Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Pin It When I left my classroom early this evening I was dreaming about the case of Dr. Pepper I had in my car. I had originally planned on taking it into my classroom and hiding it. One can never be sure when the need will strike for the good doctor.

The case was open and sitting on the front seat.

As I pulled out onto the street I approached an intersection with a stop sign. As I came to a halt, the end of the case (which admittedly was ripped) came open and every single one of those cans of glorious, heavenly nectar came crashing to the floor.

Like a game of Russian roulette, would one want to take a chance on opening a ‘now loaded’ can and suffer the possible consequences?

I think not…at least not in my car.

So, no Dr. for me.

I drove to the post office to mail the dry dough I’d offered out last week. I’d found boxes of sufficient size and took these treasured little parcels to the automated machine to send them off—I couldn’t believe my eyes when the machine told me that the cheapest form of shipment was going to cost $7.55.

Each.

You’ve got to be kidding.

Thinking that this was perhaps an early April Fool’s joke, I tried it again. The appalling results were shamefully unchanged. Thinking that a living postal worker would be able to find a cheaper mode of transport, I joined the throng of people waiting in the line of ‘nearly dead’ which always seem to be at the post office.

I am convinced that most people in bad moods either get jobs at the post office or merely go there to hang out. There must be something in the air which attracts them like lemmings to cliffs over large bodies of water.

As I waited in line for my turn to send my various and sundries, I tried to pass the time by reading over shipping charges for certain boxes and envelopes, the costs of new series of stamps, and tried my hardest not to listen in on the conversation between the postal workers and the customers they were currently helping. However, since there is little to no talking in a post office, it was impossible not to hear what was being said.

I couldn’t believe that a woman was at the counter wanting to purchase one…one stamp with a picture of somebody on it. She then struck up a conversation with the postal worker about how one could get a stamp with a photo of Mullett Spunkle—world’s first nose-hair braider in the continental U.S.

I couldn’t believe it.

In the end she made a $ .73 purchase…and used her credit card.

Some people.

Sometime between now and the millennium I finally found myself at the counter with my three parcels. As the first was weighted I was asked, “How would you like these shipped?”

“As slowly and as cheaply as possible,” I answered. I was still thinking about the automated machine and the ‘joke fares’ it had been trying to charge me.

Poppycock. I thought.

“Looks like the cheapest mode of transport is going to be $7.55.”

Say what?

“Are you sure?” I asked. “Isn’t there a rate for shipping dirt or something? This isn’t crack cocaine, you know.”

Her eyebrows went up a bit.

“What is in these packages?”

“Just dry cookie dough ingredients.”

I was now expecting her to rip one open and investigate the contents, simultaneously throwing herself over the counter and wrestling me to the ground while calling the police with the drug-sniffing dogs. Meanwhile the next customer would get my place in line.

Curses.

Luckily, she didn’t.

She instead began to talk about how much she loved cookies.

As the three weighed up packages were shipped out at somewhere near the cost to buy the three disk Blu-ray version of Prince Caspian, I paid for my shipping in disbelief and started out the door with a smile and a thanks.

However, to my surprise, even as I was leaving the post office, the woman kept talking…she loved cookies. Girl Scout cookies, those sold by schools…heck, she’d love to try them. She’d probably even love to buy some dough…even without trying it. In fact, there were lots of people at the post office that probably would. In fact, if people from Arizona, Washington, and other places in the continental U.S. were wanting to get this stuff, how come she hadn’t heard of it?

I’m taking some samples by tomorrow.

Why the new look?

Mostly because I am lazy.

Oh, and by the way...shipping is going to have to be $4 now...

Chunk-A-Poo for you - II

Pin It Last weekend’s supply went pretty quickly to be honest. However, like I said, I only want to make about 4 or 5 batches of this stuff each week.

I also had several people email and ask if there were any way I could get them some of ‘the goods.’ To appease everyone—far and wide as well as near and close—I have decided that I’ll ship a bag of ‘dry’ ingredients with instructions of the ‘moist’ ones. This is the best that I’ll be able to do in this regard.

