Free Killer Pancake by Diane Mott Davidson Page A
Authors: Diane Mott Davidson
flour, baking powder, and salt and beat egg whites, then stirred oil, sugar, and vanilla. After combining all the ingredients, I put the cookie batter away to chill. I had just retrieved the ingredients for icing when the doorbell rang. Oh good, I thought: Marla. Finally.
VANILLA FROSTED FUDGE COOKIES
_ cup all-purpose flour
� cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 teaspoon baking powder
� teaspoon salt
� cup canola oil
1 cup sugar
1 � teaspoons vanilla extract
4 egg whites, unbeaten
2 cups confectioners' sugar
2-3 tablespoons skim milk, approximately additional unsweetened cocoa powder
Preheat the oven to 350. Spray a large nonstick cookie sheet with vegetable oil spray. Sift the flour, cocoa, baking powder, and salt together; set aside. Mix together the oil, sugar, 1 teaspoon of the vanilla, and the egg whites until well combined. Stir in the flour mixture.
Chill one hour. Using a �-tablespoon measure, scoop the dough onto the cookie sheet, leaving 2 inches between cookies. Bake for 8 to 10 minutes or until the cookies are puffed and cooked through. Do not overcook.
Transfer the cookies to a rack and cool completely. Mix together the confectioners' sugar, skim milk, and remaining � teaspoon vanilla until pasty. Add skim milk if necessary.
Spread a small amount of vanilla frosting on each cookie. Put the cookies back on the rack, dust lightly with cocoa powder, and allow the frosting to dry.
Makes 4 dozen cookies
I looked through the peephole prepared to see my big- bodied, big-hearted friend triumphantly holding up the bags of gourmet goodies she always brought to ease tense or troubling situations. But anticipatory delight quickly froze to dread. The
Jerk's distorted mug grinned broadly into the peephole's circular eye.
"Let me in, Goldy," he bellowed. "I have to talk to you!"
Fear opened a hollow in my stomach. In the years since the divorce, my ex-husband had rarely demanded to talk to me.
Looking for Arch, he either barged in angrily - pre-security system - or waited sullenly for our son on the doorstep. But this afternoon Arch was doing tie-dying with Todd. I looked out at John Richard, trying to decide what to do. He drew back in a dramatic gesture from the door and held his arms out. He was wearing Bermuda shorts, Polo shirt, Top-Siders without socks - the very portrait of a rich guy.
"I've got news," he shouted, pressing his face in again at the peephole. "Bad news! You want to hear it or not?" He added snidely, "It concerns somebody you care about a lot!"
I really did not want to see him. The day had been awful enough. And yet here he was, doing a typical power- trip, teasing with the possibility of bad news. I hesitated. The security system was disarmed. I could go out on the porch to talk to him. All I had to do was unlock the dead bolt and walk out the door. But when I started to fumble with the bolt, the phone rang in the kitchen.
Darn it all, anyway. I dashed for the kitchen.
"Goldilocks' Catering - ".I began breathlessly. The Jerk was banging on the front door. There was a smart thwack of wood against metal. I heard the Jerk curse loudly. "Goldilocks' Catering," I repeated, "Where Everything - "
"It's me," Tom interrupted. "I'm at the hospital."
"Boo!" said John Richard Korman as he walked up behind me. His breath smelled of whiskey. I shrieked and dropped the phone.
"Who's that?" said Tom. Coming from the dropped phone, his voice was distant but clearly alarmed. "Goldy? Are you there?"
I stared furiously at my ex-husband, who gave me a wide-eyed mocking leer in return. Involuntarily, I glanced around for my wooden knifeblock. John Richard followed my gaze and wagged one finger at me. He moved in the direction of the knifeblock, scooped it up, and cradled it and its protruding black handles as he moved into the dining room. Goose bumps pimpled my arms.
By the time John Richard walked empty-handed back into the kitchen, I'd managed to pick up the dangling receiver. "It's...
VANILLA FROSTED FUDGE COOKIES
_ cup all-purpose flour
� cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 teaspoon baking powder
� teaspoon salt
� cup canola oil
1 cup sugar
1 � teaspoons vanilla extract
4 egg whites, unbeaten
2 cups confectioners' sugar
2-3 tablespoons skim milk, approximately additional unsweetened cocoa powder
Preheat the oven to 350. Spray a large nonstick cookie sheet with vegetable oil spray. Sift the flour, cocoa, baking powder, and salt together; set aside. Mix together the oil, sugar, 1 teaspoon of the vanilla, and the egg whites until well combined. Stir in the flour mixture.
Chill one hour. Using a �-tablespoon measure, scoop the dough onto the cookie sheet, leaving 2 inches between cookies. Bake for 8 to 10 minutes or until the cookies are puffed and cooked through. Do not overcook.
Transfer the cookies to a rack and cool completely. Mix together the confectioners' sugar, skim milk, and remaining � teaspoon vanilla until pasty. Add skim milk if necessary.
Spread a small amount of vanilla frosting on each cookie. Put the cookies back on the rack, dust lightly with cocoa powder, and allow the frosting to dry.
Makes 4 dozen cookies
I looked through the peephole prepared to see my big- bodied, big-hearted friend triumphantly holding up the bags of gourmet goodies she always brought to ease tense or troubling situations. But anticipatory delight quickly froze to dread. The
Jerk's distorted mug grinned broadly into the peephole's circular eye.
"Let me in, Goldy," he bellowed. "I have to talk to you!"
Fear opened a hollow in my stomach. In the years since the divorce, my ex-husband had rarely demanded to talk to me.
Looking for Arch, he either barged in angrily - pre-security system - or waited sullenly for our son on the doorstep. But this afternoon Arch was doing tie-dying with Todd. I looked out at John Richard, trying to decide what to do. He drew back in a dramatic gesture from the door and held his arms out. He was wearing Bermuda shorts, Polo shirt, Top-Siders without socks - the very portrait of a rich guy.
"I've got news," he shouted, pressing his face in again at the peephole. "Bad news! You want to hear it or not?" He added snidely, "It concerns somebody you care about a lot!"
I really did not want to see him. The day had been awful enough. And yet here he was, doing a typical power- trip, teasing with the possibility of bad news. I hesitated. The security system was disarmed. I could go out on the porch to talk to him. All I had to do was unlock the dead bolt and walk out the door. But when I started to fumble with the bolt, the phone rang in the kitchen.
Darn it all, anyway. I dashed for the kitchen.
"Goldilocks' Catering - ".I began breathlessly. The Jerk was banging on the front door. There was a smart thwack of wood against metal. I heard the Jerk curse loudly. "Goldilocks' Catering," I repeated, "Where Everything - "
"It's me," Tom interrupted. "I'm at the hospital."
"Boo!" said John Richard Korman as he walked up behind me. His breath smelled of whiskey. I shrieked and dropped the phone.
"Who's that?" said Tom. Coming from the dropped phone, his voice was distant but clearly alarmed. "Goldy? Are you there?"
I stared furiously at my ex-husband, who gave me a wide-eyed mocking leer in return. Involuntarily, I glanced around for my wooden knifeblock. John Richard followed my gaze and wagged one finger at me. He moved in the direction of the knifeblock, scooped it up, and cradled it and its protruding black handles as he moved into the dining room. Goose bumps pimpled my arms.
By the time John Richard walked empty-handed back into the kitchen, I'd managed to pick up the dangling receiver. "It's...
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