In fact, that combination -- a sense of accomplishment and comfort food is a high. When the cookies were finally cool enough to eat, I grabbed a hammer and bit off the tong end. "If I had a hammer, I'd bite it in the kitchen. I'd bite it on the stairway, all over this house. It's a hammer of ginger. It's a hammer of whole wheat. It's a hammer of silliness between my laundry and my oven. All all over this house."
I never did understand the original words to this song. "I'd hammer out justice" sounds like I'd get rid of justice, or maybe I'd exact vengeance. Either way it doesn't sound like a good thing. It's a song from the 40's that got new life in the 60's along with a bunch of other strange songs like one condemning love as being like a lemon impossible to eat, and another praising gambling one's last dollar on a horse named stewball. This kind of free-association is the key to a writer's high. For all of you who ask, "Where do you get your ideas?" That's it. Hurray for gingerbread hammers!