ABC Double Chocolate Chunk Cookie

As I mentioned once before, I really enjoy Alternative Baking Company cookies, in their fruity varieties far more than in the traditional flavors I usually go for in a cookie.

But for today's review, I've stepped back onto the beaten path and sampled an old cookie standby—the double chocolate chunk cookie.

The flavor of this cookie was a little too sour for my tastes—I find this is a common problem among vegan cookies, since they tend to use fruit for sweetener and often use bananas for binder. Although bananas were no part of this chocolate cookie, it still had that familiar vegan taste. It was OK, but the weirdness kind of overpowered the chocolate-ness.

The texture was not bad as far as vegan cookies go—though a bit more crumbly than your average egg-based cookie, it was soft and reasonably chewy. But I found it slightly too dry around the outside.

Sadly, in the time that I've been reviewing Giant Cookies, this brand has increased in price to $2.49, rising to 2.1¢ per gram, which is not such a good deal (although expensive is the standard for vegan cookies), so I've had to reduce the price rating down to 2 stars.

In short, while I'd turn to ABC cookies first if I ever became a full-fledged vegan, I would still prefer a standard egg-based cookie if I wanted to satisfy a chocolate craving.

The Bottom Line

Taste:
Texture:
Price:

A better day

I have to say, after the spectacular failure of our Florida trip, yesterday was a remarkably good day. I hesitate to brag, but I feel like I need to counteract all the negativity of my last post...so let's hear it for the victories!

I solved two big problems at work (one of which—the mysterious non-updating module—had been plaguing me for days, and one of which—the Internet Explorer Black Screen of Death—was new but terrifying).

I had been experiencing some major social anxiety about going to our Drupal Users Group meeting in the afternoon, but by the time the meeting was over, I felt like part of the team again! And I got free pizza!

On the way home, the weather was extremely nice, and I was able to bike fast, breathe, and not lose feeling in any of my digits!

When I got home, I found I had been accepted as an author on the Refashion Co-op, a fashion/crafting blog I've been following with great interest for weeks, and I made my first post, which led to a new visitor to The Unfashionista and apparently even a Pinterest Pin! I feel like my fashion blog might finally be going somewhere!

I also discovered that the mysterious issues with my client's registration system had fixed themselves overnight, so all that stress dissolved in an instant.

For the past 2 weeks, I've been trying to arrange a karaoke night and get all my friends to join me. Me being Suzy Introvert, all this social networking (and by "all" I mean hardly any) has been extremely draining, but last night I got a solid yes (actually a "HELL YE-YAHHHH!!!!!") from one of the participants, so I am highly relieved that my effort is paying off.

And finally, I heard back from my would-be Airbnb hosts in Fort Myers. They have a strict no-refunds cancellation policy, but I'd written them anyway, hoping they could make an exception since the cancellation of my trip was beyond my control. For over a day, I had no reply and I thought they were just going to rudely ignore me. But then bam! An email came in, chock-full of sympathy and at least the possibility of a refund.

I was so happy from all these developments that I had trouble falling asleep at night (it may also have been the large portion of brownie that I ate before bed). So I'm a little sleepy today, but eminently pleased that my luck has improved.

How was Florida? I'll tell you how Florida was.

They call them "escapes," or "getaways," but to me, vacations more frequently seem like something more along the lines of "ordeals."

No word could be a more true description of the last vacation my boyfriend and I almost took.

You see, he likes to travel frequently, and I, while I can't say uprooting my whole life, stuffing it into a 3-cubic foot suitcase, and tossing it all into the hands of fate is something I like, I generally accompany him reluctantly, complaining all the way. A few weeks ago, he was perusing his many travel alerts, and he called my attention to a really cheap round-trip flight to Fort Myers, FL. Usually when he spontaneously pops a travel idea to me (this happens about once a week on average), I instantly cite some eminently practical reason to decline, but this time, the trip was short, the flight was shorter, the destination was alluringly subtropical, and the price was unbeatable.

