Your Face on the Frozen Cookies
There sometimes comes a moment late in the day, when the kitchen is hot and perfumed with the scent of browning bread, that I find myself staring deep into the oven, oblivious to the world outside. To my knowledge, batter and dough have not yet shown any proof of sentience, yet I see them come alive at 450 degrees. They shrink and grow, turn golden as they undergo a chemical revolution in the span of minutes.
