The only good cookies are the 80% chewy, semi-soft kind. Or at least the ones that don’t explode like a hand grenade when you bite into them, crumbs and confectioner’s dust showering down upon your shirt or pants and littering the virgin floor.
Cookie manufacturers who make hand-grenade cookies should be fined if not cuffed. They know what they’re doing — they know what kind of ingredients and what kind of baking protocol produce semi-soft chewies. They know what people like and they churn out grenade cookies anyway. And you know what? They’re public enemies. Truly bad people.
James Cagney in One Two Three (‘61): “I wish I was in hell with my back broken. If I was a third-rate cookie maker, I mean.”
The good kind:
