Creation of the Cookie

My friends and I all stood around the kitchen table, eyes wide in astonishment at the amount of ingredients laying on the table, not knowing where to start. Three giant bags of chocolate chips, a baker's bag of flour, carton of eggs, baking soda, heaps of butter, and so on. It cluttered the long counter, leaving no room for bowls or tools. 

We continued to stare, and I laughed aloud. 

“So, guys, where do we start?” I asked, turning to my friends, Taylor, Lucas, Noah, and Harper. 

“I literally have no idea,” Taylor said, her own blue eyes wide, taking in the massive sight. 

“With the recipe!” Lucas cried out, one finger pointing to the air in triumph and the other stuffing handfuls of chocolate chips into his small mouth. I laughed. Lucas talked us all into doing this, he really was the one to blame. 

A few weeks ago, Lucas came to us one day at school with a mischievous smile and waggling his blonde eyebrows. I knew something was up. 

Harper and I stood at our lockers talking about the latest and most terrible geometry test of the year, waiting for class to begin, and Lucas came to interrupt our conversation. 

“Harper, Bella. I have the most best idea ever!’ He exclaimed like a little kid, and Harper rolled her eyes jokingly. 

I lifted my eyebrows at his use of language. “Most best?” 

“Yes,” he said with excitement. “Imagine this, the world’s most giant chocolate chip cookie ever. We could make it and submit it to the Guinness book of world records!” Harper and I both laughed, nearly doubling over. Lucas often came to us with these extreme, if not stupid fantasies of foolish desires. This was one of them. A few weeks before that, he told us he wanted to build a robot that could do his math homework for him. He was still living in middle school, but we loved him for it. 

“What? Come on, guys. We can do it,” he said, almost as if we were being stupid to laugh. 

“It’s just..a little ambitious,” I said, still smiling. 

“Yeah, do any of us look like bakers?” Harper said, gesturing to the three of us with one hand on her hip. 

“Noah knows how to bake some, and you brought cupcakes for your birthday every year in middle school,” Lucas said, talking to me. 

Wrinkling her small nose, “I don’t know, Noah. And remember that time all the frosting melted off her strawberry cupcakes?” Harper said, proving her point further. 

“They were still good,” Lucas said defensively. 

The bell rang, stopping our conversation, and we went to class. Later that day, we told Taylor Lucas’s newest most ridiculous idea, and Lucas proposed his own idea to Noah, even though we told him not to. 

“You know, we could do it,” Taylor said as we sat around the lunch table, much to our astonishment. 

“Oh no. Not you too. You’re not serious, are you?” Harper asked, flicking her salad around with her fork. 

“Yes, I’m totally serious. Come one guys, get into the Christmas spirit! We’ve got a week left before mid year finals, so we need to have some fun. We all love cookies, so why not?” 

“Do you know how hard it is to get into the Guinness book of world records? I doubt we would be able to, there are like, professionals in that book.” Harper asked, stabbing the leafy greens in the bowl more vigorously, and her long dark hair covering most of her face. 

“We don’t have to get in, but it would be fun,” Taylor said, her eyes lighting up.

Lucas managed to convince Noah to help us, much to our dismay. Noah was one of Lucas’s friends, who we didn’t know so well. He usually sulked in every class, earbuds in, blocking out his surroundings. He was fine, I guess. But we never noticed him enough to actually care. 

After school, Lucas came to us, dragging Noah behind him with a paper in his hand. I could guess what it was. 

“Okay guys, so here is the list of everything we need to buy,” and then he started reading off the long list. 

“Wait, wait wait. We never agreed to any of this,” I said, hiding my giggle. He always became so animated when he talked about his upcoming projects. 

“Oh, come on. You know you want to,” He said, looking up from his paper, grinning like a maniac. 

We gave in. How can anyone resist baking warm, melty, chocolate chip cookies? Or rather, one giant cookie. We celebrated and planned our event with a dinner at the pizzeria after school, and made a list of ingredients. 

A day later, when it became the weekend and we were able to forget all of our school struggles and homework, we headed to the store, hitching a ride fromTaylor’s Mom. She agreed to take us and let us bake, so long as we used our own money for such an expense. Noah tagged along with us, a little more helpful than usual. He pointed out which ingredients were the best while the rest of us fought across isles and shopping carts. 

“No, not that one!” 

“We need more!”

“That’s too expensive.”

“We need less!” and so on.  

Lucas occasionally hopped onto the cart and rode it into the isles, nearly tipping it over from the imbalance. 

Combining our funds, we forked over our cash at the register and clamored for the bags as the clerk looked at us with suspicion, while Taylor’s Mom lagged behind. 

With the cart piled high, we sped across the parking lot and stuffed the SUV with our piles of groceries. 

After nearly ten minutes of unhauling everything, we hurried inside, eager to start. The ingredients sprawled over the kitchen counter, conquering the space. When Lucas told us to start with the recipe, Noah whipped his phone out and pulled up a screenshot of the best one he found on line, all with the ingredients we had. 

“Okay...How many times do we need to double it?” I asked no one in particular. Taylor did the math, and she announced how many times we needed to multiply the recipe. 

Then, we got to work.

We hit our first problem right away. 

“Where are we going to get a bowl big enough?” Harper asked, already covered in flour as she opened the bag. We didn’t even think about that beforehand. Swiftly, Taylor pulled out every large bowl she could find in the kitchen that happened to be lurking in the cabinets, and she pulled out quite a few.

