The recipe yielded about 4 dozen cookies, as my preference is that the dough is rolled slightly smaller that a golf ball before cooking. Someone once said of these, "there is something virtuous about small, single bite-sized cookies." To my delight, the cookie tin was completely empty at the end of the lunch, and ours is a small office.
I never enjoyed baking or cooking except in recent years. I still don't like it like Hannah, or, god forbid, my sister (I'm not sure why god should forbid it, but it felt right). I recently visited my sister, and from the second I got off of the plane we went straightaway to two grocery stores, and then she wanted to talk recipes, and plan what we could try to whip up in the kitchen over the next few days. My sister is thin. She has no excess of body fat. Anywhere. She runs, and lifts weights and was a soccer player from elementary school to college. She has impressive biceps and I believe an occasional 6-pack. I idolize her, but not for those reasons. I just think she's amazing. Her discipline is impressive though. She's a person I'm pretty sure who has never smoked a cigarette, doesn't really like drinking... she works as a therapist with disabled children who sometimes smack her, and otherwise act out... and she's funny and nice and family oriented and beautiful. But!I just can't get as excited about cookbooks or how the body functions-- she should be a doctor-- as she does(And my brother is really cool. and my stepsister is really great. But I need to get back to the cookies. My brother makes a mean breakfast, though we're more alike in the kitchen I think).
My sister used to bake even when we were in high school, which isn't odd, but was foreign to me, as this was the height of my love for taquitos and all things pre-made from Costco. I moved out of my parent’s house without knowing how to cook. I remember I thought, at age 21, that I had discovered the best in cuisine with this delectable recipe: a cheese totino's pizza--the party pizza! (Shout out to Grant! Every night a party pizza and two bricks of ramen) a cheese totino's pizza with a fried egg over easy and yellow mustard. I recommended this to people. I once ruined spaghetti that same year, when trying to make dinner for a date. I served undercooked pasta, complete with my own special sauce: Marinara, red wine and cream of mushroom soup. On the side was french bread, layered with a thick paste of mayonnaise, onions and paprika (this can actually be tasty when prepared right, a friends mom's special). He chewed politely and said, "well... it's not great," and offered me some pointers.
By the time I was 24 I had progressed slightly. I had been working at a food co-op for a few years and was getting a little sensitive about my ingredients. I was surrounded by people who loved food: good, quality, healthy food, and this was something of a new education. I know that cookies are not "health food" per say, I'm just trying to put it out there that I was on the cusp of learning how to follow a basic recipe and the realization that I didn't need to go to the frozen section to sustain myself.
So, last fall (completely by my own fault), I ended up squatting in the house of a new friend I had met when I sublet a room from her and her friends during summer. I paid rent, and was in everyone's way as they started the school year. I had all of my sh*t piled in the corner, and slept on the ground without a mattress in either the kitchen or the living room. I would bring home old produce from the co-op, sort of as a peace offering and a thank you for invading-your-most-personal-space, and the young woman who was letting me stay would whip up the most amazing dishes. Maybe it was sleeping in the kitchen, but it made an impression.
Anyway, I had to move out. It was a completely unsustainable, temporary living space. I had the good luck of running into one of my good friend's former housemate's girlfriend (whew) and she invited me over for a pizza night at her boyfriend's house. I went and they happened to have a room for rent, Hannah (my good friend)'s old room. I had pleasant memories associated with that house. The people seemed great. It was clear that I needed to leave the house I was currently in sooner, rather than later (I sound like I was a mooch. I wasn't! But I was an imposition), and I had just realized in the past few days that I probably wasn't going to join the coast guard (my plan at the time) and would be in town for at least awhile.
So I moved in. It was great. My housemate and coworker Grant (remember, totinos party pizza and two bricks of ramen?) became one of my best friends. He is one of the funniest, if not the funniest, most quick witted people I know. Marriage material I say! Ladies, take notice. Anyway, when I first moved in I was not immediately comfortable. I was comfortable, but I wanted my housemates to like me. I lived with four men and was the youngest person at the residence. I remember, one day I decided to make cookies for my housemates... maybe we were having a house game night. I just remember that I chose the simplest recipe that I could find-- the cheapest as well. It had, I think, peanut butter, sugar, and butter. they were okay. they became my standard for a quick minute. I progressed to chocolate chip, and then discovered the joys of soft-baked *I will never understand the appeal of a crispy cookie.
