Finding Mr. Right – A Search for the ‘Perfect’ Chocolate Chip Cookie

I’ve always been a fan of the chocolate chip cookie (CCC) as, I imagine, are many of you. While it’s no secret that I found my own Mr. Right, Curt, a lot later in life than I would have preferred, my quest for the ultimate CCC took even longer.
In high school, I’m ashamed to admit the whole class shared (hello salmonella!) a tube of pillsbury cookie dough in Ms. Festa’s advanced algebra class. Through college and beyond, I tried the nestle’s original tollhouse recipe, a recipe that one of my college roommates swore was stolen from Mrs. Field’s, and various recipes from friends at church. One, Arnold J.’s famous oatmeal CCC’s were pretty darn good, but not ‘the one.’ I would have loved to found a great enough cookie to impress the guys. Perhaps that’s WHY it took so long to find Curt…
Sometime during the newlywed years, I ran across this recipe. I regret I didn’t write down the source at the time, but it was probably Good Housekeeping or Ladies Home Journal or Better Homes and Gardens. (You can definitely assume I was reading the magazines from the Family Services waiting room on my lunch hour. I was at the peak of being in love with all things domestic, a common ailment of the new wife.) Its title caught my attention right away: The Perfect Chocolate Chip Cookie.

Apparently, I wasn’t convinced, as you can see I’ve adjusted the butter, eliminated shortening, and about doubled the chocolate chips. (And I find them the best if I use unsalted butter, pure vanilla and fancier chocolate chips, like Ghirardelli. Amanda, in a high elevation area, finds they need a little more flour, too.)
My longer than desired quest proved to me that there is a ‘Mr. Right.’ You might have to change your criteria, make adjustments, decide some qualities are more important than the ones you valued in your youth. But you’re older, wiser and better able to recognize all the best ingredients. And you don’t worry if others say they found ‘the perfect’ recipe, because yours is perfect for you. Just relax and enjoy!

Both Mr. Rights

Lisa’s ‘Perfect’ Chocolate Chip Cookies

3/4 c brown sugar

1/2 c white sugar

1 c butter, softened

1 egg

1 1/2 tsp vanilla

2 c flour

1 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp salt

1 1/2 c choc. chips

Cream sugars and butter in mixer until creamy, add egg and vanilla and mix well. In separate bowl, whisk flour, baking soda and salt. Slowly blend in mixer with butter mixture. Fold in chocolate chips.

Chill dough for at least 1 hour. (DON’T skip this step.)

Bake in preheated 375 oven for 8 minutes, until browned on edges. Makes 5 dozen small cookies.

Note: In the following photos you can see the scoops I use. The small I used for these cookies, they make smaller cookies. The medium make larger, the large scoop makes jumbo size. Baking time needs to be adjusted for bigger cookies. They are poofy when they first get out of the oven, but they deflate and brown a bit more while cooling in the pan.

A Case For The Apron

Do you wear an apron in the kitchen? I do. I feel very strongly about it, for reasons I’ll detail below. But I’m feeling a bit like a dinosaur every time I wear it.
Let me paint you a picture. We live on a small private road that ends in something akin to a cul-de-sac. Maybe a dead end is more accurate. Our house is the second house as you enter on the street, so all those that live beyond towards the dead end drive by our house. A non-eventful cow pasture is on the other side of the street. Naturally, then, as people drive by, they look at our house. Invariably, if I am outside, I am wearing my apron. I have either finished kitchen clean-up and am taking out the trash or I’m on our porch, visible to the street, barbequing something on our gas grill. My neighbors must think that my apron is permanently attached. In my paranoid ideation, they are also thinking that I am an oppressed homemaker locked in the kitchen. I want to send them all a copy of my apron manifesto:

I solemnly declare that I love to cook because it’s creative, it provides more nutritious, less expensive meals for my family and it provides a gathering each night for family time and discussion. Because I cook, I make a mess, and while cleaning up this mess, an apron helps me avoid that tell-tale dishwashing mark on my pants, where my stomach is. It also provides pockets for me to put loose papers or the phone. It is my uniform that reminds others and myself that I am working and cannot stop and play the Wii (well, not often anyway.)

