Glorious Failure
To dispell the myth that I have a clue what the hell I'm doing most of the time, I decided to bake, for once. I don't bake. At all. I have zero talent in the pastry department, which is probably for the best, as I love pastries. In true foodie style I decided I wanted to experiment. I wanted to create a sweet and savory baked good that I could be proud of. I've seen maple bars and baklava incorporating bacon, and I kinda wanted to go that direction. But instead of bacon (since they don't know the meaning of the word here) I thought I'd get fancy and do pancetta instead. The goal was a chocolate chip and orange zest cookie with pancetta. Grab the popcorn, kids. I aim to entertain today.
So, first things first. I knew that as my incompetence for baking literally knew no bounds, I wanted to widen the margin of error as much as possible. So I used a pre-mixed cookie dough kit from Marks and Sparks. Some of you might call that cheating. Some of you are right. I also went out and bought a zester (which the girl behind the counter at Argos used for several crude gestures. You can use your imagination) and an orange. For zest. Behold, the pre-cock-up ingredients:
Ok, so we have our ingredients. First job, fry up the pancetta. Most pancetta is cured and safe to eat out of the packaging, but I wanted that crispy baconesque motif, so into the frying pan it went. From this:
To this:
Ok, so you've got your pancetta all fried up, and tossed into a strainer because we sure as shit don't want grease going into our cookies. No, that would be weird. So off to the side to sit for now. On to the dough.
So the dough calls for 150g of butter. The hell does 150g of butter look like? Yes, I had to pull out some damn conversion charts. It's about 2/3 of a cup. Or around 5 ounces. This is where it starts to go wrong. I don't have measuring cups, but I do have a liquid measuring glass. Which is just as good right? You be the judge:
Like a boss. Notice I've expertly flattened the butter down. Like not at all. This is called guestimating, kids, and it's kinda how Enron happened. So, I melt my butter and toss in my tablespoon of cold water to the mix and stir my cookie dough. Only it doesn't quite have the consistency of dough. I figure, that's ok. We will add the chocolate chips and the pancetta, and that'll thicken right up. Right? I toss all that in with some orange zest (pro-tip: a little zest goes a long way). Observe my chocolate chip cookie soup:
Here's about the point where I remember the conversation I had with myself in the store that went something like this:
"Hey, instead of cookies, we should do cupcakes!"
"Cupcakes?"
"Yeah, you just put them in those little paper cups, slap some frosting on top, and serve. Them shits is delicious!"
"We're not doing cupcakes. That's a dumb idea and you're dumb for saying it. Get back in your cage."
I vauely remembered something about banana's substituting for flour or something, so I tossed in a half a banana and mixed it in. To no avail. Turns out that's eggs, not flour. Genius.
I hate it when I'm right. I should have done the cupcakes. But no, I soldier on. I scooped some portions onto the baking tray, and the goop had the structural integrity of half-done oatmeal. Observe God's mistake:
Done with all the expert craftsmanship of a 12 year old boy attempting to shave his upper lip for the first time. Thankfully, after the 11 minutes of the suggested 11-13 minute range, these came out:
(Note my expert use of an upside-down roasting rack as a make-shift wire cooling rack) So, soft and emotionally weak though they were, they still resembled cookies. For which I felt quite proud. Look, ma! Round puddles of dough-like material, when heated, became slightly more solid dough-like things! The next batch I let bake for slightly longer, and got a little better product:
I was much happier with those as they actually looked like real cookies. It called for a celebration, so I plated up my first three and poured myself a glass of milk to pat myself on the back for a job well done:
Only one small problem. They tasted awful. I would bite into them and taste this amazing banana-esque dough with chocolate chunks and a hint of orange and be almost immediately interrupted by this obnoxious piece of pancetta. Ugh. It was like hanging out with your friends and someone posted that you were all having such a good time on Facebook, and that one guy shows up. You know the one I mean. Hell, for some people, I am that guy. Just go home, dude. We're having a really great time. Just. Go. Home.
It was so sad. I looked at these cookies, still cooling on the racks. Nice and round and golden brown, and I knew if I bit into them, I'd be so disappointed. As I bagged them up and put them in the trash, I kinda finally understood the end of Old Yeller. If Old Yeller had been a cookie. A golden rabid cookie.
But that's the whole point of being a foodie. You're supposed to try new things. You're supposed to have epic fails in the kitchen to remind you- you don't do this shit for a living. You don't have the chops for that. You do this because it's fun. It's a chance to play mad scientist and create the Catdog of pastries. Sometimes you have these completely unlikely successes, like my coconut lamb. And other times you're that guy who biffs hard on the ice. Because your failure makes us feel better about ourselves. In that spirit, I hope I have entertained you today. Never stop experimenting. Foodies never die. That is all.