It was cookie mania! I was baking cookies sometimes more than once a week, filling the plate on the counter as soon it was emptied, most often I suspect by a hungry grad student, given name Zach. I was mailing cookies to friends out of state, bringing in cookies to my coworkers at 4 am, baking cookies for family members. It was like I had finally found my hidden talent, although it wasn't really a talent, it was just committing to memory a recipe that is printed on the back of most packages of chocolate chips.
My aunt cheryle once commented that feeding people is in my blood and that might be so. Observe my grandmother, whom I believe I have many, many adorable, funny stories about, that I am reticent to regale you with, as I don't want to seem like I'm mocking the woman. Case in point: Christmas Eve, this year. Nana is putting the pressure on me to accept her offer to bake me a batch of cookies. I am declining because 1.) I'm weight conscious and always give them away and that seems unfair 2.) she is always trying to give me something, whether it's old thank you cards, or tupperware, or once, a girdle. *Note, sometimes it's lovely stuff. Other times I'm pushing back plastic basket woven napkin holders. "Nana, thank you, but I don't want any cookies." I say again. "Don't you know anyone who likes cookies?" she says. "Just take the cookies." my mom whispers loudly. "Alright nana, I'd love some cookies." "Well, I don't want to force you..."
Whenever I am a host, or know that someone is unhappy, my first instinct is to feed them. I have played the humble cookie troll for my long-suffering (not so long) gentleman friend when he has scary work/school obligations. One of my many, most likely never going to happen dreams is to open a health food restaurant with my sister, somewhat like Sprouts, a casual eatery in Tahoe. We have a system at our parent’s house, she cooks, I clean. Our restaurant could be like that, I manage and she cooks, both of us researching delicious food-- I would specialize in the vegetarian and vegan fare, she would look for non-dairy options (she is lactose intolerant, like most of the world's population. Fun fact).
Anyway, I moved out of the house with all of the dudes and into one with Hannah (whose old room I had been living in-- had my own bathroom. Quite a step up), which happens to be occupied (at present) by four other girls and only one boy, whom is romantically attached to Hannah (which has a gender neutralizing effect?). A difference. Come to think of it, I have lived with either all gentlemen or ladies in intervals.
(Hannah has said more than once that she only wants to live in a house with a gas stove. So it is clear where she stands. I mean, a lady who has a stove preference. Call me uninitiated.)
One of my first impressions of this household was the impossibly cool
However. I have since learned that although everyone in this house is abstains from most junk food (with the exception of that pop tart eating, ramen noodling minx sydney), they all enjoy cookies, cakes, pies, ice cream, nutella, waffles, stroopwaffles, etc. Even with this knowledge I have not resumed my baking schedule. It was another time perhaps, another place.
When we have house dinners (which are... so great.) I usually try to make something healthy, without cheese or bread or any of the sinful things that I tell myself I can't eat, which normal people enjoy and don't obsess about. But whenever I want to delight or otherwise impress I pull out my novice baking knowledge. My boyfriend's parents I have tried to woo with pie. On Christmas Nick unfortunately witnessed a meltdown as I realized that chocolate chips were subpar and my split seconds (my FAVORITE cookie) were too under baked, and not worthy of serving.
I thought about that email that I got today as I bike home from the train station; it feels like so long ago, first thing this morning. The depressive in me is ready for some sunshine, but I do love fog. I love biking through fog in the cold; this morning I felt like I was a fish or frog cutting through a vat of ice water. Speaking of ice water, when making an all butter crust, use ice water. And when making cookies, bake them until they look like they are firm, but still pale, and they will cool into the softest, most soft-bakiest cookies ever. And whenever everything else is in doubt, remember that given the right tools, you have something to contribute at work, even if it wasn't what you had hoped for. Like baking cookies that people liked, even if this has no bearing on your job at all. This is all terrible. Goodnight my lovelies.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteHard cookies are for dipping in coffee or tea! Also, if you're wondering, I was "Helping Skillzzz" for a second there. I guess someone else had logged into their Google account on my computer. Weird.
ReplyDeleteI love this entry. I can't speak for your friends, but you capture the members of the family very well. And yes, you do make wonderful cookies :)
ReplyDelete