Those that opt for this option should optimally know that this is an optional way to optimize options for those optative optimists who’re optimally opting for this option. Of course, it would be about another $3 to ship it…after all, I’d need to go someplace, find (or purchase) a box, package the stuff, and then take it to the post office and send it—just know that I am trying to optimize.

I’m also trying to be fair with this.

If you are a ‘mailer’ then you could expect to get ‘the package’ in approximately 7 days—less if the mail carriers are running on winged feet of destiny.

4 or 5 batches today—that is all.

But don’t worry…I’m planning on doing it again next week—so getting it this week could be optional.

Chunk-A-Poo for you

Pin It People have been asking.

After all, they have needs…as do I.

As of late, I’ve found that several people have been craving cookie dough—Chunk-A-Poo dough to be exact. Of course, I can’t blame them…after all; I love the stuff myself and would not be opposed to making a nice, large batch of it and eating a bit without even cooking it.

Take that back—eating most of it without cooking it.

What can I say? I love the stuff, like I love to breathe.

I have found that I usually only make this delicacy about once every 4 weeks or so; however, there seems to be a ‘demand’ from various friends, and one batch tends to change into two just so that enough people can get a little baggie of it.

I was talking to a dear friend recently who made the observation, “If there are enough people who want the stuff, why don’t you just sell it?”

Sell it? To real people?

Now, I don’t want to make this into a weekly drudgery where I am feeling obligated to make it all the time; however, I’ve decided—for the time being—to make a few batches each week. To be honest, I don’t know how many I’ll make each week…at least not yet. I’m going to put them in gallon-sized plastic freezer bags, and put them in the fridge or freezer. It is there that they’ll sit and wait until somebody wants them. When that week’s supply is gone…it’s gone. I’ll do it again the following week.

So, how do I get one?

Good question!

Either make a comment on this post or send an email to teachinfourth@gmail.com. Be sure to include something in the subject line like, ‘Chunk-A-Poo.’ I’ll let you know on this post when those I’ve made for the week are gone—I think I’ll make 4 or 5 and see how this goes at first. I’ll decide from there how I’ll handle it in the future.

Hey, I still have a few questions…

Fire away.

Are these free?

Well, no. Unless the stores start giving away all the ingredients, this dough will not be either (I know, what was I thinking?). Also, it takes time to get the stuff together and make it. Therefore, I’ve decided to let the batches go for $11 each. That way, the several hours it will take each week to make them will be worth it. Also, I won’t go into debt purchasing the ‘secret’ ingredients—after all, there are several of them.

What if I really have a need and you’ve run out for the week?

Bummer. Sorry to hear that. Don’t worry though, there’ll always be another Saturday and I’ll make a few more then—provided I’m not out of town on a photographic expedition of some type. If you emailed (or commented) as the first person after the last batch is sold, you’ll be on the top of the list for the next week.

How many cookies does this batch really make?

To be honest, I have no idea. Most of it is consumed as just dough (I’m pretty sure) so I’ve never really found the answer to that question. However, I am pretty sure that it’ll make anywhere from 80 - 95 cookies—depending on the size you make them.

What if nobody wants to buy this stuff from you?

I’m not really that worried, to be honest…if they doesn’t sell, no big deal. Nobody can’t say that I didn’t offer it up, and I’ll still provide it on a ‘as needed’ basis for those who are die-hards.

Do you ship the stuff?

No…sorry. Your address has to be local. That way, I can either drop it off or you can pick it up. I haven’t decided on the delivery mode as of yet…if you live in Provo, I’ll probably deliver, someplace else…you will most likely need to come to me.

Do you provide the Rolos for the center of the cookies?

No. I could only do that if I charged more…I know, those aren’t free either, are they? Curse those grocery stores!

When are you going to start doing this?

This afternoon. I’m going to lunch with a group of friends and will check back on my email when I’ve returned. Like I said earlier—I plan to make about 5 batches today.

Well, I guess that’s it…after all, I have nothing else to say on the matter—for now.

Why cookie dough doesn't taste the same

Pin It I remember when I was a little kid.

Whenever my mom would bake chocolate-chip cookies I’d always be anxious to get at that bowl of dough. I would dream of a day when I’d be able to make an entire batch of cookie dough and then eat it all.

