In praise of the reasonable.

Reasonable Cookies on 1950's pink milk glass party set by Jeannette Glass Co. © Ryan Schierling

There are two days until the Great United States Election of 2016 and suddenly this post – which has too-long languished in the “draft” folder – seems eminently relevant and meaningful.

On one of our adventure days last Fall, we went on a road trip to Smilthville, TX. It was a beautiful day and Ryan and I wandered happily around town holding hands and meandering in and out of vintage stores and antique shops.

In one of these little stores, we rather immediately became distracted in different directions, subjects to the gravitational pull of random curiosities. My detour took me around a corner to a cubby with a small shelf of cookbooks situated at eye level. Old cookbooks are a tricky thing. While the novelty is generally captivating, by today’s standards they are more often in the fashion of a historical record than a serviceable guide book. A hardback that immediately stood out was called “The Uncommon Cookbook” and it was published in 1968 (what I like to consider the height of Campbell’s soup-based cookery). I pulled it off the shelf and broke it open.

The first recipe to catch my eye was for “Reasonable Cookies,” which was just strange enough a recipe name that I snapped a quick photo of the page in a moment of confused disbelief as to how anyone could have thoughtfully named them that without any indication as to why. The complete absence of hyperbole was remarkable. These weren’t called “Mrs. Fitz’s Fabulous Corn Flake Cookies” or “Devourable Cookies” or “Amazing Chewy Coconut Cookies” – nope, these were “Reasonable Cookies”. In my mind they may as well have been called “Average Cookies” or “Don’t-mind-me-I’m-just-a-cookie Cookies.”

Of course, I had to make them. I mean, what does “reasonable” really taste like? Will I understand it when I eat it? Perhaps. Reasonable is not bitter or acerbic, saccharine or self-aggrandizing. Reasonable is recognizable and palatable, humble and reassuring. I know this because I've made these cookies many times. You will like them and want them again – and that is wisely as it should be. Maybe reasonable is the middle ground that we all should all stop ignoring. Maybe reasonable has been marginalized in favor of extremes.

I made the mistake of not purchasing that cookbook the very day I found it. It was an act of restraint I regretted a couple of weeks later and ended up purchasing a used copy online. It’s a hot pink out-of-print number that seems to have the relatively uncommon for 1968 attribute of respecting ingredients. Plus, these folks were brave enough to publish a recipe proclaimed reasonable. It's a median worth revisiting.
 
There are two days until the Great United States Election of 2016, and I’m profoundly awakened to how precious, powerful and purposeful is the word and concept of “reasonable." That only we might dare seek out the common in the most uncommon of places, we may find it amazing.

Cookies. With or without sticks.

Two kinds of chocolate and a wee bit of peanut butter. Pretzels optional. © Ryan Schierling

In my now "vintage" 1970s recipe box there is a faded card that is spattered from decades of use, and the careful lines of my early teenage script are a barely-legible watercolor of blue ink. This is the mother recipe for innumerable batches of cookies I've baked in my lifetime. We all have a recipe or two like this tucked away somewhere – one from which a thousand improvisations are sprung. 

I was a lucky kid to help in the kitchen from a very early age, but somewhere around the age of eleven, baking cookies became a legitimate activity to stave off summer boredom. After hours of riding our ten-speeds on dirt roads through the middle of barley fields or walking the railroad tracks to the little general store with its weathered board and batten siding and shake porch that looked like something straight out of a spaghetti western, my friend Tammy and I would often choose to pass an afternoon baking cookies.

Cookies for grown-ups.

Thumbprint cookies. Some with adult beverages. © Ryan Schierling

It's that after-school milk-and-cookies time of year again, or so I am informed by all the social media pointing back-to-school. Are "kids coming home to milk and cookies" a thing of the past? Is that even still a thing these days? These questions are purely rhetorical, though, because when I think of back-to-school, I really think of parents. Parents relieved to be back into the school year routine, exasperated by the frenetic depth of activities loading their little one's schedules, or just happy to have a few quiet morning moments alone.

I think of parents who need cookies. So, deserving kidful friends, these cookies are for just for you.

