You guessed it.
The damn Greek cookies.
This year, though, I decided to try something new...incinerate them.
These are koulrakia...Greek twist cookies that are usually made at Easter. But, for reasons completely unknown to me, I associate them with Christmas and my mom sitting by the tree in her robe and slippers, with a cup of coffee and a couple of these damn cookies.
I have been making these damn cookies for about 39 years, and for 39 years I swear I will never do it again, but instead, I'll order a case of the damn Stella Doro breakfast treats (a very close imitation of these) and be done with it.
But every year, I end up in the egg aisle muttering "Screw it" as I gather the seven dozen eggs and nine pounds of butter and twelve-teen boxes of Swan's Down cake flour. And then I forget the orange juice and get home and realize that I'm out of baking powder and I drink a glass of something strong and go back to the damn grocery store to get the rest of the stuff for the damn Greek cookies.
This year, though, I made it all the way to the clean up stage...thinking that I had finally, after 39 freakin years, mastered the making of the damn Greek cookies, and I bloody well burned the lot of them.
Nuts and fiddlesticks and every other word I can think of without jeopardizing a visit from You Know Who this year.
I'm off to have a nice long soak in the tub followed by a quiet evening of Netflix, and then I'll get up and try it again tomorrow.
If I'm not back in a couple of days with pictures of perfectly twisted cookies, you will probably be able to me face down in a pile of egg yolks and flour somewhere.