Last night, I finally slept well. In fact, I slept in until 9 (yes, that is sleeping in). And I was quite thankful for it—home-oriented days can be unbearably long, and I had just cut out an entire two hours with sleep! As usual, I lounged my way through the morning: tea, slow-brewing Irish oats, and poetry. Although I was not particularly interested in changing out of my PJs or ready for the duel with my hair, I even forced myself to take a bath and wash my hair. Lunch came and went, and I really had not done much of anything. The Count of Monte Cristo? I tried. About fifteen pages. I kept crutching into the kitchen and toying with the idea of making something, then skulking out. It is not as though I need the chocolate and butter or am doing anything to counter the buthighs they create (or the floatation devices betwixt aforesaid anatomical structure and the shoulders). But I wasn’t doing anything . . . so I did! I baked: Maple Biscotti and Chocolate, Peanut Butter, Chocolate Chip, Oatmeal Cookies.
The latter indulgence is oh so typical of me; the previous, the mixing of “American” (maple) and Italiano (biscotti), is not so typical. At least, not in baking. Why maple? Isn’t maple a seasonal flavor? Seasonal—uh, I do not know, food is food and I work with what I have. My mom had made Oatmeal Maple Scones and there was left over glaze; so I figured I could make “candied” biscotti, just drizzle the stuff over the top. Maple biscotti would not typically be my first choice, but I dislike wasting perfectly good food (i.e. watching the frosting turn into an amoeba in the fridge) and it did turn out quite well.
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