I don't turn to baking, as some do, in times of distress. I'm not a baker, as some are (I'm looking at you, Mom!), by nature. But my boy likes a sweet after dinner, and it's hard to deny a 13-year old his food, be it savory or sweet. It seems better that his dessert choices be homemade rather than pre-packaged as much as possible (let's face it, I'm not superwoman). So I've been baking cookies. Last week, when we got home from the surgeon, but before we headed to Raleigh for the MRI, I had a misty, drizzly, gray few hours before I had to grab Callum from school. I was heartsore and worried. I found it hard to settle. I'd meant to make chocolate crinkle cookies over Christmas but somehow had never gotten around to it (Thank God my mom was here to ensure we were fully stocked without my help!), and I still had all the ingredients. Did I have time (and energy) to make some cookies?
I almost didn't do it. As I said, baking doesn't necessarily consititute comfort to me. Making soup? Sure. Pulling together dinner? That'll soothe me. But baking? I often feel like I've stumbled into Neel's lab, forgetting key ingredients only to have to grab them once my hands are coated in flour. But my hands and my mind needed occupying, and Callum needed cookies. So there you are. Cookie time.
I went digging for the recipes I'd found in December. My friend Alice introduced us to Chocolate Crinkle Cookies years ago, and we love them. Crisp on the outside and chewey on the inside, they're subtle and flavorful. Satisfying. The recipe she shared with us is long gone, but the internet prevails! Sadly, most of the recipes I found called for the dough to chill for several hours, and that was time I didn't have. The one I landed on (finally!) was this, from Williams Sonoma. I don't know. (Shrugs.) Given my reluctance about baking, it seems fitting that this recipe is designed for kids and that the first line of instruction is, "Be sure an adult is nearby to help."
I don't know if you remember, but way back in October, I memory-laned a bit about my family cookie jar. It's hard to replace something so beloved, but I was determined to try. I wanted a cookie jar that evoked the feel of my beloved childhood favorite, not some ridiculous dancing fat man with a kerchief around his neck. I'd had my eye on an owl jar from West Elm but had yet to pull the trigger. I'm so glad I didn't, because will you look at what my mom brought up at Christmas time?
Savory or sweet, it's a little goal of mine to always keep something in this jar.