I Attempted Baking and Now I Need a Valium
How ChatGpt and protein bars tried to break me.
Technical difficulties (me multitasking unsuccessfully) led to this post being sent out before it was fully edited. Alas, here it is in all its chaotic glory… and yes, Harper is now clean and cocaine-free.
If you received this twice, I apologize, but consider it your reminder to heart and comment on the post. Pls and thxxxxx.
It all started with a run-in with Bryan Johnson, the anti-aging biohacker. It was innocent enough. We were out at a party and my friend Tina and I decided to ask him our most pressing anti-aging questions. Of course I asked about protein consumption since protein is clearly having a moment and he told me that, for my body weight, I should be eating 70 grams of protein a day.
He also told me that REM latency can be an early indicator of dementia, so I now study my sleep data like it’s got the code to unlock the blockchain, but I digress.
About a year ago, I began breaking out like a teenager. Cystic, adult acne that was relentless, so I did the Face Reality program where they look at your skin from a topical perspective but also from an internal, dietary angle. One of their major pillars is increasing protein intake.
I started with adding bone broth into my diet, then graduated to actual animal protein and, as someone who desperately wanted to be a vegetarian, this was huge. I went from having fish every three months—holding my nose while eating it—to having fish once a week, sometimes more. I was proud of myself for expanding my palate. And yes, it took years to get here, but I never said I wasn’t a picky eater.
Anyway, getting back to the current situation. The acne boot camp also drilled into me the importance of removing gluten and dairy to help restore gut health and clear my skin. So I found these Maxine peanut butter and chocolate chunk gluten-free, dairy-free cookies that I actually enjoy. I have a massive sweet tooth, always have… I used to eat eight—yes, eight—Reese’s peanut butter sticks at night for a solid two years. They’re made with clean ingredients, a decent amount of fiber, and two grams of protein per cookie. I used to joke with friends that they were practically health food. I even put them in one of my early newsletters as a must-have.
Since my current protein obsession is still going strong, I wanted to add collagen into my diet too because, naturally I have to optimize everything, even dessert. So I had this genius idea: I’d make my own version of Maxine’s cookies, but with a boost of protein and collagen.
I turned to my trusty friend ChatGPT—who, from here on out, will be referred to exclusively as Chat—and told him he was now a Michelin-starred chef and my cooking teacher, a la Julia Child. He needed to recreate this cookie recipe for me, but with more protein, and give me detailed instructions to pull it off.
What followed was a two-day back-and-forth because Chat is incredibly high-maintenance and needs constant reassurance. At one point he told me to make a smoothie using vanilla plant-based protein and half a cup of almond milk, which turned into a paste because (surprise) there wasn’t enough liquid. So it’s all about micromanaging: Have you checked your work? Have you tested your ratios? Are you sure this makes sense? And then he comes back and contradicts himself. Typical.
Eventually, we landed on a recipe that sounded decent. At least, there weren’t any glaring red flags that this novice chef could see, but I wanted to abandon the entire experiment as I wasn’t feeling confident about my culinary aptitude.
Still, I’d already bought all the ingredients, and I didn’t want them to go to waste. And honestly—fuck it—I also bought a baking pan, because I didn’t have one, and glass mixing bowls because I couldn’t find where mine were… that’s how little I cook.
So I get my ingredients out and start replicating the cookies, only now I’m shaping them into bars, and I’m nixing the collagen because—paste, barf. I go back to Chat and say, “Make it a little more indulgent.” So we increase the peanut butter and the dates which, by the way, I had to ask Chat for step-by-step instructions to make date paste (in one output he told me to just smash the dates against the side of a bowl, ummm… no).
We’ll start with the multiple flours. This was my first time opening almond flour and it burst everywhere. My dog, Harper, was right next to me, caught off-guard by her profound luck to have me finally using my kitchen, so she wagged her tail beside me, ready to scrape up the fallen rations from the floor. And unbeknownst to me, the exploding almond powder had landed smack on her shiny black coat, making her look like a street dog with a cocaine problem. Picture below.
As I’m transferring the chocolate chips from the package to a storage container, they spill everywhere. Mind you, these are dark chocolate chips—toxic to dogs, and I have a dog who is completely led by hunger. Thankfully, I was able to grab her and get her into the crate before she ingested any of them. Vet bill was not on my bingo card.
Let’s not forget I had to ask Chat how to melt coconut oil. I knew I should microwave it, I just wasn’t certain for how long, or whether I was supposed to measure the teaspoon as its melted liquid or solid. And trust me, if you haven’t compared, there’s a difference.
But the most ridiculous part of the whole experiment? Somehow, unbeknownst to me, I cut my finger on the dumb blender’s blade—the same blender that I had purchased for the sole purpose of creating delicious, protein-packed smoothies that let me down. I didn’t notice the cut, or the blood, until I started mixing the dough with my hands, trying to really work it all in, and there it is: crimson red liquid in the dough. My beautiful dough. So I ended up picking out the bloody pieces because I’ll be damned if this isn’t going into the oven.
I finally get it in the oven, and of course the rack is too high, but the heat is coming from the bottom. So I have to go back to Chat again who tells me to adjust the temperature and time. I follow the instructions, but when I check on the bars, they’re still raw. So I rig the rack lower, reset the oven, and start all over.
I think it’s worth noting that I use my fridge for beauty products, water, and teas, and that’s about it. Even during COVID, I barely cooked. I have a thing with raw food, especially raw meat or poultry or fish. Any raw animal product, really. But even raw carrots make my stomach turn.
So I bought a bunch of frozen food early in the pandemic, thinking I’d cook, but within a week, restaurants had thankfully figured out how to reopen, and I ordered every single meal I consumed. I justified it by telling myself I was helping keep the Los Angeles economy afloat.
That’s not to say I can’t make a few dishes. I have a mean turkey taco recipe and a supreme avocado toast. But have you ever actually cooked for one person? It’s not less expensive, and it’s rather wasteful unless you’re willing to eat leftovers for three days straight. No thanks, barf.
Here I am, attempting to pass as someone who can make an edible meal, but what I’ve finally succumbed to is this: I despise the very act. All of it. The prep, the mixing, the baking, the flipping, the frying, the cutting, the cleanup, obviously, but also, I really detest eating what I’ve made because I don’t like knowing what’s in my food.
So I’m caught between feeling like a failure and feeling so absolutely free that I’ve finally embraced the fact that I will never try cooking again.
And in case you were wondering, the bars were inedible. Dry, chalky, and lacking in any sweetness. I immediately tossed them. Oh, and I’m returning the blender. It’s unnecessary, and I’m personally offended by its existence. Plus, it tried to bludgeon my finger and ruin my bars.
The moral is: Yes, Glennon Doyle, I can do hard things. I just choose not to.
But cooking can be so creative and calming. Maybe try using a cookbook instead of ChatGPT. It’s worth another try. Turkey chili, lemon chicken - lots of protein and delicious.