In recent weeks, I've made the time to do some baking. After pouring through the options, I settled on three recipes: Peppermint Chocolate Sugar Cookies, Flourless Chocolate Coconut Drops and Cherry-Pecan Icebox Bars.
They were not selected on the basis of being low in fact. Quite the contrary. All call for healthy amounts of butter and sugar, two for chocolate chips, and one for slivers of candy canes.
I would make, oh, eight or nine dozen, I decided. I would have them on hand in cookie tins in case the neighbours drop by.
I would leave a couple for Santa on Christmas Eve. I would bring out a plateful when the family was together and enjoying eggnog by the fire.
I was pretty darned proud of myself.
First up were the Flourless Chocolate Coconut Drops.
The kitchen filled with the delicious aroma of chocolate and toasted almonds as the little guys puffed up on the cookie sheets.
"Wow," said the husband, emerging from wherever. "What are you making?" He peered into the oven. "Do you think they're almost done?" he asked.
"Go away," I said.
"They're for Christmas."
The cookies numbered 44 when placed on the cooling rack. But by the time it came to put them in the cookie tins, they'd shrunk to 39.
Next up were Peppermint Chocolate Sugar Cookies. Once again, a spectacular aroma filled the kitchen. Once again, the husband came in from who knows where.
"That's unbelievable," he remarked. "When can I try one?" "On December 24th," I said. "And not a day before."
But sure enough, the cookie count on the Peppermint Chocolate Sugar Cookies followed that of the Flourless Chocolate Coconut Drops, whose numbers continued to plummet even though I'd placed them in the freezer.
They were 38 when they came out of the oven. I turned my back for two seconds and they dropped to 32.
I tackled the Cherry-Pecan Icebox Bars.
So did the husband.
"That's weird," I said after I'd removed them from the oven. "I thought there were four dozen, but I only count 41."
"Yeah," said the husband. "Weird."
He had a glass of milk in one hand -and crumbs on both his lips.
"That's really nasty," I said. "These are for Christmas."
"I know," he said, 'but I'm already feeling the season."
I sighed and decided to hide what was left.
He'd better not look in the dryer, or I'll be leaving Santa bread.
