I baked you some cookies

There’s a thing I do, I’ve come to realize. When I’m rushing, when I’m disorganized and life feels out of control, when I have ten things I have to do and only time to do three of them, I put on earrings—more elaborate earrings than I normally wear. Sometimes I even dress up a little.

“You look so nice,” people will say. And they won’t know that I’m wearing the flouncy skirt because all the clothes I usually wear are in the dirty laundry. And the earrings? That might be because I haven’t had a chance to wash my hair that morning, or because I feel like I’m not doing a good job of everything I have on my plate. Or maybe the plate fell off the table and I’m trying to pick up the pieces and put them back together and I’m really hoping you don’t notice. So here, look at these pretty earrings instead.

I baked you some cookies. Here, look at these.



Because the truth is I have three half-written blog posts I keep on trying to finish, I have about a dozen more I want to write (there’s so much exciting stuff going on in the food world right now). But even though I've tried to finish them, nearly every day the past two weeks, I keep getting pulled away. The other night I sat myself down and swore that I wasn’t allowed to leave the computer until I was done—but I was so tired I just couldn’t keep it together and had to sleep.



The proof pages of my book manuscript are due tomorrow, all the last changes, and it terrifies me. A big box arrived on my doorstep yesterday filled with galleys of the book—a mocked up version that gets sent out for publicity and review. This confirmed three things for me:

1). I really do dislike the cover as much as I feared I would (that was a battle I lost).

2). There is no one besides me who will ever know what went into writing this book—any book. The sleepless nights, the years of research (yes, we’re into years now), the tears, the angst all comes down to splashes of ink on paper, a trifling thing really, that you can throw across the room or use as a coaster for your drink. That’s just funny.

3). This really is going to be a book, and it’s going to go out in the world and people are going to read it and as much as we’re supposed to want that as writers—people interacting with our work—it makes me want to run far away and hide in a cave and not come out until somewhere roundabout 2015.

I baked you some cookies. Wanna cookie?

And my house is a wreck, and I have family arriving next week, and my furniture from San Francisco is about to be delivered (when they give you a delivery window that ends on July 9th, do not believe them). I guess that means I’ve up and moved to Seattle—and as much as that feels right, it also freaks me out. I don’t have any old friends in this town, so what happens when I’m about to have a meltdown (witness: right now) and no one here really knows me well enough to know what will make it better?

I think I need a cookie.

I went to a social event last night—filled with Seattle food people, chatting, drinking, eating—and everyone had their cameras out and were taking pictures (because that’s what we food geeks do). When someone asked me why I wasn’t taking pictures, I ended up blurting out to a relative stranger that I’m exhausted and burnt out and didn’t have it in me; that I really need a vacation.

I’m getting one too, in about two weeks, but I'm not sure I can hold out until then.

Wanna cookie?



I cracked up a friend of mine the other day. He was complaining how the spa he likes to go to had closed, and the restaurant he had lunch at wasn’t as good as he had hoped, and something else I can’t even remember right now.

“So, first world problems, eh?” I said. He laughed at that, he loved it. First world problems—like when your table linens don't match, or you can't find the brand of soap that you like.

I’ve got some first world problems of my own these days, and it makes me feel low and miserable to even mention them. My book is going to be a book, I get to move to a city I love (let’s not talk, for a moment, about the other city I love; the one where my friends live), I even get a vacation, if I can manage to hold out that long. And yet it all feels overwhelming at the moment.

I had a laugh with Brett Emerson, at his gorgeous new restaurant Contigo, last time I was in San Francisco. We were talking about how sometimes, if you’re lucky and you work hard, your dreams will come true—restaurants, books, etc.

They will come true, and then they'll kick your ass.



I need sleep, I need to take care of myself better, I need to hold it all together, I need to stop crying, I need to water my garden before it dies, I need to do laundry (actually, I need to fold the laundry I’ve already done, so the next time I have to leave the house I don’t look like I just got out of bed). I need to put one foot in front of the other and just get through it. I need to hug a baby. I need to count my blessings. I need to get some perspective. I need to be grateful. I need to grow a thicker skin, preferably before the book reviews start rolling in.

I need a cookie. Maybe you need a cookie too.




APRICOT, ALMOND, CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES

These aren’t my cookies, I should first tell you that. They come from the Loobylu website, discovered and modified by my friend Rosie. I should also tell you that I linked to this recipe three years ago—a long and rambling post mostly about Bolinas that garnered me my very first blog comment from someone I didn’t know, and my first link as well. I remember how weird and wonderful that felt.

I haven’t made this recipe since then, but this past week the stars aligned and I baked cookies—something that happens about once a year—and these really are yummy. They got 100% approval rating from the folks who got to eat them—even the one who confessed she doesn’t like chocolate chip cookies (yeah, I don't understand that either).

And I must say, when it feels like you life is in tatters and shambles, it’s really nice that people at least like your cookies.

I tweaked the original recipe—following Rosie’s modification of half semisweet chips and half white (all white would be too sweet, I think). I’ve also upped the salt quotient, and might do even more. Towards the end I began to sprinkle some flakes of Maldon salt on top of the cookies, and that was really good as well.

Oh, and this time I used a bit of whole-wheat flour, because I hadn’t checked to make sure I had enough while flour before starting the recipe and ran out partway through. So if you want to sub some whole-wheat flour in, I give you my blessing. Maybe you too are a ditz and run out of ingredients halfway though baking projects. No, I’m sure that you’re not.

And finally, I knocked down the amount of chocolate chips called for—because it is simply not possible to fit 2 cups of chips in. Trust me, I tried. There’s not enough dough to bind them. But if you want to buy 2 cups of chips and eat up the excess, far be it from me to judge you; I’d probably just join you.

1 2/3 cups regular flour

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt, more for sprinkling on top

3/4 cup melted butter

1 cup packed brown sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 egg

2/3 cup white chocolate chips

2/3 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips

3/4 cup chopped almonds

3/4 cup dried apricots, chopped

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

In a medium bowl, stir together the flour, baking soda, and salt. In a large bowl, stir in the butter and sugar until smooth. Beat in the egg and vanilla. Stir in the dry ingredients until well blended, then add the chips, almonds, and apricots.

Drop dough by rounded teaspoonfuls onto an unprepared cookie sheet. Sprinkle salt on top, if desired. Bake for 10 to 12 minutes in the preheated oven. Cookies should be golden brown. Remove from the baking sheet to cool on wire racks.

You don't want to make these too big, because they really are quite rich. Trust me on this one. You also don't want to overbake them, as I did the last batch. If you do the apricots get too chewy and stick in your teeth and you will be sad. Trust me on this one too.