Chocolate Chip Cookies

I wouldn’t categorize chocolate chip cookies as my favorite cookie, but I have always enjoyed them (as I am not a crazy person!). Many of my childhood memories involve this classic cookie. My cousin Christi and I loved baking cookies together when I was little and she came to live with us after college. I would yell at her for not leveling off the cups of flour perfectly with a knife. I was unaware of how many times she had probably made these particular cookies in her life, and as a novice baker, I was convinced she would ruin them if the measurements weren’t perfect. (One time, she did mess them up – something went wrong with the eggs or the butter, and when she removed them from the baking sheet to the cooling rack, they were so liquid that they started dripping through the cracks of the rack. Later, my brothers and I wondered aloud why there were holes in the cookies, and more importantly, could we still eat them?)

My mom would make them every so often and we’d be able to sneak them for snacks or dessert from a tupperware or tin in the kitchen. She perfected her recipe over the years; the version she makes today, with Ghiradelli chocolate chips and shredded coconut mixed into the dough, is hands down my favorite version that no cookie will ever top. Their taste and texture will always remind me of home – chasing cats around my house to the soundtrack of my mom talking on the phone, my brothers practicing drums, bass, and guitar or my dad playing piano. The recipe was in its final version by the time I was in high school, so the taste of those cookies alleviated my homesickness when I lived in Washington state and Prague, and hopefully Paris too after my mom reads this. 🙂

My mom baking up a storm at Christmas

My mom baking up a storm at Christmas

Actually, as I reflect on my relationship with chocolate chip cookies, I realize that no occasion has been too insignificant to bust out the bowl and wooden spoon. I remember some nights in college when, exhausted from endless music practicing, rehearsals, hours logged in the library writing papers and in stupid sorority meetings, a girlfriend and I would gather those oh-so-simple ingredients and make that bowl of sugary, sticky comfort. Kelly, Phoebe, and I had more than one occasion last year when, needing an escape from the difficult task of finding ourselves in this beautiful city, we needed to take a virtual trip back to the US and make some buttery, chocolate-y dough to eat off spoons and bake, tout de suite.

Last week I made some chocolate chip cookies for my crémaillère on Saturday. What cookie would be more appropriate to welcome myself and my guests into a new home than the ultimate comfort cookie? Facing a lack of beaters, I creamed the butter and sugar by hand. It was easier and quicker than I thought it would be – so if you find yourself somewhere with chocolate chip cookie fixings and fancy, but without an electric mixer, I am here to tell you that you can succeed! Just cube the butter like you would for scones and let it come to room temperature. Then use the back of a wooden spoon to mush it up and incorporate the sugar in, and you’ll be ready to create your own memories. 🙂

Coming to room temperature

Coming to room temperature

I doubt I am the only person in the world with an emotional attachment to chocolate chip cookies. Do you equate chocolate chip cookies with home, or is it a different treat for you?


5 thoughts on “Chocolate Chip Cookies

  1. Lovely post! You are so resourceful. For me, it’s my mom’s sour cream coffee cake. No occasion too insignificant for that, either! So glad you continue to enjoy baking…

  2. I’m late to this blog entry! Wow, there I am…Posture, girl, posture! My memories of home go more toward apple desserts – my mom’s apple pie, apple crisp and apple cake. In fact, the day I was scheduled to leave for Paris for my junior year abroad, II had a crying attack, couldn’t stop crying, even as I was laughing at myself. I was panicking! My mother did everything she could think of….talk therapy, comforting pats, calling my father to talk to me (a rare event to make a phone call like that to Dad at work). Finally, what stopped the crying was a hastily thrown together apple crisp. I got on the plane, went to Paris, dated a French rock star, learned French, wanted to become French, came home, never went back, married the love of my life, had 2 sons, named my daughter Madeleine, who is, as we all know, now in love with Paris and won’t come home! All because of Mom’s apple crisp! Love you chere Madeleine, blogger extraordinaire!

    • 🙂 Love this! Even though I’ve only had one apple pie actually made by Mimi, it always makes me think of her. I guess you passed that down to me unconsciously! xoxo

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