Vive la France et le Cookie Monster

by Gigi

One of my fondest childhood memories is of having a Cookie Monster cake. I swear I can remember the heavenly taste of the florescent blue frosting. (I looked everywhere for a photo of what it looked like, but even Google let me down; 21st century Cookie Monster cakes look nothing like 1980 Cookie Monster cakes.)

From there, my experience with cookies went downhill.

Put a platter of cookies in front of me and I don't have to use willpower to resist them. Cookies have no allure for me. But present me with a plate of rich cheeses or buttery croissants, and that plate will be licked clean before you know it.

In spite of my struggles to move beyond intermediate French, I've always thought I'd make a good French person based on my taste in food.

Those French have it right. Strong coffee, rich savory pastries, good cheese just about everywhere, fresh produce at outdoor markets, wine carafes of whatever size strikes your fancy, long lunches every day.

Cheese shop. (I wish I was eating some cheese right now.)

A market with berry and asparagus varieties I hadn't seen before.

An outdoor cafe where it's virtually impossible to get your bill and leave (I'm not saying that's a bad thing).

Salad at a Paris cafe.

I frequently tell myself I'm going to slow down and take those long lunches. Days at work are busy, so it's easy to tell yourself that eating at your desk is the best thing to do. But I know in the back of my head that it's not the right choice.

Since it's the season of making resolutions, one of my resolutions is to step away from my desk for lunch, be it at at my home office or my workplace office. I should also resolve to sort through childhood photos to find a photo of that delicious Cookie Monster cake. But not right now. After writing this, I find myself with a strong desire to have a cup of coffee and a slice of cheese...

If you give Martha a cookie....

The modern day classic, If You Give A Mouse A Cookie, is one of the most beloved children's picture books of recent decades.

I had outgrown picture books by its release, however, as a teenager, I read it to another child.

This book, quite frankly, horrifies me.

For those not familiar with this treasure (and I do not mean that sarcastically - the book is very well done), the story begins with the gifting of a cookie to a mouse.

It continues with the mouse making repeated and continued requests growing more and more outlandish.

As a teenager, I could not believe the cojones on this rodent.

SOMEONE GAVE YOU A GIFT!

Where was the thank you? Where was the graciousness? Where was the rush home to bake cookies to return so as to erase the karmic debt owed to this kind stranger???????

If someone gave me a cookie and I asked for something else, my mom would KILL me.

So rest assured, dear readers, do not fear giving me cookies this holiday season. I will accept them, graciously, no strings attached. :)

Congratulations to Juliet for earning a spot on the NYT Extended List!!

So the Pens, more specifically Juliet Blackwell, got some absolutely FANTASTIC news last week. Her latest release, DEAD BOLT, hit the New York Times Extended list at number 24.

For most writers, the New York Times list is our mecca. We are so freaking proud of the rest of the country for recognizing Juliet's genius!!! And so freaking THRILLED for Juliet!!! Join me in congratulating her on this phenomenal accomplishment!

Lisa

ps. Since it is cookie week, I'm going to share a recipe given to my mother about 45 years ago by our German neighbor. These Almond Rings are a staple every year in our house.

Cookies:
3/4 lb sifted flour (3 cups)
1/2 lb sugar (1 1/8 cup)
1/2 lb butter
1/2 lb blanched almonds finely grated (you can buy almond meal now!!)
1 t. cinnamon
2 whole eggs

Glaze:
Confectioners sugar
Rum

Mix all the cookie ingredients together until it forms into a nice ball. Cool a little in the refrigerator. Roll out dough & press into rings (use a glass and then cut a whole in the center of the circle with a thimble)

Put on ungreased pan. Bake at 350 degrees until gold.

Mix confectioners sugar and rum until you have a liquid consistency (but not too runny). Brush on cookies (warm or cold)

Enjoy!!

Cookie Tradition

L.G.C. Smith

Throughout my childhood, there was always one day during the Christmas holiday devoted to making cut-out sugar cookies. All four of us kids had to be there, and Mom. Dad did not have to attend, but if he did, he was the quality control engineer. We made mainly stars, bells, and trees. Pretty basic stuff. We had some tricky cookie cutters that were supposed to press in the lines of a teddy bear, a toy soldier, and a rocking horse, but none of us were adept enough to get the cookies out of them in one piece. So it was stars, bells, and trees.

We frosted with old-fashioned butter cream tinted with food coloring dripped from tubby little bottles. The colors weren't great, and Martha Stewart would have cried at the final results. Sloppy, gloppy and bright. But it was tradition. When other Christmas cookie shapes and recipes evolved over the years, the sugar cookies did not.

And now we inflict making them on the small children in our family. They're a good choice for me because I never liked them, and I never eat them. That isn't true of most cookies. I will eat most cookies greedily. Well, as long as they're gluten-free. Now. As a result, I only make gluten-free cookies to send to my niece in Texas since she's on a GFCF diet. Here are some of those.


These are the sort of cookies we made as kids except that these actually look better than any of the ones we made. Sprinkle technology has come a long ways.


That's one of Adrienne's boys and my niece a couple of years ago. I cleaned two and a third cups of colored sugar off the floor at the end of that evening. The kids are getting older. I anticipate less than a cup and a half on the floor this year.

When my nieces were born, thanks to years of watching Martha Stewart and the ability to follow recipes, I figured out how to decorate sugar cookies in a less gloppy fashion.