I wouldn’t even share it.

However, when I was a kid and Mom would make cookies, she’d always use this ancient mixer with two beaters to get the dough ready. When it was sufficiently mixed, she’d push that little button and the beaters would shoot off of the mixer like a pop gun. She’d then use the scraper to get nearly all of the dough off—but not quite.

Mom would then hand these beaters out to us kids. And when mom gave you a beater to lick, it was like licking the dew of the gates of heaven.

It always amazed me just how much dough was really on each of those beaters. Especially when a little trained tongue was covering every square centimeter in the desperate attempt to get as much off of them as humanly possible.

There was really something magical about cookie dough enjoyed this way.

When I got older and had moved out, I decided that I would make a triple batch of cookie dough and my roommate and I would eat it all while watching one of the Back to the Future movies….It wasn’t as wonderful as I thought it would be. Visions of pure unadulterated bliss faded away, and a sensation of nausea took its place instead.

It was not what I had expected.

Even after this sickening experience, over the years I’ve made hundreds of batches of dough…the most popular is that of the notorious “Chunk-A-Poo” cookie which is...how do I describe it?

Wonder?
Bliss?
A party in your mouth?

No matter how you say it…the stuff is good. I decided to make a batch of this dough and as I was cleaning off the one solitary beater, I looked at all those little chunks of dough clinging to it.


As I did, a thought occurred to me. The reason that cookie dough does not taste the same to me is that when I was a kid, it was a limited commodity. There was scarcity. Hence, I enjoyed what I had a lot more. Being able to make it when I’m an adult, and can eat as much as I want makes it lose some of its magic.

As this thought come to mind I decided I’d only eat what was on the beater.


You know what? It still tastes like those pearly gates

Snowcones

Pin It I went to a ball game yesterday for an old student. Well, not an OLD student as he is only 12. As I sat at the game, I suddenly began to notice that the group around me at large was all eating snow cones. Now, I happen to love snow cones. I remember looking forward to getting them every time my family and I went to Chataqua each year or the country fair.

Feeling this definite need, I strode to the concessions stand where I unfortunately had to wait behind a group of prepubescent, giggly girls. After a millennia of deciding what it was that they wanted, the kid behind the counter promptly went off to get their various and sundry items. I have a distinct feeling that he felt he needed to make the cheese for their nachos himself and freeze the ice especially for these girls, I felt this as I realized that I was aging as I stood there…waiting.

Yet the incessant beckon of the snow cone was relentless.

I waited.

After a few major holidays had passed—as well as a few birthdays—the girls finally left the stand talking a bit louder and acting a bit more goofy than necessary. Ah, the inhibitions of youth (or perhaps idiocy). It became my turn at the window.

“Once snow cone, please…lime.”

The boy nodded to show his comprehension and, this time heading off to Antarctica to get the ice, finally returned with my frozen delight sometime between then and the millennium. However, this did not matter; I just knew it would be worth the wait in the end. Already my palette was watering for a taste of that syrupy-sweetened icy goodness.

I returned to the game and discovered that an entire inning has lapsed in my absence. Curse those giggly girls! Ah well, it mattered not. I had my snow cone and I was ready to enjoy it.

I took my first bite.

It didn’t taste…right. What had happened to that wonderful arctic goodness? To that sickly-sweet flavor? To the wintry-sugary taste?

Something was definitely amiss. This was not the same delightful treat I’d enjoyed as a kid. This was not what I’d envisioned as I stood at the counter…feeling my lifetime draining away..

I did eat about half of the snow cone, more out of duty than enjoyment. Finally, I decided that it wasn’t worth it in the end and threw the remainder in the trash.

The game soon ended, and the team I’d been supporting was victorious. However, I still felt unfilled. I drove home and made a batch of cookie dough. I haven’t eaten any yet, but it’s in the freezer, waiting…thank goodness for that doughy-cookie goodness.

Who needs snow cones anyway?

Another dough day

Pin It

I felt the need.

The dough was in the freezer.

I knew that because I’d put in the freezer_­ for a reason.

Frozen dough is so much harder to get to because it is solid.

However, I was determined and didn’t give up.

I love Chunk-A-Poo dough.

It was good.