“There. That should be enough bowls, but no giant one. My Mom cooks a lot, so we have plenty,” she explained as she tied her short blonde hair back into a ponytail. “Wash your hands, tie your hair, and get to work.” 

It didn’t go so smoothly as we planned. Flour and sugar littered the floor and every surface imaginable, as dishes piled up in the sink, none of us willing to be on cleaning duty. 

We decided for every person, we would work on a batch of batter. So, a few bowls for every one that we washed multiple times. I was seriously concerned that our batters and ingredients were getting mixed up, which would result in a not-so-good cookie. I didn’t want to get mine mixed up with Lucas’s, as he didn’t seem to be consistent with his measuring skills. Noah, on the other hand, managed to keep his own tiny area somewhat clean and measured precisely. I guessed he did know more about baking than I thought. 

As I poured chocolate chips into my giant bowl of batter, Taylor’s Mom came walking down the stairs. We all froze, afraid how she would act when she saw her kitchen caught up in this tornado. 

“What are you guys doing? This is a mess!” She covered and rubbed her eyes wearily, as if by doing so the mess would all go away. “Taylor, I expect this kitchen to be cleaner than I left it when I come back. I have to finish some things at work.” And then, she left. We all let out a sigh of relief, grateful not to be scolded. 

Butter was measured, sugar was poured, and batter was mixed and strewn everywhere, some even covering the floor. We rolled, stirred, and mixed. 

I caught Harper plucking dough from her bowl, and called her out on it. “You’re going to get salmonella,” I said, somewhat jokingly. 

“I just can’t resist,” She replied, holding up a spoon full of cookie dough, as if examining it. 

“And look who didn’t want to do it,” Taylor giggled, mixing her own batch of cookie dough. I caught her snatch pieces a few times as well. I mean, who can’t resist cookie dough? Most times it’s better than the actual cooked cookie. 

After what seemed like hours and we were all covered in flour, we realized we were finished with the dough. 

“Yes!” Lucas shouted, high fiving Taylor. “I think we actually finished with the dough, guys.” 

We stared at the tornado that swept through the kitchen, dreading the next step within the mission. I sighed, and started collecting the utensils scattered around the counter when Harper interrupted my train of thought. 

“Um, guys, where are we going to bake this thing? No way are we baking the world's most giant cookie in this oven.” Harper was right. How were we going to cook this giant thing? I groaned in realization of our negligence to plan properly. 

We thought and argued for a moment, happy to ignore the mess before us. Suddenly, Noah interrupted us, silencing us all, waiting to see what he would say. We were surprised to see he actually spoke for once. “How about the Pizzeria? They have a giant pizza oven, we could bribe them and cook it there.” 

We all nodded in unison realization and agreement. 

“How are we going to get there? My Mom left and none of us can drive yet,” Taylor said, brushing a few stray blonde hairs out of her face. 

“I can drive,” Noah said, looking up again. “That’s how I got here. My Dad’s car is parked on the street.”

“Great!” Taylor exclaimed, clapping her hands. “But we need to be quick before my Mom gets back.” 

So, we then continued to carry the many bowls and seran wrapped dough to his Toyota, and piled in the car with excitement. Soon enough, we arrived at the pizzeria and lugged the dough out of the car and headed inside. Before we headed in, we all voted Taylor to do the talking. She was by far the most charismatic, even if Noah was the most enthusiastic. 

The man at the counter frowned, and tugged at his beard as he pondered our request. 

“We’re really not supposed to do this you know, this isn’t a charity. We don’t bake other people’s food. Only pizza,” He said, crossing his arms fiercely. 

Noah rushed to the counter, and almost started to kneel and plead until Harper kicked him sharply in the heel. He turned around and frowned, but continued anyway. “Please. We will pay you, and your restaurant will be in the Guinness Book of World Records forever,” as if that statement alone was convincing enough. 

The man didn’t say anything, so Taylor continued to argue her point. In the end , he gave in. No one could turn down Taylor’s requests as her beauty and personality charmed everyone. 

“Fine. But you have to pay, and I don’t want you to ever come back and ask for such a request again,” he growled, intimidating us. 

We cheered, and headed into the kitchen. We prepped the dough, rolled it out, and set it on the giant object they put in the oven, all the while the angry man stared us down, making sure we took all the necessary precautions. 

It really did look like a giant cookie pizza, and we all stood in awe as one of the employers inserted it into the oven. 

We stood there the whole time, watching the dough bubble, rise, and fall, tasting the scents of pizza and sweets in the air. I could practically hear all of our stomachs grumble. 

Finally, after long minutes, the gigantic cookie was done. We all salivated over the hot, fluffy cookie set before us. 

“We are going to be in the book of world records!” Noah shouted for the hundredth time today as he took out his phone and snapped a picture. I shared a knowing look with Harper, and whispered for her not to burst his bubble.

After agonizing minutes, we seated ourselves at a long table and ordered pizza to go along with our giant cookie, which took two servers to bring out and set on the table. 

Of course we ate the cookie first. We thoroughly enjoyed the warm, chocolatey goodness and all of its flavors. Surprisingly, it tasted way better than I ever imagined it could. I should have known, chocolate chip cookies are practically foolproof. 

We may not get into the Guiness book of world records, but I know that the memories we created were more important than any award that could ever be handed to us.