and hello dear bloggers. I've finally pulled myself out of the sugar induced coma. Don't worry, I didn't eat all the cookies myself. Most of the double batch (well, half) was packed up and sent with Punkone to school for his birthday treat. IMAGINE!!! Being able to send homemade chocolate chip cookies to your punk's class for birthday treats. Italy is so cool. In fact, most parents don't do this, but send a sack of hard candy instead. I figure, if hard candy is okay, chocolate chip cookies are going to fly quite well.
And they did. The Italians loved Grandma Nestle's chocolate chip cookies. Bambini and Mamme were hitting me up for the recipe after school. I was all the rage. Of course such a long standing family tradition cannot be divulged lightly. Next thing you know, you'll find it posted on the internet, or worse, printed right on the packages of chocolate chips! (Don't look now, but there is an empty package of chocolate chips tucked away in my recipe book just for this reason.)
Take that Italy! You may kick ass in pasta and saltimboca (prociutto and sage wrapped veal bites that "jump (salt) in (im) your mouth (boca)" ), but US Americans take the cookie!!!
Okay, enough ra ra. I don't even like Nestle'. Boo Nestle. Go steal their recipie but get your chocolate from somewhere else.
The party was a hit. The comment from one of the kids upon spying the tray of "ants on a log" was (translated) "I don't know what that is, but the prociutto sandwiches are good." As a result, we had ants on a log for dinner and have enough left over for snack today.
My only issues were getting some of the kids to keep their shirts on easily solved by innocently proposing that I call up their Mamma and ask if it's okay and breaking up kissing sessions. Yea, apparently a couple of these punks are "dating" and entertain their peers with extended kissing. They reportedly only got to 3 seconds yesterday. Seeing as they've gotten to 20 seconds on the school playground, I feel like I've adequately performed my duties as the parent in charge.
Ahh, the joys of 3rd grade.