So before I had time to really consider the consequences of our actions, we found ourselves booking airfare to Florida. The first thing that happened was the ticket price, which had been so cheap the day before, rose by a good 20 dollars. The increase in cost alone would have been enough to deter me, but Al had the travel bug now, and he wasn't about to let some 40 dollars stand in his way!

The next thing that happened was I looked at my calendar. The 3rd to the 5th had sounded like a pretty good set of travel dates — right over a weekend — when I was looking at the January calendar by accident, but when I realized I needed to look at the February calendar and found them smack-dab in the middle of the week, my enthusiasm plummeted some more. I'd have to actually request 3 days' leave from work for this pointless little jaunt.

Next I started thinking of the added costs of traveling to Florida beyond the airfare. We'd need to book a room and rent a car. Or find bus routes and get taxis to take us everywhere we wanted to go. We would have to buy most of our meals at restaurants. I tried my hardest to think positive (seeing manatees! Getting to try out my new camera! Not having to be at work! Being able to wear short sleeves!) and not worry about the rising true cost of this supposedly cheap vacation, but it was hard when every day a new expense reared its ugly head.

On Monday, the day before we were supposed to leave, after I had already packed my carry-on, Al read the fine print on our reservation and informed me we'd have to pay 30 dollars for a carry-on or 20 dollars for a checked bag. Rather than do that, I pared down my list of essentials and packed everything for the 2-night trip into a backpack that I could claim as my personal item. Now, part of me was excited about the opportunity to prove that I really could travel light, but a bigger part of me was stressed out about all the things that I wouldn't have with me but would surely need.

That night, I really wanted to focus my attention on preparing for the trip, making sure I had everything I needed and nothing I didn't, and, you know, maybe coming up with a few fun things to do once we got there. But of course that was not to be. One of my freelance clients had chosen this week to launch a new online application system for their website, and my last few hours at home were spent frantically debugging and volleying irritable emails back and forth with my surely equally frazzled client.

Meanwhile, my boyfriend was sick. For the past 5 days, he'd been battling some terrible flu. By the night before our 6am departure, he still was feeling pretty awful. I had thus far miraculously avoided catching the illness myself, but the part of me that was not busy worrying about my reputation as a web developer and whether I'd packed appropriately was worried that as soon as I stepped on the plane, my throat would start hurting, and I'd arrive in Florida sick as a dog and without the benefit of my extensive home apothecary. But Al gave me some of his Tamiflu, and together we soldiered on.

We spent the night at his house because it's closer to the airport and his dad was going to give us a ride there. Of course, settling into a new place meant a later-than-normal bedtime—and this on a night when we planned to wake up at 4. I think I managed to get into bed by 11 and was expecting an almost-adequate 5 hours of sleep, but instead was startled awake at 2:30 by Al's dad. Apparently (and of course this was a surprise to both of us) we would have to leave for the airport early so Al's dad could deliver newspapers at 4am.

So off we trundled to the airport in the 20-some-degree dead of night. I had left my winter coat behind because I didn't want to be carrying it all around Florida with me, so that was probably the coldest car ride of my life. Upon arrival at the airport, I stood miserably at the self-check-in kiosk, addled with sleep deprivation and trying to get warm again while Al tried unsuccessfully to enter our reservation number.

An airline representative came over and informed us that our flight had been canceled due to a mechanical problem, and there were no more flights to Fort Myers that day. The usual Valerie would have taken that moment to begin crying, but by that time, I was so resigned to this progressively worsening situation that I was actually relieved to have it brought to an end.

On the way back home, Al asked me if I wanted to take an alternative flight from a different airport at 5 that evening. "Meh," I said, "If you want to." I thought I was beyond caring. But then he added, "There's a layover in Denver."

"What!? No!" I exclaimed. Apparently I still had some standards. And that was the end of that. We went home, went to bed for a few hours, and I went to work while Al nursed his flu at home for another day.

Some things are just not meant to be, and clearly our trip to Fort Myers was one of them. But at least one good thing came of it all. Had this veritable tragedy not occurred, our friend would never have been inspired to email us a graphic response to our woes, and I never would have been introduced to this, the most epic pun I have ever viewed!

