Cookies and A Moment in Time

Although technically not yet autumn I cannot help but be seduced by the early signs creeping in as summer throws us a last blast. I get all happy pants envisioning leaves swirling madly in the streets whilst mini super heroes, along with a few ghosts and goblins, go door to door scoring sugar laden treats. Although I am no longer a trickster but rather a treater I am nonetheless able to partake of the festivities in a grownup sort of way.

Cookies are a fundamental accessory of any celebration, be it traditional or personal (today is Monday, derived from Moonday; I am a Moonchild therefore I will make cookies in honor of this -- so my reasoning goes). Cookies come in endless varieties, shapes, sizes, and flavors so it’s not difficult to find one to custom fit any occasion (can you believe Funeral Cookies?).  I choose to forego any kind that requires chilling, rolling, cutting, or God forbid, spritzing, and opt for drop - the quicker the end product reaches my maw, the better. And if it’s dropped, well most likely it will bake out at a round sort of shape.  For size, I choose mouth size; as in my mouth size. That leaves me with flavor-- a no brainer for me: chocolate, chocolate chip, or chocolate fudge. But I choose to be creative with my chocolate today, for accompanying my chocolate will be cranberries, oats and cinnamon.

Ghostly-licious
(I know it looks like a snowman and
snow but its not)

Standing at my kitchen counter, scooping the hot fragrant delectable morsels off the cookie sheet, I momentarily cease, for I see my mom (in my mind’s eye) standing at her kitchen counter enacting the same ritual. I am momentarily struck with both warm nostalgia and crushing heartache. Memories flood back. My mother had a love –hate relationship with cooking/baking. Most likely she hated to cook when expected to but conversely loved the task when she could labor leisurely and creatively.  Countless hours she chose to bake cookies, sweet breads, and mountains of muffins. She maintained her own repertoire of classics recipes; however she wasn’t averse to striking out on a culinary limb. Imbued with her love of creating through cookery I carry on the tradition. And as I sample the finished product I know somewhere, somehow, she is proud of me.