It’s been a while. I know.
It’s not that I haven’t been cooking – I have.
I’ve just had a few debacles.
On the night of the broccoli and pork stir fry in spicy peanut sauce, we ate it all before I could shoot a picture. No bigs, really – it was sort of all brownish and greenish and not all that pretty-ish.
On the night of the brussels sprout, bacon, and white bean salad, well, I shot a photo, but it just wasn’t a good visual representation. Then I made the mistake of adding in barley, and man oh man, how I wished I could have taken out the barley and gone back to the brussels and white beans all by their lonely selves. It was so much cleaner, and bacon-y, that way.
On the night of the spicy beef casserole. . . hmmmm.
What can I say? The kids ate it without complaint, buuuuuuuut. There is dill in there. And some equate dill with tuna, and, some might say the beef casserole tastes like tuna casserole, and well, I’m just not willing to share a recipe that could possibly be dubbed, “Tuna Beef Casserole”. Guh.
So of course the natural thing to do was to turn to baking.
And for some reason I have been dreaming of my college days and the oat and nut chocolate chip cookies that Great Harvest Bread Company used to turn out.
I’m pretty sure they still do, I just don’t have one near me, so I couldn’t verify it for you.
This is when my husband, for the first time ever in our history of knowing one another, brought it to my attention that I had a problem with sweets.
I used to run in my college days. Picture running tights under Umbros, headband, fleece.
That was me.
I would run TO THE BAKERY.
I would run there in my cute little tights and Umbros, buy a 6 cookie bag of oat and walnut and chocolate glory, then return to the dorm, sit on the stairwell and slip into a blissful chow session in my cute little running outfit.
My husband, then not my husband – not even my boyfriend, pointed out the irony of my activity.
All I could do was chuckle and wipe the crumbs off my mouth.
He was right.
I was sooooo ironic.
Like Alanis Morissette.
Here’s the closest I’ve come (using only my memories) to my ironic, iconic, oat and walnut chocolate chip cookies of old.
They’re thin, crisp and chewy, buttery and chocolatey – sweet with a touch of salt. Parts melt in your mouth, while other parts enjoyably crunch.
They’re delicately balanced cookies.
Dig out your running tights and headband and do a lap before you chow the first three.
Oh – and the grapes in the photo? They mean nothing.
Nothing at all. They just make me feel better by being Milk’s wing men. When those guys are together, hanging around with the dessert, you can almost pretend the cookies are a healthy snack.
Duh. THAT’S why we’re wearing running clothes. . . .