Macaroni from UBQ and Tommy Joe's

There comes a time in every MacaroniQuester's career when she eats a macaroni so boring that she wishes she didn't have to review it.

This happened to me twice in the past few weeks, at two separate establishments. Both times, the macaroni was so bland (not bad, but not spectacular either), that I had to spice it up with other ingredients.

Tommy Joe's

 

At Tommy Joe's restaurant, our latest trivia venue, I added mustard to the boring macaroni to give it a little extra kick. This is actually one of my favorite ways to eat macaroni and cheese when I want a little more out of it.

Urban Bar-b-que

Do you notice that the two macaronis even look the same?

At Urban Barbecue, I had my macaroni with a salad, and the salad came with an abundance of cheese on top. So I sprinkled the macaroni with salad cheese and thus had an extra-cheesy lunch.

Rating

Without these modifications, each macaroni would have been awarded but one happy noodle. For not being terrible.



The Mood Noodle rating system is not based on a fixed scale, but is a much more subjective system based on what makes me happy and what makes me sad.
Any number of happy noodles and comparatively few sad noodles constitute a good rating.

Secrets of winter biking

When I first started riding my bike to work in 2012, I set a temperature limit of 40 degrees. If it was colder than that, I would not ride. But this winter, facing a continuing need for exercise and a growing impatience with both waiting for the bus and riding my exercise bike, I decided to put my big girl pants on and brave the cold. I learned that biking in the cold is not only possible, it's not even as bad as I thought it was! But you do have to make some concessions.

1. You have to dress for the weather. 

Biking in winter is a tricky endeavor—wear too little clothing and you'll be miserable out of the gate; wear too much and your core will overheat, spawning yet more misery, compounded by sweaty clothes and damp hat hair upon arrival. I've found that a thin hoodie is plenty for temperatures as low as 40, and for even lower than that, I wear a midweight faux wool coat. I cover up my legs, on the many days that I'm wearing a skirt, with a simple pair of 5-dollar leggings. Really, you don't have to work too hard to keep most of your body comfy on a short winter ride.

But for your face and hands, quality is key. In my early days of riding in winter, I got frustrated by the way my fingers always froze no matter how fluffy my gloves were, and the way the wind ripped right through all my hats, making my ears cold and my brain dizzy.

I mostly solved the hands problem with a pair of massive insulated gloves. They work so well that I have known the backs of my hands to get sweaty on particularly energetic rides...but there are still times when my fingers go numb. And wait! There's more! Since the gloves are so bulky (I think I bought them a size too large) they impede my operation of the shift and brake levers. I had one close call a few days ago where I nearly ran into a car because the fingers of my glove got caught while reaching for the brake, and I only saved myself with some artful steering and a little luck.

At REI they sell these ridiculously expensive gadgets that look like diapers for your handlebars, which I think I could use to keep my hands warm and still retain full access to my controls. I'm not ready to invest 95 to 300 dollars, but I have a winter coat that's reaching the end of its lifespan, so I see a craft project in the making!

For the ears problem, I can mitigate it in most weather with a simple pair of furry earmuffs. I look like a fool in them, but they work better than any knit hat I've tried, and they are much friendlier on my hairdo than a headband. When the temps are below forty, I break out the big guns: A multifunction fleece balaclava that oh-my-gosh changed my life! When I'm wearing this bad boy, I'm told I look like a ninja, or like I'm wearing a burka, but I don't care, because with it on my head, I can ride like a speed demon without even feeling a hint of breeze! The balaclava is great at keeping out the wind, but that means it's also great at keeping out oxygen, which brings me to my next point:

2. You have to ride more slowly. 

It's hard to breathe through a windproof layer of microfleece, and I find that I can't get enough air to keep up my usual breakneck pace when wearing my balaclava. Besides, as I've mentioned, overheating because of wearing heavy clothes while exercising is a constant issue. So I've had to learn to bike a little more slowly in winter to keep my body temperature and oxygen supply consistent. But I guess that's OK, because driving slower isn't a bad idea when there's the potential for running into ice.

