Bake, injure head, and relax

Sunday was a strange day. Maybe it was the head injury I received, or the copious amounts of Dexter I watched. I seemed to be in a strange place. I set out to do some baking for work. We don't exchange gifts at my workplace, but we do usually make things. For the most part they are baked items, but we have a potter on staff, and someone who embroiders things. Sometimes people give bookmarks, and on occasion I have brought in candles. This year I decided to make some peppermint whoopie pies and cranberry walnut squares. Whoopie pies (for those of you not in New England) are like a cake sandwich. They can come in many different cake flavors (chocolate, pumpkin, maple, chocolate chip, etc.) and usually have a cream filling. I flavored my filling with peppermint extract and rolled the edges with crushed peppermints. This is what they look like (sans peppermints):

I got my recipe from the internet, and decided to double it. After doubling and mixing all the ingredients I found that it was very dense, and actually made less than what the regular recipe called for, never mind doubled. I threw the first cookie sheet into the oven and turned to go out into our living room, having forgotten that I forgot to close one the top cupboard doors. My head hit the corner, and I must have raised my hand to shield my head, because my hand has a huge gouge in it now. My forehead also has a nice little dent, shaded in yellow. I expected a black eye, but sadly that didn't happen.

I brought a batch of the pies over to L's work, since I often don't like the taste of my own cooking and I wanted his unbiased opinion. While the whoopie pies looked cute and uniform, they just didn't taste right. They were a little dry and chewy. I watched 1/2 of the Patriots/Steelers game at the ambulance base and then decided that I could not share these crappy pies with my co-workers. It wouldn't do. I would have to make another batch.

Off I went to the store for buttermilk, an ingredient I hoped would make the recipe right. Once home, I assembled the ingredients for batch 2 and started to mix and prepare. I had taken out my vanilla but suddenly could not find it. I looked everywhere, gave up and found some imitation stuff instead. The new whoopies pies came out beautifully! When L got home I made him eat another, and we declared success. Then I saw him walk out of the kitchen and then return, hiding something behind his back which he deposited into the trash. It was...an empty vanilla bottle. Merlin, our Great Dane, had obviously stolen it from the counter. He brought it into the living room, pried off the top and drank most of it. A small puddle was on the sofa. Merlin is famous for stealing things off the counter like gum, breath mints and sunglasses, but has never been so bold to do it when we are around.

Am I crazy for being so anal about the whoopie pies? Did I receive brain damage from the head injury? My perfectionism reared it's ugly head, and I let it master me. All in the name of decent baked goods.