Ok so, I have to share this with you. It is my duty and responsibility to share the finer things in life with my fellow human beings and I believe that Pioneer Woman's Malted Chocolate Chip Cookies definitely ranks as one of the finer things in life.
I discovered Pioneer Woman's blog last week when my friend Kerryn mentioned her cookbook in her Facebook status. I truly love cookbooks - they inspire me. Don't actually ask me to follow a recipe though, recipe methods and ingredient lists are recommendations, not rules. Where is the adventure in cooking if you follow everything to a T?
Anyway, I digress. Get used to it - digression happens. Back to the cookies. So I discover this amazing blog and take a scroll through her recipes. She does them very well - a photo demonstrating just about every single movement she makes. And good photos too. I decide to try the cookies. It all seemed very easy until I got to the bit about Malted Milk Powder. I don't think I've ever heard of Malted Milk Powder and its unlikely I'll ever find it out here in rural New Zealand. I briefly considered using Milo but then remembered some really old Whole Milk Powder buried in the back of my cupboard. Maybe that qualified. So that went in instead.
Then I made the terrible, horrendous mistake.
I tasted the cookie dough. And couldn't stop.
Now ordinarily this wouldn't be a problem. I've been known to deliberately flop cakes just so that I can pig out on the supposedly inedible remains. They were always very edible. I made sure of that. The problem was I couldn't stop eating this dough and it had raw egg in it. I'm pregnant. Eating raw egg isn't a good thing.
I forced myself to actually bake what was left and had the best cookies of my life! The cookie dough tasted better though.
All in all, I won't be making it again for a while. Not only have I run out of milk powder - although Milo is an option I suppose - NO! No... I must resist temptation. But I can't make them for a while because I know the strength of my own willpower, which is zero. I'm pathetic that way. And I know that if I make them again I'll eat the dough. And I have to force myself to accept that baby-number-three is more important than cookie dough.