Despite the ongoing challenges, I'm super-happy that I decided to step outside my comfort zone and start biking in winter. This means I save a half-hour of working out every day almost year-round! An unexpected benefit is that all this new gear makes me better equipped to tolerate all sorts of outdoor activities. Just last weekend, I went skiing against my better judgment and managed to stay warm the whole time (although my nose still ran, even in the balaclava). Plus, being a winter biker gives me added bragging rights, plain and simple.

But before I can legitimately call myself "hard core," I'm going to need to learn the secrets to biking in the rain and snow. But I will figure it out...and once I do, you'll be the first to know.

Cookies from the Bakeshop

Over the weekend, my boyfriend, his sister, his brother-in-law, and I visited the Bakeshop on Fillmore, in Arlington. My intention to just buy a simple chocolate chip cookie and leave turned into a gluttonous free-for-all when the rest of our party somehow managed a to rack up a bill of over 80 dollars and sample everything while still in the store. While they were buying out the whole shop, I grabbed a second cookie. Here are my reviews.

Peanut Butter Pillow

I was a little surprised when I broke off the first piece to find that this was actually a chocolate cookie filled with peanut butter. It was astonishingly thin. I don't know how they got the peanut butter in such a little cookie!

It was the perfect marriage of textures—chewy cookie on the outside, and creamy sweet peanut butter on the inside, and the flavor was everything I expected.

I won't give this cookie a perfect 5 stars, mainly just because it didn't wow me as I was eating it. But it definitely didn't taste bad.

Sadly, though, this thin, almost-not-giant wisp of a 55-gram cookie cost $1.75, or 3.18¢ per gram! Anti-bargain!

The Bottom Line

Taste:
Texture:
Price:

Chocolate Chip Cookie

The chocolate chip cookie was perfection!

It was soft and chewy and tasted almost like eating cookie dough, but with the added benefit of a slightly crisper outer layer to keep it all together and keep my teeth entertained.

The taste was and not buttery but with some other rich flavor I couldn't identify. I loved it!

A little bit larger than the peanut butter pillow and the same price, this cookie was a slightly better value but still behind the curve at 2.09¢ per gram. Perhaps a special-occasion indulgence.

The Bottom Line

Taste:
Texture:
Price:

Prairie City Chocolatey chunk cookie

My first experience with Prairie City Giant Cookies was not exactly mind-blowing, and I really had no intention of ever trying this brand again—until I made the mistake of walking into a gas station hungry during a long trip. Those chocolate chunks looked so welcoming! I caved in pretty quickly and bought the cookie. But, like before, the experience of eating it was less than awesome.

At first, its performance on the crumble test did nothing to endear it to me. It broke into big chunks and was harder to break than I prefer. A few larger crumbs fell off, so it passed the test, but without flying colors. As far as my mouth was concerned, it appreciated the crunch around the middle of the cookie—it was balanced out nicely with chewiness, but towards the edges, it was too pronounced.

The flavor, on the other hand, was good and buttery, and the chocolatey bits were generous in size and tasty.

Since I did not pay for this cookie myself, I'm going to assume that prices for Prairie City cookies are pretty much the same across the country and haven't changed in value since my last review.

The Bottom Line

Taste:
Texture:
Price:

Falling in and out of art

I used to pride myself on my creativity. When I was younger, I was drawing constantly, taking art classes, hand-making all sorts of eclectic gifts, and doing crafts just because I wanted to. Lately, though, I haven't been doing much of that at all. The craftiest thing I've accomplished – or even attempted – in about a year was preparing several batches of artisanal soap at the end of December—and that was really only because I needed some Christmas gifts and wanted to scale down my massive collection of soap-making supplies since its only function over the last two years has been to take up a lot of space. Thinking on this uninspired existence of mine, I started feeling a little down—worrying that I had simply lost my creative touch.

But after Christmas, I suddenly had the muse fall upon me. Random moments were punctuated by bursts of weird creativity.

"If I was an artist," I told my boyfriend while we were driving, "I'd create a giant wire sculpture of a tree, and put it on top of a car, with the roots draping down over the sides and growing into the windows." "If I was an artist, I'd make tiny little scenes of fairies all over these rocks and take pictures of them!" "If I was an artist, I would crochet a cap for that round river stone and make it into an acorn."

