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| - I was passing by 7th Street and Glendale with an itch on my tongue for something sweet. Should I run into Safeway and deal with the multitude of aisles and lin-- hey there's Sauce! I've yet to try their desserts.
It was already late and only a few tables were occupied. More importantly there was no line at the register. Score! Let me just pop in there and grab a cookie.
During a prior visit, an amigo of mine told me the cookies were good. It looked good in his hand, too! So on this particular night when the cashier informed me that a batch of their triple chocolate chip cookies had just gone into the oven, I decided to wait the 20 minutes or so that it would take for them to finish baking.
And how yummy would it be to have one freshly out of the oven? Right? Right? Am I right? Ooh, I could hardly wait.
Fast forward...to my utter disappointment. What the heck happened? You call that a cookie? I think (maybe) someone got the recipe wrong. For the customers' sake, I'm hoping it was a simple recipe mistake.
I don't cook, so I understand how difficult all the mathematics of a recipe can be. A tablespoon here, a teaspoon there, here a half cup, there a quarter cup, everywhere a whole cup. Maybe whoever made the dough that evening put too much or not enough of something.
The dough was so oily it could not even hold itself together. And I don't think they use butter. Butter doesn't feel like that. This was, this was...sad. Just sad. I didn't even put it into my mouth. The oily residue on my fingers probably would have worked wonders rubbed into my dry wintered skin, but inside my gut. No thanks.
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