In a book I read at Barnes and Noble this evening (ahem), two characters enjoy cookies with coffee that they do not drink, but merely allow to waft around the room as they eat. I have decided to do this tonight for three reasons:
1. I'm making tuiles, which are these curved, almond-flavored French confections that are as gustatorily delicate as they are physically and would thus most likely be overwhelmed by all but the most subtle of coffees.
2. I took a massive nap in the middle of yet another day that mostly entailed sitting on my rear (bleargh), and thus I don't need any help staying up much later than I should.
3. The smell of coffee is often better than the taste of it.
Tuiles are a lot of fun. They can be sweet or savory, topped with a dollop of something or dolloped onto something or rolled into cylinders and filled with something or just eaten plain. I like that last option. The trick is to get the baking time just right such that the edges are caramelized and the tuile will harden nicely while not overbaking them so that they're virtually glued to the pan. Since that takes about 5 minutes, I usually don't even hit the oven timer: I crouch in front of the oven with my face glued to the front panel and the oven light on, waiting for the perfect moment.