Chocolate, Oat, and Nut Cookies

Some families bond over sports. Others, the outdoors. Some share values. Mine? I bonded with my mother and sister over about a bajillion batches of cookies.

I was brought up under the doctrine that anything could be cured—boredom, the sniffles, crankiness—through the cathartic creation of a batch of cookies. (Feeling sad? Let’s talk about it while we whip up some oatmeal raisins.) Admittedly, to this day, I bake cookies for emotional reasons. Upon moving out and starting a life of my own, baking sessions became affordable therapy (feel that breakup fade away as the butter is whipped into submission and fluffy sweetness). I gave love, thanks, appreciation, and I’m sorrys wrapped into a basket of crispy-on-the-outside-and-soft-in-the-middle confections. It was my thing.

Alas, a girl can’t eat as many cookies as her 5-year-old (or 20-year-old) self once could. Since discovering I’m lactose intolerant, and my sister deciding to forgo gluten, the demand for my traditional treats trickled off. The past few years have a been an ongoing experiment in trying to recreate the inherent magic in my mom’s original confections—sans stomach ache and snug jeans.

With work off this Friday (gotta love those teacher-in-service days), and a visit to my sister for her birthday in store, I decided it was a ripe opportunity for experimentation (just the push I needed to get out of my banana bread and granola rut). These chocolaty oatmeal wonders, with their soft chocolate chunks, nutty bite, and buttery-without-the-butter dough answer an old-fashioned cookie craving. True, they’re hardly sugar free, but, hey, cookies that taste this good sans butter and white flour are a birthday-worthy win in my book. Happy birthday, Sis!

Tropical Dark Chocolate Bark

Well, it's 2011 and I didn't wake up with a kill-myself hangover on January 1. I think that qualifies as starting on a positive note. I'm back in Oregon after visiting family for the holidays and, oh my, is it freezing here. (I mean, not THAT freezing since I'm a hearty cold-weather person now...) 

I’ve been on a cleaning frenzy since I got home (thank GOD for getting home), and I think it would take me approximately three more days to actually make a dent. I know I'll lose my momentum once I'm working all day, but I'm trying to deep clean the whole house, donate old stuff, and rid my life of clutter. That’s what we’re supposed to do for a fresh start, right?

Another 2011 goal for me is to focus on quality over quantity in my food consumption. For example, instead of a dessert made of white flour and sugar that only leaves me wanting more, I’m hoping to create sweets that satisfy in smaller portions. My first attempt at that is some dark chocolate bark, sprinkled with organic dried fruit I picked up on the cheap in the bulk bin aisle.

Ingredients

3 cups dark chocolate
1 cup dried pineapple, chopped (low sugar or no sugar added)
1 cup dried apricots, chopped (no sugar added)

1. Melt the chocolate according to your melting preference. I poured mine in a dish and melted it in the microwave, taking it out and stirring it every 30 seconds to prevent burning. It could also be melted in a double boiler on a stovetop.

2. Spread the chocolate across the bottom of a greased baking dish, smoothing it in a shallow layer.

3. Sprinkle the chopped pieces of dried fruit across it.

4. Allow to cool completely before slicing into squares.

No-Bake Chocolate Oat Bars

Now officially working three jobs, my baking time has sadly dwindled into a few remaining evening and weekend hours. (You know, the ones that are also occupied with walking the dog, preparing meals, fitting in exercise, time with friends and family, and catching up on my reality TV marathons). Luckily, summer days are longer and, hey, I’m getting paid to teach elementary school kids—that thing I’m trying to do as a career (until I open my own bake shop).

Like many of my recipes, this was inspired by one that my mom often made in the warm summer months for my sister and I. It doesn’t require an oven—just the melting together of cocoa, sugar, and (in my case) coconut butter on the stove before stirring in a few other basic ingredients. From what I can gather, no-bake cookies are a Midwest thing, usually with peanut butter and butter, and dropped in dollops onto cookie sheets to harden. Besides the obvious axing of the butter, I opted for almond butter over peanut (it’s just what I had on hand) and poured it all into a square baking dish, resulting in even-easier-to-make bars. The first time I made them they lacked a little something, so I added chopped nuts for more texture and kick of flavor. Go ahead, try them!

Rich and Moist Chocolate Swirl Cake with Peanut Butter Glaze

I meant to make two yummy little breakfast bowls—a cozy breakfast for two. A warm, vanilly, spiced bowl of quinoa, sparkled with a dazzle of summer cherries and a pretty little ribbon of pecans sprinkled across the top. In fact, I did make this. I stirred it, warmed it, and served it up, only to come face to face with what actually became my morning…and then the rest of the tear-filled, dramatic (maybe a touch overly so), everything-I-thought-I knew-was-suddenly-unsure day. A day that called for something sinful, decadent, and (forget the sweet) bitter—a chocolatiness that the sheer baking of it made me feel like I was creating a dark (albeit extremely yummy) illustration of how I felt: depressed and very, very angry.