I’ll leave off my last reason, which is of course that I leave on the apron while I’m eating, too, to avoid spills/stains on my clothes. It’s less obtuse than sticking a napkin in my collar a la ranch-hand style.

Here’s a photo of my new beloved friend in the kitchen, a Christmas gift from my sister. It’s here to stay, food stains and all.

I invite any and all who read this to email me photos of their aprons, which I will post in subsequent postings.

Copyrights and Wrongs

I stole a recipe. Once. Never before and never after. And if Lynne, by some extraordinary fluke, reads this, I sincerely apologize.
In the mid-nineties, I lived in the Silicon Valley in Northern California. I had two roommates. We all attended the same ward (church congregation) exclusively for older singles. Lynne liked to invite people over and entertain. She barbequed her special chicken for some of these parties, impressing people (hopefully the guys.) After one of the parties, I asked for the chicken marinade recipe. She said no.
Who exactly doesn’t share recipes? Grannies with county fair award-winning cakes, maybe. But young professional women? It was beyond belief. I was shocked. I was hurt. I was annoyed. I was determined. So, I simply opened our kitchen cabinets and found her recipe box and copied the top secret ingredients down.
Not being accustomed to thievery, I also felt guilty. Very much so, apparently, since I didn’t make the chicken dish until well after I was married. Perhaps I’m seeking a measure of forgiveness by coming clean in this blog and giving her all the credit. By the way, my research yesterday showed that this same recipe is on the internet in various forms and also found in at least two Mormon ward cookbooks that I own. So, I’ve learned that the crime wasn’t necessary, as crime never is, because secret recipes today can be obtained with a click of a mouse. And in my religious culture, recipes are shared as easily as viruses in the church nursery.

served with spinach and cheesy rice
Lynne’s Top Secret Chicken Marinade
2 cups of 7-up
1 cup of soy sauce
1/2 cup olive oil
1/2 tsp horseradish
1/4 tsp garlic powder
Marinate chicken for at least 8 hours. Discard marinade.
Notes: Lynne’s recipe called for 1 full cup of unspecified oil, but comparing with the internet versions, I adjusted. Also, on a scale of 1 to 5 (5 being please make it again soon), Curt gave the recipe “around a 4” and Jack gave it a “100 times” which I am interpreting as off the charts.
Also, thanks Brooke and Amanda for the technical help.

Fatally Flaky

(Editorial Note: Adding pictures WHERE you want them on this program is still a puzzle to me. Help, Brooke? Anyway, the photo above is of Brownies Cockaigne, below are my Fatally Flaky pieces.)

Besides cooking, I also really like to read. Being at home full time, it is one of the only things I do just for me. Sometimes I read weighty, good-for-your-brain classics. More often, though, I escape into mysteries or the current 'chic lit.' One of my favorite authors in escapist mysteries is Diane Mott Davidson. Her protagonist is a nosy caterer, who I find amusing. (Why anyone would book her for an event is the REAL mystery. Someone always ends up dead...) The book always ends with the talked about recipes written out. Most are of the fussy variety, but it's fun to read through them and imagine we actually like such ingredients or that my grocery budget is bigger.

A couple of weeks ago, I finished her last book, borrowed from the library: Fatally Flaky. It was quite enjoyable, by the way. A recipe for Fatally Flaky cookies, ends up used as a literary device when the bad guy laces the filling with ipecac and causes mass digestive mayhem. Despite that plot twist, the cookies sounded yummy enough to attempt for a card making party I was hosting last night. I copied the recipe down carefully before I returned the book.

Yesterday, I was hard-pressed for time. I needed to clean the house, volunteer at Jack's school for an hour and make this treat for the party. I even put plans for dinner off, hoping that last minute inspiration would come. (It did-Curt suggested buying fast-food.) That vague adage about not trying a new recipe for company floated through my mind, but I quickly dismissed it. This recipe would be worth it. From the ingredients, I should have known otherwise. It called for 1 and 1/2 cups of oats and only 1 Tablespoon of flour and 1 Tablespoon of fancy dark cocoa, which I happened to have. A key step in the recipe was to melt butter and mix it with brown sugar until it bubbled. THEN COOL. I started to reread my version of the recipe. How cool did she mean it to be? She had me preheat the oven beforehand and it's already at 350. Surely, it must mean just a little cool. Being flawed by impatience, I went ahead and mixed the butter with the other ingredients and baked. Well, because the sugar/butter mixture was still warm, they spread to a giant laced cookie, not compact, strong ones to make sandwiches. BUT, they were delicious. I saved them in the freezer, thinking they will make good ice cream toppers.