The first time I shared these sweet little thumbprint cookies at work, a certain lovely lady christened them "grown-up cookies." I loved that – especially because she wasn't particularly referring to the amaretto flavor in the one she was eating, just the fact that they were something beyond the ubiquitous flavors of chocolate or peanut butter.

Now, don't get me wrong; filling thumbprint cookies with jam or jelly is standard operating procedure. It's not difficult, and even a little bit of messy fun shaping the cool dough and filling them. Where these little gems part from the usual company is by using a soft sugar cookie-type dough in lieu of the more traditional shortbread, and the addition of more nuanced filling flavor profiles. In this week's case, that nuance is courtesy of some embellishment from the liquor cabinet.

For old time's sake, though, there's a variation as retro as your vintage Winnie the Pooh lunch box and a longtime favorite of mine (strawberry rosewater) that the kids can enjoy altogether legally. 

That's it! The ultimate ice cream sandwich.

Homemade It's-It. © Ryan Schierling

There was a time a few years ago when I did a brief stint as an ice cream sandwich trafficker. I only had one customer, and I didn't make a nickel in profit. But, then, I would have been hard-pressed to get a whole case of this sinful confection into my little freezer had I not fobbed my good fortune onto another willing party. It's a tough habit to kick when your "customer" is equally enthusiastic about getting their hands on the good stuff.

The only way to get It's-Its in Seattle was by ordering a case from the local Cash & Carry and waiting a few weeks. Had a nearby grocery store not stepped up to the plate and started distributing, well… who knows how long I would have continued dealing. 

Precious and exclusive – it's the way some food items seem determined to remain. There's always that one food that is so regional, and so perfect, that when you find yourself located outside the reach of its geographic distribution area you come to crave it terribly. Finding It's-Its outside of the San Francisco Bay Area is about as difficult as finding a Melty Bar outside of Oshkosh or a boozy kirsch cordial outside of the European Union. You either have to know people to get them, or pay a fortune to have them shipped.

The first time I had an It's-It was as a college student living in California's Napa Valley. I'd be willing to bet that almost anyone who knows what these are have either lived in California at some point, or know someone who has. They are particularly regional and decidedly delicious. No other ice cream sandwich comes close; there's just something about the cookie that makes this treat amazing. The vanilla ice cream flavor is the classic iteration of this confection and my favorite.

After three years here in the great state of Texas, the summer heat and the hankering for an It's-It finally got the better of me. When I realized that having a case shipped to Texas 'overnight' would set me back $87, I decided it was time to work out my own version.

Give the man three and a half dozen gold stars!

Gold Stars for a job well done. © Ryan Schierling

We've had a limp-along oven for a while now. That might be generous, even. It was a 20-year-old base model that showed every decade of abuse when we moved in to our Wee Suburban Cabin. It was still operational and the least of our priorities after traveling 3,000 miles seeking adventure in Austin. But, it was no easy mistress – baking required temperature monitoring, pan placement was tricky because the heat distribution was terribly uneven and, horror-of-horrors, it couldn't even clean itself! The last straw was when the oven knob cracked a few weeks back and we had to start using pliers to turn it on and off. It wasn't even worth the $25 to replace the knob.

So, we've been shopping for a replacement. Everything seemed like a fully-loaded Cadillac after the one we'd been living with, so we weren't even looking for something new, just something decidedly better. Surely some lovely people in the area must be remodeling their kitchen – discarding stalwart appliances and replacing with something spanky-new. We did our level best to be patient until the right one came along, but having the limitation of not being able bake, well, absence makes… Julie want to bake!

This weekend Ryan outdid himself and wildly exceed my expectations when he found a great deal on a well-cared for and relatively new range to replace our old one. It is light years better than its predecessor – glass digital touch-screen control, convection oven, three racks, "Cake" mode, a warming drawer with "Proof Bread" mode and a great big window to see all the action!

I was like a kid at Christmas, giddy with excitement. Ryan's only question... "What are you going to bake first?"

For my man who just made my little baking heart so very happy? He got gold stars!!

