Cookinggal Gets Critiqued

Eight.

That was the highest rating Frank had bestowed upon a dish of mine until this week. It was for the pizza I made two weeks ago. An eight was unprecedented so I knew that meant it was really good.

“How chauvinistic/Harvard President/1950’s of your husband to rate your food, Cookinggal!” (is what some might say).

But since I’m trying to figure out what’s good and what’s bad, I WANT him to rate them. Plus, Frank is very quantitative so that’s the best way to get his true opinion.

So if pizza was an eight, what’s a really low score?

Farmhouse Chicken: Four



It involved baby carrots and I thought they’d soften when I cooked them but they were still hard and a little tasteless. So after Frank’s first bite he said, “It’s all right. Maybe a five.” He said the carrots were kinda throwing him off.

A five? That’s a tough one. Does that mean I should make it again or I shouldn’t?

He finished his first helping and then got up to get more. Ha. It couldn’t be that bad, I thought.

But then as he took the last bite of his second helping he looked up and said guiltily, “Um, this may be a four.”

“That’s not fair!” I said. “You said that because your last bite was full of carrots!”

Last night’s Jambalaya got a seven. (Spiciness always brings up the ratings. I could add Cayenne pepper to a piece of cardboard and it would probably at least get a three.)

But on Tuesday I received my highest rating yet—a perfect 10. What exotic dish earned the coveted reward? A filet mignon? Lemon-glazed salmon served over a bed of wild rice? An Asian-inspired wok concoction?

No. Chocolate Chip Cookies. And they weren’t even from scratch. They were the kind that you just drop the dough on the baking sheet and bake. Oh, and I’m not talking about the tube with the dough that you roll up into little balls yourself. No, this is the kind that has pre-cut cookies. It’s one step away from Chips Ahoy.

I made them for the painters who were painting the exterior of our house. I told Frank that I made them cookies and he said, “You gave them YOUR cookies?” (I don’t have a strong background in baking.) I told him that I followed Cul de Sac Carrie’s advice and took them out of the oven right before they were finished baking and let them continue to bake on the baking sheet.

The painters gobbled up the “galletas” in minutes. I knew I had a hit! Luckily I saved three for Frank. When he tried them that evening he kept oohing and ahing and saying, “YOU made these?!” Yes, I took the pre-cut cookie dough pieces out of the bag, placed them on the baking sheet and put them in the oven. Brilliant!

Frank said with his mouth full, “I give these a ten! A ten!”

What an honor. I have so many people to thank. First, the Pillsbury Dough Boy for providing the dough and directions, Cul de Sac Carrie for her baking-savvy tip, the tres hombres who sampled them first (way to be my guinea pigs, muchachos) and of course, my very supportive and very outspoken husband.

He’s lucky he liked my cookies. Otherwise I would have made him suffer with a little farmhouse chicken (extra carrots included).