds left" tweet? I demand a second-by-second live tweeting of the game clock...and NO OTHER game information, dammit. Just observing the passage of time on Twitter is enough to give me a thrill.

Nothing can beat the excitement of tweets that are just hashtags. Fancy!

The appalling addition of halftime player interviews. No college athlete should ever be asked to do an interview DURING a contest. EVER. This is very inappropriate.

The extra-appalling addition of IN-GAME coach interviews. Seriously. In case you missed it, they interviewed the coaches DURING TIMEOUTS in the national semifinal games. What's next? Breaking to interview a player at the line before she shoots free throws? Oh, how I wish I was being sarcastic.

Yes, add these awesome features to ESPN's already-stellar non-biased coverage of women's basketball, and you have yourself an experience that definitely does not make you want to shove a pencil in your eyeball. The UConn-ification of ESPN is no new phenomenon, but Geno Auriemma's success with the Huskie women's basketball program has definitely elevated it to new heights.

Look, Maya Moore is an excellent basketball player. In another life I may have been a great admirer of Moore's, but life with ESPN has made me utterly recoil at the sound of her name. ESPN has clearly decided that people only care about women's basketball because of Moore (and maybe also Brittney Griner) and that it really isn't the network's responsibility to try and expand its viewers' horizons. I spent a full 20 minutes Sunday night listening to Doris Burke assure me that Connecticut wouldn't lose its semifinal game to Notre Dame because it was "Maya's time" and Maya was really "percolating" and that it was "all about Maya Moore, baby."

Well, guess what? It wasn't. Maya did her best and performed well, but there was another team on the court that played AS A TEAM and won the game while Maya was repeatedly forcing up shots. And while that winning team was celebrating its hard-earned victory on the court, ESPN chose instead to show a live on-court interview with the losing coach. Oh, and later broke into SportsCenter to show us that losing team's live press conference. I think the last time I saw anything like this was, well, when UConn lost to Stanford this season. A UConn loss is apparently always more interesting than any other team's victory -- even a victory over UConn.

Hey, I know there are not as many people interested in the women's tournament as there are in the men's tournament. Not even close. And hey, I'm not out to convert those people. But maybe ESPN should be. This year CBS utilized four networks to broadcast the men's championship. ESPN, which has more channels than the Panama Canal, mostly just used ESPN2 to cover the tournament's early rounds -- while typically using its flagship station to show "sports" that can be played while sucking down a Pall Mall. (Looking at you, World Series of Poker and PBA Tour.) In the early rounds, they brought us the "most compelling action" at any given time. Apparently my definition of compelling action doesn't align with ESPN's. The "most compelling action" was almost always a No. 1 seed thumping an opponent. Those of us who are fortunate enough to get ESPN3 on our computers at least had a semi-alternative to being so gosh darned compelled.

So why does ESPN pretend UConn is the only women's college basketball team that exists? Certainly the network's headquarters in the state has something to do with it, but if I take a less cynical perspective on this issue I will freely admit that the Huskies have been dominant. Certainly they have deserved extensive coverage, and probably even more coverage than any other team. But when ESPN only covers UConn, it does nothing but help perpetuate this "image problem" that women's college basketball lacks true parity and helps, frankly, make it come true.

I've been watching games all season, but I'm merely a casual fan. Yet I knew both UConn and Stanford were vulnerable this year -- so why didn't ESPN? And now, we have tonight's national championship game: the thing ESPN most feared -- one without UConn.

How are they going to sell this one? I guess we'll find out soon.

2011 the end of 2 eras?: Why my phone & I have been together longer than Urban Meyer and Florida, but with less Tebow and more shift key malfunctions

Watching today's Outback Bowl between Florida & Penn State got me thinking about finality and whether my cell phone is more like Urban Meyer or Joe Paterno -- that is, whether the end of its career is definitely happening this year or if it could have another year in it or if its fate is even more mysterious.

As I have mentioned before, I love my old school, ridiculous dumb phone. It's this one: the Nokia 6800 -- basically one step up from the "Jitterbug" senior citizen phone. Whenever I flip it open to write a text message, people actually grab at the thing and remark about how cool it is (it DOES have a neat fold-out keyboard that's really easy to use). But then they see how old & janky it is and have only one other comment: "WHEN did you get that thing?" I actually can't remember when I got it. I think it was a Christmas gift in 2003...?

The menus on this phone are really confusing. The Nokia 6800 doesn't have a camera or voice recognition or a telescoping arm that wipes your butt for you or anything like that. You can't really put it on "silent," and to be honest, it doesn't even let you answer it sometimes. One of the shift keys on the keyboard stopped working for about 6 months a couple of years ago, but hey -- it eventually bounced back.

It's been dropped in the Iowa State Center parking lot no fewer than 30 times, and it's been all over the world: to Italy, Central America, Alaska, New York City, and several college bowl games. Some of the numbers saved in it are people to whom I haven't spoken in years -- or contacts from very old interviews I never bothered to delete in the event I needed to follow up (I haven't). There are numbers for a few takeout places that aren't even open anymore. It's been a witness to history -- at least my history, I suppose.

It probably saw its heaviest all-time use on Oct. 24, 2009, when it nearly blew up during Iowa State's 9-7 football win at Nebraska. (Turns out my friends were just a teensy bit excited about this.) It held up like a champ.

And while I remain hopelessly devoted to this piece of antiquated technology that fits perfectly in the front pocket of my "gameday purse," I'm starting to think that my phone may not live to see the 2011 Cyclone football season -- or hardly any of this new decade, I'm afraid -- because:

A) I'm not really sure how much more embarrassment my husband can take when I whip this baby out in public. A couple of years ago, I came home and excitedly told him about a gas station attendant who showed me his identical phone and said, "Wow. I thought I was the only one who still had this phone." (Keep in mind that this was two years ago. And that this was a gas station attendant who probably makes $7/hour. And that chances are good there is only one of us who is still rocking the Nokia 6800 and it ain't him.) Ben's reaction was expected: "And you're bragging about this?"

B) It seems to be losing some of its power. One thing I have always loved about my phone is that it holds a charge for up to five days. Not so much anymore. I fear the end is near and that replacing the battery will be simply out of the question since I believe it may be powered by horse or Windows 95 or something like that.

It's just that, of all the things I enjoy spending money on, cell phones are not among them. Ben tells me I should be able to get T Mobile to give me a new one for free (seeing whereas I have been a loyal customer using my glorified Jitterbug for something like 7-8 years now). So maybe the day will come in 2011 that I'll venture over to T Mobile and see what kind of deal I can get.

Provided I can get a new phone that is exactly like my old one, of course. Because who wants a Muschamp phone, really?