See, I found these star-shaped peanut butter coated cookies in our local HEB store's bulk department the other day. Ryan really isn't one to eat a lot of sweets, but he does happen to have a soft spot for the classic chocolate and peanut butter combination. So, to inaugurate the new oven and to thank Ryan… double chocolate cookies with crispy peanut butter stars!

The chocolate cookie part is an adaptation of a recipe for Double Chocolate Oatmeal Cookies that I have had in my recipe box since I was in grade school – I've been making them that long, and almost every time I change it up in some way or other. This time I was going for really dark chocolate cookies and wanted to minimize the texture of the oatmeal, so this is where most of the modifications were geared.

The oven? It worked like a dream. Ryan deserves every single one of these chocolate and peanut butter rewards.

Gold Star Cookies

1 cup butter, softened
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup dark brown sugar
1 large egg
1 teaspoons vanilla
1/4 cup water
1/2 cup cocoa powder
1-3/4 cup all-purpose flour
2-1/2 cups rolled oats (or quick oats), whizzed up in food processor
8-10 ounces dark chocolate chips (or semi-sweet)

1/2 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp salt
Peanut butter coated star cookies, cooled in freezer (not frozen).

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

In mixing bowl, cream together butter and sugar. Add the egg, water and vanilla and mix well. Mix in cocoa powder, then the flour, baking soda and salt, then the oats, and finally the dark chocolate chips.

Drop by rounded teaspoonfuls onto an ungreased cookie sheet. Bake until almost no indentation remains when touched, 10-12 minutes. (Take care not to over bake.) Remove from oven and quickly press a star cookie into the top of each chocolate cookie. Move at once from the baking sheet to a cooling rack.

Makes about 3-1/2 dozen cookies.

It's all hearts and roses.

Sugar cookies with rosewater icing. © Ryan Schierling

Grandma has been a rose gardener as long as I can remember. When I was a kid, I recall walking through her well-tended garden in the summer and carefully bending my nose into the flowers of each and every variety. I remember noting how some smelled faintly sweet, or rich with the essence of strawberries, while others had a more sophisticated perfume.

My grandmother loves roses. My grandmother's birthday also just happens to be very close to Valentine's Day. A few years ago, after tasting a revelatory rosewater ice cream at a local Persian restaurant, I couldn't help but think it would be fun to make her a sweet treat with rosewater. Sugar cookies seemed like just the thing. I could give her roses and she could eat them too!

I love these cookies. They are soft, delicious, and the aroma that envelopes your senses as you eat them is just amazing. If chocolate is just not the answer this Valentine's Day, these are the perfect way to give hearts and roses to the ones you love.

They may be modestly classic recipes for cookies and icing simply adapted for the occasion, but these cookies are most definitely personal. They have become my cherished Valentine's Day tradition – roses for Grandma – hearts and flowers for the people I love.

Best Costume.

Whoppers®, incognito. © Ryan Schierling

Excess enthusiasm has led to an ungodly amount of candy stashed away in our wee cupboards. Yes, I confess, I was a poor judge of the number of kids that would show up at the door this year for Halloween. I got excited at the prospect of hordes of adorable little goblins showing up on our doorstep dressed as superheroes and princesses and pumpkins with chubby arms and legs. 

I bought too much candy. 

You can't really blame me. For some reason or other, the urban nature of my living situation for the last decade has simply not been conducive to trick-or-treaters. I'd usually keep a bag on hand just in case, but made sure it was something that I liked, should the inevitable absence of children occur once again. 

But this year... we're living in the SUBURBS baby! A school bus even stops on our street! Ha!  Yes, kidlets of all sorts showed up, and they were cute, and they were sent away with candy. 

Now, I have the sobering task of figuring out how to use all the leftovers... and luckily we're heading full tilt into the holiday baking season. Taking inspiration from Megan Seling of bakeitinacake.com, I decided to start by making Whoppers® cookies. I don't usually bake cookies this big, but it seemed fitting, somehow. 

Guess what the secret ingredient is.......Ovaltine®! © Ryan Schierling

I'm afraid those Tootsie Pops® are going to pose a bigger challenge, however.