high-bar baking

The first snap of fall in the air. 

There’s a great line dance with that lyric. But it’s also what today is. It hasn’t been unusual for there to be a brisk little breeze as I step into the office in the morning, these past couple of weeks. But I went for a walk at fully 10:30am and I was cold. Not cold-cold, I’m not a baby. But it was crisp outside! Little chilly!

Football season’s been on for a minute now, but that’s football weather, baby. 

And there’s nothing like this sport. This ridiculous sport that we are dumb idiots for. College football, specifically. The pageantry. The heartbreak. The blowouts and the walk-off field goals, the glory and the pain and the beauty. I’m sure plenty of other sports think they’re all that, but I will brook no dissension here. Who else has a nation of full marching bands? Who else makes Twitter accounts for the cutest Alaskan Malamute in the world pretending to be a Husky? (If you have not checked out Washington’s account for Dubs, please treat yourself). 

The fans are insane, and we love it. Did anyone have an off-shade Michigan tattoo on Michael Phelps’ belt line on their bingo card on Saturday? I know I didn’t. And it was glorious. (The concept. Nothing about Michigan is glorious.)

Rivals fall and rivals rise; coaches pound on tables impersonating human emotion. Announcers say the dumbest things in the world, and then you eventually have to mute them.

These cookies are modeled after the cookies Miss Kelli, Jamey Chadwell’s wife, makes for his players. I get a disproportionate number of compliments about them. If you were on the fence about making them.

The weather says it all, man. The football gods are pleased to welcome you to another season.