I do not know a simpler pleasure than enjoying a warm chocolate chip cookie from your very own oven. Not one that burns your tongue, but a cookie that deflates a little when you press your finger in the center. One where the chocolate morsels seem to stretch like mozzarella cheese when you break it apart. One that is not perfectly round and maybe a bit too puffy. One that was made with flour, baking soda, salt, butter, eggs, vanilla, chocolate chips and maybe a secret ingredient that makes this delectable treat all your own. One that makes you close your eyes, smile and immediately reach for another one. Without guilt.
I love to bake. I thank my Mom for letting me help her in the kitchen when I was younger. And now that I am a Mom, "helping" is an operative word and has many definitions in the official Mom dictionary. Chocolate chip cookies were a staple in our baking lessons. I have never perfected or even come close to her pie crust and I have accepted I will never replicate her divine flaky creations no matter how many times I try. But, I can hold my own when it comes to cookies. And not just chocolate chip. I love to make snickerdoodles, peanut butter, chocolate mint, oatmeal raisin, lemon, cookie press, sugar, iced, refrigerator, bar, no bake, drop, rolled, or monster mash creations. Which basically is whatever the kids want to add to a basic oatmeal cookie recipe. I recommend trying this with your children...they will surprise you and your taste buds will thank you.
But the best memory of my childhood chocolate chip cookie baking adventures is the time spent with my Mom. As the youngest of three active kids, a little quiet one-on-one time with my Mom was as rare as me finding a pen in my pocketbook these days. I remember the copper colored canisters with the black lids and cursive writing. I remember the measuring spoons in the top right drawer next to our avocado colored stove. I remember the baking pans standing tall in the skinny cabinet next to our avocado colored refrigerator. I remember the mixing bowls in the corner cabinet to the left of the sink. And I remember the avocado green standing mixer that I graduated to when I showed I could do the process from beginning to end. And I remember mixing by hand made a better cookie than mixing by machine. But mostly I remember my Mom with a quick laugh and gentle reminder to measure salt over the sink and not the ingredients bowl. I remember her telling me I needed to finish the task of dropping the cookie on the sheet, even if I was bored. She would not do that for me. I remember her letting me take the cookies out of the oven for the very first time. And I remember her letting me eat raw cookie dough even though some expert said we should not. And I remember she stuck her finger in the bowl, too. And I remember we always had to taste a few chocolate chips before we added to the batter. I remember that my Mom was teaching and tasting right beside me. And each time, I would do a little more by myself until there was a time you did not have to be in the kitchen any longer. But I knew that you would come if I called.
I now make cookies with my children. I see my Mom's hands in my own. I hear her voice as I ask them to pour the salt over the sink and to stir gently when adding the flour. My daughter is needing me less and less when we make cookies. And my son wants to do more and more on his own. After all the years of my Mom having me follow the same recipe over and over again, I finally figured out her secret ingredient: add a little love when no one is looking. And I couldn't think of a better secret to pass down to the next generation. There is great joy to sharing family traditions and recipes. Especially if you add a little chocolate and a lot of love.
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