One of the most prolific home bakers I know nonetheless thinks cookies are too much work. So does the author of one of my favorite cookbooks:
When you really think about it, whoever invented the cookie wasn’t really on our team. Between the butter that needs to be softened and whipped just so to the chilling, scooping, and arranging of dough on trays upon trays, only to rearrange cookies on cooling racks a short while later… Wait, why do we make cookies again? They’re like the breakfast pancake of the dessert course, the maximum amount of labor one can squeeze from a single bowl of batter.
That’s from my new favorite, The Smitten Kitchen Cookbook.
Quoth Judith (on this link):
I am deeply sympathetic to your situation. But, no, you are not Adam Lanza’s mother. You are also not Dylan Klebold’s mother, Eric Harris’s mother, Jason Holmes’s mother, nor Seung-Hui Cho’s mother. Your child — thank G-d — has committed no mass murders. He is (or, before your article, WAS) a 13 year old boy, living a private life who will now be forever Google-able as someone whose mother has publicly declared that he is akin to some of the worst mass murderers in US history. For shame.
Once again demonstrating the wisdom of Phoebe’s remonstration against authors who humiliate their underage children in print.
They were, if it came to it, difficult to daunt or to kill; and they were, perhaps, so unwearyingly found of good things not least because they could, when put to it, do without them, and could survive rough handling by grief, foe, or weather in a way that astonished those who did not know them well and looked no further than their bellies and their well-fed faces.
(From the Prologue to Book 1)
Some who have read the book, or at any rate have reviewed it, have found it boring, absurd, or contemptible; and I have no cause to complain, since I have similar opinions of their works, or of the kinds of writing that they evidently prefer.
J.R.R. Tolkien, Introduction to The Fellowship of the Ring
Lookin’ out my front door.