
The thought of gently clasping a star-tipped pastry bag to make cookies was laughable until fairly recently. It may not seem obvious from posts that involve feats of manual dexterity and shameless whipping, but I am, in fact, a red-blooded male.
While I appreciate any passing mention from fellow bloggers that find my posts somewhat amusing, I can’t help but feel awkward when referred to as a “she” or “her.” Is it my writing style? Is it my amateurish attempts at styling my food photos? My recipe selection, perhaps? Should I start posting about steaks, buffalo wings, and chili?
In any case, these buttery cookies do not help my case at all. For one thing, they’re French. Things that require accented characters to spell or nasal inflection to pronounce are generally associated with sophistication and plucked eyebrows, neither of which apply to me. The recent spectacle of French emasculation in front of an audience of 1.3 billion can also only worsen things, so I’m in a bit of a pinch.













