Our lovely wife, Wife, once worked as a systems administrator for two textile plants in Pumpkintown, SC. There was a cookie-baking contest there back in the day (2002) and Wife ended up with a copy of the winning recipes. Upon compiling, folding, and spindling our Vast Tome of recipes, we inadvertently (and inadvisedly) found a recipe for "Potato Chip Cookies." Obviously a winner (though probably in violation of the Geneva Convention), and obviously brutal (gastro-intestinally speaking), we had to make these "cookies." The recipe called for 1/2 cup of crushed potato chips. We used the Julia Child method:
We were going to select Lay's potato chips, but discovered that Ruffles are made by the same company in the same hole: Plano, TX. Did you know that Texas once tried to outlaw "sexy cheerleading?" Honestly, if we outlawed everything someone somewhere found offensive, there wouldn't even be a Texas anymore.
Anyway, the Ruffles were on sale and had just as much white-trash credence as Lay's. Ever wondered what a tablespoon of powdered potato chips tastes like? So did we.
But not anymore. It was like being punched in the uvula with a statuette of Screwtape made from the dregs of a Carl's Jr. deep fryer.
We modified the original manuscript somewhat to make the recipe gluten-free (gotta appease our girlfriend, Girlfriend). This should be flour, but is actually some unholy mixture of millet flour, rice flour, tapioca starch, and a sprinkle of dirt from an elephant burial ground. Also, this was mixed at midnight on Samhain. During a total eclipse. By trolls. Hairy ones.
In the spirit of authenticity, we elected for the trashiest imitation vanilla we could find. (Truthfully, we didn't want to waste any of the good Madagascar bourbon vanilla on these cookies.)
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