Sweets have always been my thing, but of late, I bake them more than I eat them. I’ve found that baking greatly helps with my depression and anxiety, mainly because I am doing something with my hands. It’s all fine by me; I bake them and the boyfriend eats them all, and lately we’ve both had this idea that since I want to advertise and sell homemade books of poetry, we’ve been thinking of baking a lot of goodies and selling them alongside my books at Drum Circle every Sunday at Liberty Park here in Salt Lake City. As a child, my mom was instructed to feed me peanut butter cookies to put weight on me, and I remember how much fun it was when she’d get the eggs, peanut butter, and sugar out and let me roll the dough into little balls before pressing them down with a fork. It was even better when my dad came home and grabbed the fresh ones, telling me I was a great cook and needed to make more. As I got older, I started branching out and making my own variations of each cookie, intent to eat the dough rather than eat the baked goods. That still stands today! I keep having to tell myself to put the dough on the cookie sheet instead of in my mouth! There’s just something about uncooked cookies that makes the process fun. Culinary schools will tell you not to eat raw cookie dough because of the egg, but our grandparents ate dozens of raw eggs after school every day when they were younger (a story my grandfather loves to tell). Let’s face it, cookie dough is like ice cream. It helps take all the bad away after a nasty breakup, if not doing a way better job than ice cream.
You feel it every time you see a soldier