I kind of like doing it. But there had better not be any kids around when I'm doing this. Except that I'm not good at kicking the Leezlet out, and she's not too bad at dropping decorations onto royal icing if I give her a template to follow. Like on the gingerbread men on these cupcakes. We made them together for her junior kindergarten Christmas party a year ago. This year cupcakes were banned. Kind of scroogey, if you ask me. Bunch of baloney about too much sugar. (Just kidding, people. Well, the cupcakes were banned.)


Wednesday Adrienne and I are going to make the kids cut out and glop up some holiday sugar cookies. I might go basic. Stars, bells, and trees. Vanilla butter cream and sprinkles. No food coloring. There will be no cookies that look like this:


And there will be a lot that look like this. It's tradition.

How To Bake A Cookie

-- Adrienne Miller

It's kinda funny that I started baking as an antidote to the stress of life. Looking back, I can see my reasons. Baking seems like it would be the antithesis of writing. There's a clear plan. No reasoning is required. Just follow the step-by-step guide and--Presto!--you've got yourself a cake. Or a pie. Or a cookie.

When I first started out, I imagined that there would be a zen-like quality to working with the ingredients--carefully measuring them, mixing them together, meticulously decorating the finished product.

Maybe that's the way it works out if you're Martha Stewart, but not if you're anything like me. Now, don't get me wrong. I love to bake. Deep down, crazy love it. And it does help me reduce stress, just not the way I thought it would.

Instead of being the polar opposite of my writing experiences, it turned out that baking is like a condensed version of them, going from pie-to-the-sky optimism, to gut-wrenching doubt, to resolution. Usually in just under an hour.

Here's how it usually goes:

Decide to make something. How about French Macaroons? They're delicious. There's a lot of choices for fillings, so I can really make them my own. And hell, they're as adorable as something can be and still be edible.

Put together the mis en place. I'm at my happiest. How could I be any other way? I have all the ingredients, all in the right proportion and order. It's a thing of beauty. All will be well. I can feel it. I can do this thing.

Start making the meringue. Crap. My hand mixer starts making a strange clanking sound. The gears start slipping every few rounds. I should have seen this coming. I bought the damn thing over ten years ago on super sale at Target. It's amazing that it's lasted this long. I start praying that it can hold out just a little longer. Just a few more minutes. Just until I get this mess to stiff peaks. Do you hear me god? Just until stiff peaks.

Whew. It made it. Creaking and clanging the whole way, but the ol' beast had just enough magic left in her to make those egg whites and superfine sugar into a smooth, glossy froth. Now to make it pretty. And nothing says pretty like pink. See? Yeah, everything is going to be fine. Just fine.

Now to fold in the dry goods. Okay. Folding always makes me a little nervous. It's not my strongest skill. But I can do this. I can.

Dear God! What is that monstrosity? It looks like gritty, chewed bubble gum. Seriously, what was I thinking? This is a horrible mess. I'm a terrible baker. Why didn't I just buy the pack of perfect macaroons they had at La Boulange when I had the chance?

But I've gone to far to turn back now. I might as well just press on and see how this disaster turns out. I mean, if it's total crap--and how could it be anything else?--then I just won't give them to anyone. No one has to know.  I'll just pipe out the circles and see. No harm in that.

Shit. Even my piping skill suck. Why do I even pretend that I know what I'm doing in a kitchen?

But at least there's fillings to make up for my craptastic efforts. Nutella can at least cover some of my suckage.

Put them in the oven and try my best not to think about them for a while. Not long, just a little distance. In this case, ten minutes of watching That Mitchell and Webb Look goes a long way to reviving my spirits. The timer goes off and--low and behold!--they don't suck.

It all came together fine. They're crisp on the top and chewy in the middle, just like they should be. The color is perfect, and I even managed to get that little frill on the bottom of each cookie just right.

Yeah, they're not all perfectly symmetrical, but who the hell wants that anyway. I'll leave perfection to the Martha Stewarts of the world. I like mine with a little personality anyway.

Peanut Butter Dreams

If you put chocolate in front of me, I'll eat it. No questions asked (unless the candies in question look fuzzy, in which case I want to know as little as possible, and I'll probably still manage to choke down a few). If you bring out ice cream, I'm your girl. I've been known to substitute sweetened condensed milk for a healthy dinner--just me, the spoon, and sweet, sweet sugar.

But cookies? Meh. Mostly they've always felt like a waste of time: never as sweet as you want them to be, filling you up without the sharp, steep sugar rush that you get from, say, frosting. I'm a hardcore sugar junkie. No false starts for me. Keep your cake and most of your cookies, too.

The exception are my friend JoAnn's peanut butter cookies.

They are amazing. I'm placing the recipe here for posterity, which I realize is ridiculous since there is almost nothing to remember, but I forget this recipe at least once a year. It's a good excuse to get in touch with JoAnn though, and she's used to me asking for the recipe since I've been doing it regularly for the last ten years.

(These cookies are so delicious they garnered me a marriage proposal. No lie. (I accepted.) And they couldn't be easier.)

1 cup peanut butter (I like Skippy creamy though crunchy works well, too)
1 cup brown sugar
1 egg
1 tsp baking soda

Mix and bake at 350 for 11-13 minutes.

Enjoy the sugar, y'all.