Aside from my repetitive use of the same opener, "If I was an artist," it was clear that I hadn't lost my creative touch. I was on a roll, and I had to wonder, what made it happen? And in a similar vein, if I hadn't lost lost it, why had it temporarily disappeared?

It didn't take long for me to figure out the answer to both questions: Time!

Yes, that miraculous substance that rules our lives had asserted itself again. For the past few years, I've been working 8.5 hours a day and doing work-related prep and cleanup tasks for another hour at least, and by the end of all that, there's been little time or brainpower left for non-essential pursuits. But the entire week after Christmas, I'd basically just been home all day, free to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. Without the enormous drain of working, I suddenly had the liberty to let my mind wander—and it was fun!

I've learned two valuable (and reassuring) lessons from this: 1) it's not that I've ever stopped being creative, it's just that I've been forced to let the mundane requirements of everyday life take precedence. 2) My fashion fixation is not a vice as I sometimes worry it is—it's merely a pragmatic outlet for the creative energy I still have. When you don't have the time (or the studio) to construct massive sculptures and spend hours photographing tableaus, you work art into your life however you can. For me, that's assembling thematic outfits, salvaging unwearable clothing, and occasionally embarking on an epic embellishment experiment. In this way, I get to see the fruits of my labor and display my creations in the environments where I actually spend my time.

So, I'm not going to feel guilty about ordering another eBay dress on the same day I receive a shipment of 5 pairs of shoes, just 3 days after buying not one but two sequined shirts along with a package of false eyelashes (which I recently claimed I would never even try)—that's just how I express myself!

I feel much better now, but I'm still wondering if other people out there are confusing a lack of time or a lack of energy for a lack of talent. We all have creative bones in our bodies, but I think many people's are burdened with the weight of too many responsibilities. Here is the moral of this story: Don't let burnout happen to you! Let your light shine, however dimly, and never doubt your own abilities. And just wait until retirement...you'll be building trees on top of cars in no time!

Toledo Zoo Oatmeal Scotchie

 
It's been a while since my last giant cookie review, but when I went home for Christmas, I picked up a couple of confections to blog about. The day after Christmas, I was at the Toledo Zoo gift shop, staring into the cookie case and trying to decide on a giant cookie to review, when my eyes lit on an oatmeal scotchie. It is not often that you find oatmeal scotchies for sale, so I was delighted at the late Christmas gift! It was an easy choice to decide which cookie would get my review.

A few days after purchase, I ate it for breakfast, and I was hungry, so I accidentally scarfed it down without paying much attention to the experience, but this is what I remember:

The flavor was a little more buttery than I'm used to, perhaps even a tad more buttery than i prefer.

In spite of being very thin, and thus running the risk of becoming too crispy, this scotchie stayed soft and chewy, just how I like it. The oats, as oats always do, added a pleasant texture. And don't get me started on the butterscotch. I looooove butterscotch! A cookie always gets top taste points when it contains butterscotch.

So all in all, this oatmeal scotchie was quite a winner, except where it came to cost. It weighed only 70 grams but cost $1.60, making it a hefty 2.29¢ per gram!

The Bottom Line

Taste:
Texture:
Price:

Music's biggest letdown of the year

So there's this song called "Blank Space." You might have heard it—it gets played on the radio approximately every 5 minutes on every station. All the time that this song has been blowing up the airwaves, I've been convinced I was hearing something like, "Got a lonely Starbucks lovers, they'll tell you I'm insane...I got a blank space, baby, and I'll write your name!"

I thought this lyric was some kind of play on the phrase, "star-crossed" lovers, and I found it very clever. I envisioned a sad barista, leaning on a desolate counter, just waiting for her favorite customer to come in so she can write his name on his cup! Although my version didn't quite take the form of coherent sentences, I was convinced that I had the spirit of it right, and if I just listened harder and actually paid attention to the lyrics (something I rarely do), I would not only learn the correct words, but I would hear the entire story of a tragic coffee-shop love affair.

