Every time I bake cookies, I think about this one story that my mom tells about me baking cookies with her at almost two-years-old when she was pregnant with my little sister. I mean, younger sister, as she is already 23 years old! How time flies. So it was an afternoon back in Taipei, my birth city, and I was watching the cookies bake in the oven. At two, 10 minutes can seem like a long, long time, so I asked my mom every minute “When will the cookies be ready?” Sweet as my mom is, she answered with a smile each time without losing patience, “Soon, mi vida, soon…” After seven minutes I couldn’t wait any longer and explained in baby talk, “Oh, I see, it’s just like baby. Baby takes a long time to make too. We have to wait!”
At 24, waiting for cookies to bake still seems like a long time, and every time I put them in the oven I just can’t wait to see the result. Will they be soft? Crunchy? Gooey? What if I left them one minute too long, will I have ruined it all? Tastewise, I know they’ll be great, given that I try the batter—and fight with my sister over who gets to wipe out the bowl with the spatula—before baking them. And if the batter isn’t right, I’ll tweak it until perfect.
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