Compulsive baking.

Last year I spent a great deal of my free time in the kitchen. Cooking. Cleaning. Cooking and cleaning. But what with the mania of this past year I’ve let that drop. Sad face.

Today however, baking reappeared in house 42A. Now, in true Barton style, some adaptations had to be made. We lack butter, therefore olive oil was substituted. A variety of flour was thrown together, sugar was mixed together, and easter eggs were crushed to make chocolate-chip-type-chunks. Despite this, the result was pretty darn good (if I do say so myself)…

Butter-free, left-over-easter-egg-chunk cookies?

I can’t help it though. I’m a compulsive baker. The housemate laughs, apparently this need to bake makes me an odd individual. In fact, I think the term she used was 50s-housewife-bunny. She’s a charmer. It may, however, possibly have something to do with the fact that I’m the moodiest, snarkiest member of our household, and yet occasionally turn into a crazy baking lady who sings along to Enter Shikari and Trivium whilst making said baked-good. She’s right. I’m odd.

Never mind. Cookie…?

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