I’ve never been yelled at to get my hand out of the cookie jar, but I’ve been yelled at plenty of times for sneaking a spoonful of cookie dough. Mama calls “Hey!” while I scamper away, and does it again when I go back in for the second attack.
My mama’s cookies are the best there’s ever been, and many family members, friends, coworkers, peers, teammates, as well as so many strangers will attest to that fact. Her sister accuses her of trade secrets, claiming she uses a secret ingredient in the well-known recipe. But nope! Mama assures her it’s the original Toll House recipe. And yet, no one makes them like her. So I wonder, how exactly does she do it?
2 ¼ cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
Forty years ago, before Mama was a Mama and just 20 years old, she made the cookies for the very first time. Even though I’ve watched her make them all my life, swinging my legs and gabbing her ear off, I never made them myself. So at 20 years old, I made the attempt.
It was a disaster. I could tell right away by the too-sweet taste of the batter. They came out lumpy and dome-shaped. Embarrassingly enough, my roommate gave some to our neighbor. My punishment for never helping Mama: my neighbors think I’m the worst baker in the world.
When I last visited home, I told Mama about my failure and we tried to figure out what went wrong. At this point even I thought she could be slipping in a secret ingredient. And still she assured me it’s the same ol’ recipe.
Encouraged by my Dad, who really just wanted cookies, we made them together step-by-step. And lo and behold, they were just right.
1 cup (2 sticks butter), softened
¾ cup granulated sugar
¾ cup packed brown sugar
If it’s cliche to say my mama is my hero, I will proudly be cliche! Because of her, I have always known love. She’s the woman I look to when I need inspiration, support, and reassurance. It’s hard not to smile whenI look in the mirror and see the features that make me look so much like her.
Mama is an observant woman, but she discredits herself far too often. She comments on how great my friends are, forgetting it’s her and her girlfriends of over forty years that have been my example. When I’d shove my report card in her face, and she’d say “how’d you get so smart,” I’d think it’s obvious, as she leads a team of accountants and does math all day long.
Even as my biggest role model,our relationship has never been perfect, as none are. For many years as a young teenager, everything including the wind annoyed me. Her nor I could do anything right to fix it, and yetI never doubted her love for me. All those years and still to this day, I wonder, how does she get her love to run so deep in my veins? Maybe it’s the cookies.
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 large eggs
2 cups chocolate chips
Mama’s new KitchenAid sits on display at home while her thirty-year-old one stands proudly on top of my refrigerator, worn with love and care. It watches over my apartment, a constant reminder of the oven-warmed kitchen of home. I haven’t made the cookies since, afraid they’ll never taste as good as hers.And yet, a part of me hopes I get it all wrong so I can go back home and we can make them all over again.
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