I thought about making the recipe again, but this time totally cooling the sugar and butter. Do you keep trying something that fails, or do you just make new, better plans? I reviewed my errors in judgement and also the fact that the recipe still is untested as to its sandwich strength, so I instead went to my go-to recipe. My 'Brownies Cockaigne' from Joy of Cooking. They are simple, easy, one pan (if you don't count the bowl for beating the eggs), taste wonderful and are always dependable. I served them and received positive feedback for sure.

Aah, but I still long for 'the recipe that got away', with its sexy ingredients and challenging instructions. Why do I repeatedly flirt with danger like that?

Brownies Cockaigne

(from Joy of Cooking)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Place rack in center of oven. Spray 9x13 pan with Pam. (The book calls for lining pan with foil and buttering foil. I've never done that.)

In large saucepan, melt 4 ounces of unsweetened chocolate and 1 stick of unsalted butter over low heat. Remove from heat and cool completely. (This recipe is not quite as sensitive to the cooling. I usually cool it 5 minutes.)

Stir in 2 cups sugar and 2 tsps. vanilla.

Stir in 4 eggs, beaten.

Stir in 1 cup flour and 1 cup chopped walnuts or pecans until just combined. (Nuts optional.)

Pour into pan and bake until toothpick comes clean, 23 to 28 minutes. Cool on rack.

Recipe Adjustments

The cuisine in my house was simple. My mom's spices of choice were salt, pepper and onion powder. She cooked great meat and potato dishes with her trio: pot roast, roasts, whole chickens and turkey. She occasionally cooked German dishes like sauerbraten for my dad.


Growing up in the melting pot of the New York City metro area, I was of course introduced to other fare. My best-friend-growing-up's-mom was my mentor in basic Italian cooking, whether she knew it or not. (By the way, she isn't Italian herself, but developed her great dishes after marrying into an Italian-American family.) I was a latch-key teen and I hung out in Elaine's kitchen a lot after school. I can't imagine how annoying I was, always there, drinking their costly 'fancy' Tropicana orange juice while quoting the advertising catchphrase "Orange juice isn't just for breakfast anymore." My other joke was that Elaine was perpetually "breading something." At least she put me to work from time to time, grating or peeling. Needless to say, those afternoons provided to me much more than cooking lessons. Her dishes represented a time of family togetherness, albeit in a borrowed family. Good food oftentimes becomes the face of good memories. One of these recipes that I loved looked easy enough, so I began making it as a young adult. Baked ziti, a staple for any celebration.


Somehow, the richness of the dish did not impress those west of the continental divide. All that ricotta cheese made my friends and coworkers uneasy about fat grams, I guess. My husband definitely didn't enjoy my baked ziti at all. I think the ricotta was just too exotic. But my son loves both pasta and cheese. So, when looking for some meatless meals to throw into the menu mix, I revised the recipe enough to please both of my boys. The part-skim mozzarella melted on top makes the meal close enough to the original for my benefit. I served it tonight with green beans and everyone enjoyed the family meal. Mangiare!


Quick Baked Ziti

8 oz. penne or ziti pasta, cooked and drained
2 cups of part-skim mozzarella cheese, grated, divided
1/4 cup grated parmesan cheese
1/2 jar of your favorite spaghetti sauce


Mix pasta, sauce, parmesan cheese and 1 1/4 cup mozzarella cheese in large bowl. Pour into 8x8 glass pan which has been lightly sprayed with Pam. Top with remaining mozzarella. Bake in preheated 350 degree oven for 25-30 minutes. (Recipe can be easily doubled for a 9x13 pan.)