A Letter to the New York Times

get-attachment.aspx

Dear New York Times,

Damn you.

get-attachment.aspx

Damn you and your team of brilliant cookie dough warriors.

Damn you for solving the world’s most challenging puzzle…for putting the pieces together that make up such perfection.

get-attachment.aspx

Such perfection, which I found nearly three years ago but chose to wait to actually make until I was simultaneously PMSing and freaking out over the new puppy coming home in a matter of days. Damn you for being there in a time of such dire stress, when my will power was nowhere to be found.

get-attachment.aspx

Damn you for directing us to chill the dough for 24 hours, which led me to have a never ending bowl of the world’s most perfect cookie dough that called to me every. single. time. I walked passed the fridge. Your recipe claims to make 18 cookies…though I followed the directions EXACTLY I somehow only ended up with 12…

get-attachment.aspx

Damn you for giving me dough that was finally ready to bake the morning after I broke my toe, when I was sad and weak. Why did your recipe have to be so perfect that at 6am, unable to sleep from pain, I had to bake all the dough. Why do your cookies taste so good for breakfast? And second breakfast? And lunch? And as a snack? And as an after dinner snack? Are you surprised I didn’t actually eat them for dinner? I am.

get-attachment.aspx

Dear New York Times, please tell me I’m not the only person out there who consumed over two sticks of butter, over two cups of sugar and over a pound of chocolate in less than five days. Please.

And finally, why did you publish this?

Sincerely,

Lindsay

PS…I threw a couple ounces of MILK chocolate in there. You don’t know me.

get-attachment.aspx

Find the recipe here.

Make them.

Eat them.

Then come meet me on the treadmill.

xoxo