Lately, my personal life has been a little stressful.
Without going into gory details, all I can really say is: there’s only so many cookies a girl can eat for comfort before even yoga pants can’t provide comfort.
Friday night Jessie and I were invited yet again to another round of drinks and insanity and of course, I couldn’t resist a future blog post just falling into my lap like a drunken whiskey-drinking fool (like last time).
This time, however, the place was empty. Only a few older couples sat strewn about the bar and most of the “younger” men were transfixed to the baseball game on the TV. I could count the number of people dancing at any given time, it was that slow.
And I didn’t have a certain fireball-whiskey-drinking-brat to bother me this time, so yeah, it was nice.
Somewhere between drinking my beer, my bubbling stress and the fact that no one was dancing and there was a room full of stale older folk, I got this random bug. I considered calling my doctor and complaining that I was experiencing this weird mental sensation and must be living proof of being mentally abducted by aliens, but I decided to ride it out and be all-natural and stuff about it.
That bug was the dancing bug, and ladies and gentlemen, I went out on the dance floor and I danced.
Again, perhaps it was the stress getting to my head and causing me to do psychotic things like publicly humiliate myself. Perhaps it was the alcohol on a relatively empty stomach. Perhaps it was because the band’s rendition of Pokerface was damn catchy. Either way, I strutted my stuff out there and danced. I danced like a friggin’ fool, people, and I had the time of my life.
I chicken danced. I sexy-danced. I did weird dances, like the shopping cart and the sprinkler. And it was fun. And I laughed and laughed while Jessie sat with his hand half-covering his face in embarrassment as middle-aged and older couples smiled and stared from the dining room.
And once I couldn’t dance any more, I sat down, polished off a huge glass of water, and completely and utterly avoided that stupid pixie when she finally arrived, minutes after I’d just finished busting a move.
And it was the best ever.
So basically, burning all those calories warranted an excess of cookies. It’s science, people. And the cookies of choice this time were these spectacular Butterscotch Pecan Cookies. If you’re a fan of pecan pie and general deliciousness, these are for you, my friends.
Alien abductions and all.
1 box butter pecan cake mix
1/2 cup oil
1 tsp cinnamon
3/4 cup butterscotch chips
3/4 cup cinnamon pecans (you can find ’em near the sundae stuff at the grocery store; I used Fisher brand)
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Lightly grease two cookie sheets with cooking spray and set aside.
2. In a large bowl, combine the cake mix, eggs, oil and cinnamon until blended. Stir in the butterscotch chips and cinnamon pecans by hand.
3. Portion heaping Tablespoonfuls of dough onto the cookie sheets, about 1″ apart. Bake for approx. 8-10 minutes, rotating pans halfway through cooking time to ensure even cooking. Cool for 5 mins on sheets before transferring to wire racks to cool completely.
4. Cookies can be stored airtight at room temperature, for about 3-4 days.
Typically I’m not a *huge* pecan pie fan, but I really loved how tender and sweet these cookies were. The glazed pecans were a perfect caramelized crunch, and I can never resist the magical powers of butterscotch. I doubt you will be able to, either!