But I suppose I should start at the beginning.

Peanut-Butter Frosted Chocolate Cake

(Trust me, it’s all about the frosting)

It’s been a bittersweet week. I’ve finally wrapped up my year of student teaching, and am all but officially a credentialed teacher in the state of California. It’s exhilarating, and I’m ready to move on, but at the same time it’s terrifying to look ahead toward absolutely zero job openings for new teachers, unemployment still rampant, and a whole summer without seeing my hilarious fourth graders. I told myself I wouldn’t, but I didn’t even make it halfway through the whole day without crying. My master teacher actually presented me a gift in front of the class, which included an Anthroplogie (!) gift certificate (aka my favorite of all favorite stores), and a little accordion-like book with pages created by each student, complete with their pictures and drawings. Tears. Some of my favorite gems, straight off the pages:

* “I learned from you how to be shareful.”
* “Yo quiero que te seas una maestra aqui.” (One of my students who learned English this year. She was my little Spanish teacher. Lucky for her, she picked up ingles much quicker than I improved my espanol)
* “You taught me to grafe.” (Perhaps I should have spent more time on spelling?)

I will miss you, my little estudiantes.

Along the bittersweet theme, boyfriend lost his job (someone made a BIG mistake, releasing that one). The good news is that this means he can come back from Michigan to the sunny Bay Area (woot), but now he’s got to find a new one somewhere, somehow. Hopefully it happens easily and close by (I’m confident that it will ☺ ).

Amid all this my sister ALSO lost her job. Luckily, I had stayed the night with her to attend a CPR class in her neighborhood, so when she got off of her (surprise) last day of work, we promptly zoomed across the Bay Bridge and landed straight in my kitchen to do the very best thing of all for lifting spirits (other than drinking about a bajillion Patron and sodas, which we also promptly got down to): We fired up the oven, broke out the bundt pan, and whipped up a bittersweet (I love themes) peanut-butter-cup inspired bundt cake.

Dairy-Free Chocolate Chip Cookies...With a Twist

My understanding of the power in a homemade cookie dawned on me when I was eight.

My Ohio-born mother, whose attitude toward the California natural-food obsession remains at best respectfully disinclined, allowed my younger sister and I to stay home from school with minor colds. After resting on our old couch for a few hours, sniffly and bored, she coaxed us into the kitchen, placed each of us on stepping stools and began a batch of our favorite-chocolate chip, oatmeal, and rice crispy-cookies. It was our cure-all, and one that she continues to prescribe to the kids in her life today.

As my sister and I grew up, young neighbors started knocking on the door, begging to come over and bake with my mom. Today she holds her two-year-old nephew on her hip as she takes out little spoonfuls of dough for him to taste and gives him handfuls of chips to toss into the bowl.

Respected chefs often, nearly entirely, omit the cookie from their menus. Instead, diners are forced to navigate dessert options like “peerless organic coffee and mocha soufflé” (at San Francisco’s Carnelian Room) and “coconut vacherin with passion fruit ice cream and kiwi sherbet” (at Berkeley’s Chez Panisse). No comfy cookies there.

Even today, two decades later, my mom and I can barely get through a weekend together without devising some excuse to bake. The process is inherently uniting and restorative: White, powdery flour. Coarse sugar. Creamy butter. Stir. Eggs and vanilla. Stir. Flour and baking soda and salt. Stir. Chocolate. Stir. Then the baker digs in, pulls pieces out of the moist dough, and forms them into balls. Each mound is handled and shaped by her two hands. Each ball’s very form, whether big or small, lopsided or lacking in chips, is entirely her own. Or, in our case, our own.

Today most of my homemade cookies are neatly stacked, wrapped in parchment paper and carefully placed into tins, in which they’re brought over to a friend’s apartment, given away in a giant bundle, or even shipped around the world. (Alas, a girl can only eat so many cookies.) The moist-in-the-middle and just crispy enough to require a bit of a bite around the outside treats are now my gifts. Handed over in exchange for watching someone else enjoy them as much as I do, as a thank you, a nice-to-meet-you, an I’m sorry, or a just-because.

They’re something so simple, a cookie--the word has a straightforward idea attached to it--and they’re more. They’re pretty little things that have a history, accumulated thought, feelings and affection.
And you can’t find that in any flourless dark chocolate, whipped hazelnut crème fraiche torte.

This is my mother's not-so-secret recipe. They're chocolate chip, they're oatmeal, and they have rice crispies in them (sounds strange, but trust it)--all together they leave people asking how on earth you made something so magical. And guess what? They're just as good dairy free.