Alas, yesterday, a Buzzfeed article someone posted to Facebook set my starry-eyed mind straight. In this article, I learned that the verse I (and apparently lots of other people) thought referred to Starbucks lovers actually goes "Got a long list of ex-lovers"—a typical and played out Taylor-Swiftism. It was also through this article that I learned Taylor Swift was indeed the artist, but it's the first revelation that really hurts. Why is it that the real lyrics of a song never quite stand up to the lyrics I imagine in my selective deafness? Who else out there thinks this song would have been better if it were about doomed romance in a coffee shop?

Say it again, Sam (or don't)

Since my last (non-food) post was about stupid questions, it seems a reasonable progression to have my next post be about stupid phrases. Yes, today I'll be taking on the persona of Li'l Language Lady and sharing my thoughts on superfluous verbiage!

I am not at all a fan of saying the same thing twice (you should hear the hostile "nothing" I have perfected for when my boyfriend has asked "what?" too many times in a conversation!). And I get just slightly, almost imperceptibly, annoyed by sentences which could be several words shorter and still say the same thing (you'd think that someone who's so fond of rambling asides would have a little more tolerance for the inefficient sentences of the world, but life is full of inconsistencies, eh?).

Take, for example, double self-referencing. People love to stick the word self in front of other verbs as a way of indicating that the action is directed towards the actor—a prime example: self-diagnose, which is common in this age of Internet medical reference and accessible hypochondria. There's nothing wrong with using self- as a prefix, but I do take issue when it is also used as a suffix, as in, "Self-diagnose oneself." Almost as bad as the dreaded double negative, the second "self" in this phrase is just dead weight and should be jettisoned. Think of it as a practical impossibility—one can not have two selves. Unless, maybe, one is part of a sci-fi story.

One particular circumstance in which duplication of words seems to happen a lot is when using acronyms in a sentence. People don't always seem to know the words behind the letters they speak, resulting in superfluous meanings like "Self-contained underwater breathing apparatus gear" or "Automatic teller machine machine" or "Personal identification number number."

One of my favorite misused acronyms to rag on is RSVP. Commonly seen at the bottom of invitations, asking the recipient to note whether he or she will be coming, RSVP comes from the French "Répondez s'il vous plaît," or, "please reply." Somehow, in common English, RSVP became a verb for "tell us whether you're coming," and so gets commonly used in phrases like, "Please RSVP." Translated literally, this means, "Please, please, reply," which sounds just a bit desperate. When used as a noun meaning "an indication of whether you're coming," RSVP becomes even more weird—e.g. "Indicate your meal preference on your please reply." I try not to use this abbreviation in such a corrupted way, but I'll admit that even I have trouble avoiding it—there's just no good alternative word that packs in all that commonly accepted meaning in such short four letters!

Maybe we should just reduce the conclusion by using our own English language. From now on, maybe I'll start closing my invitations with TUWYC (Tell us whether you're coming.)

Costco Macaroni and Cheese

A few weeks ago, my boyfriend was shopping at Costco and called me on the phone. "Should I get some macaroni and cheese?" he asked. I thought about it. We've been to Costco many times in the past couple months (I still believe it's not worth the cost of membership, but when you're borrowing someone else's card, it makes all the difference!), and many times, I have looked over the giant pan of ready-to-bake macaroni and cheese, wondering the same thing. This time, I decided why not?

I'm sure glad I did. Though the Costco ("Kirkland signature," if you want to be totally accurate) macaroni and cheese takes an agonizing hour to cook, it is one of my favorite macaroni and cheese dishes out there.

It has plenty of flavor, plenty of salt, nicely substantial noodles, and is an all-around crowd pleaser. I don't really have anything bad to say about it, although I guess it can be improved by adding more shredded cheese to the top, which we've done every time we've had it.

All in all, I rate it a good 2 Happy Noodles, because why not?

The Mood Noodle rating system is not based on a fixed scale, but is a much more subjective system based on what makes me happy and what makes me sad.
Any number of happy noodles and comparatively few sad noodles constitute a good rating.