Holiday baking is right around the corner, and I just saw a recipe for “Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Bites”. It sent chills up my spine.
As tempting and delicious as this sounds to everyone but me, it’s not such a good idea (even leaving out the raw eggs) unless you limit yourself to just one, or two bites. But who has that much self control?
I learned a lesson about eating raw chocolate chip cookie dough that falls under the category of “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
I was in college (don’t most good stories start with that phrase?) and my roommate Elizabeth (Liz, to us) bought a 32 ounce tube of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough to Maryann’s.
Maryann’s is not a person’s dorm room, apartment, or home. Maryann’s was (and is) a bar in the Cleveland Circle section of Boston that was a hang out for Boston College students. I basically lived there from Thursday through Saturday (but that’s a different story). It is one of those places that is standing room only, with no space between bodies, football player bouncers, and no escape route in case of fire. In other words, a Meat Market with great music, spilled drinks, sticky floors, and two-for one specials.
Anyway, Liz thought it would be funny to see how many people she could get to eat the dough, and started offering people slices of raw dough off of a plastic knife. I’m not sure how many people actually took her up on her offer. Beer, cheap booze, and cookie dough batter just don’t go together like beer and pretzels. With good reason.
I, on the other hand, had no problem accepting the offer of raw dough every time it was presented. After being turned down by several people, Liz returned to me and I happily accepted. This scene repeated itself until the lights came on signaling last call. By the end of the night, the tube was empty and I had eaten enough so that I was full. Hell, for all I know, I may have eaten the entire roll.
I had no idea that my stomach was now the human version of an Easy Bake oven, slowly baking too many ounces of cookie batter in a confined space.
By the time we got back to our apartment, and I knew something was wrong. The more time passed, the fuller I felt until I was in bed, writhing in pain. It is no exaggeration when I say I thought my stomach was going to explode. The pain was that excruciating.
After laughing at me, my roommates thought they should call security, or the infirmary. I begged them not to call. It was bad enough that I had already been brought to the infirmary once by campus police for some mystery illness that caused a high fever and Linda Blair-like behavior in “The Exorcist” (minus the projectile vomiting). I didn’t want to get a reputation.
The rest of the night is a blur. To this day, I do not know how my stomach managed to stay intact, or how I actually managed to digest it all. A hangover would have been easier.
I had a lot of fun nights at Maryann’s. Some of my most fun and special memories happened there, or started there.
This was not one of them.
So, if you see this recipe floating around. Be very careful with how many you eat, or how many you let your children eat.
I have not eaten even one bite of cookie dough since that night over 35 years ago.
It left an impression.