The Cookie Monster Within

When my sisters and I were little, our mom told us that we were allergic to chocolate. It was a bold-faced lie. She didn’t want us eating sweets. Anyone who knows anything about the psychology of forbidden fruits knows how THAT turned out.

Pictured here are three types of cookies I absolutely adore and which never and I mean never appeared in the Melaver household growing up: chocolate chunk, peanut butter, and meringue kisses. I could add a fourth one here, chocolate walnut brownies, but that’s a whole saga in and of itself. I try to make them a la minute to avoid eating the merchandise before they go out the door. My allergy is really that bad.

If you have ever taken a course in statistics, you know that often the most critical question is the one that is often NOT asked. And the same is true here. The true rub of this story has to do with the cookie that is not on my menu, at least not yet: French-lace cookies. This was the one cookie mom not only made for us but had constantly on hand, in a big hand-thrown ceramic cookie jar in drab shades of green. It was hands-down the best dish mom ever made. And to this day, why she chose this confection of all things to keep on hand for us all remains a mystery. As does my reluctance to put it on our menu. Stay tuned.