The dogs in my life belong to other folk; four here; five in another state, so even though I don’t cook , I just knew I could make dog biscuits.
The recipe was simple: mix together 2 cups of flour and 1 cup of rolled oats (I thought that possibly meant Quick Cooking Oatmeal), 1/3 cup of peanut butter and 1 1/4 cup of hot water. Got that all done and had a big ball of sticky stuff.
I had such fun using a rolling-pin that I think I might have rolled the dough a tad thinner than a quarter of an inch. However, onward…I cut them out with canape cutters borrowed from my neighbor, the cook with everything. This took a long, long, time. They were very small. Gave those up and used an apple core cutter to finish some more and finally, in desperation, I simply cut strips. (Who knew dough multiplied all on its own.)
Greased 3 cookie tins (well actually one cookie tin, one pizza pan, and one square pan) and carefully placed all those little things on the pans.
Knowing my oven cooks higher than the dial states, I still dutifully set the temperature to 350 and turned the timer to 40 minutes.
About 30 minutes into the cooking, there was this smell that had turned from peanut butter to something else.
Knowing that the dogs were all going to love me, I ignored the smell, kept watching the news; finally the buzzer!
Carefully I looked into the oven….
Aren’t dog biscuits kinda brownish?
What are these black things staring back at me?
Found the Febreeze. Sprayed everywhere. Now, my house smelled like burned peanut butter covered with Febreeze.
To add insult to injury, while I was writing this post, the water boiled out of the pot with the cinnamon sticks; the pot stuck to the hot eye, and when I pulled the pot off the eye, I could see light through the hole in the bottom.
Perhaps I should just redo the kitchen and make a home office. Or better yet, I could start a cooking school for dummies!