What makes a cookie intellectual? Can cookies be anything other than pop culture, like Buffy the Vampire Slayer (I’m talking about the original Buffy here)? And if Dorie Greenspan describes a cookie as a thinking person’s cookie, does that mean it’s like the cookie equivalent of the thinking person’s sex symbol?
(A Google search for that phrase brings up Kevin Spacey, and I dunno about biting into a cookie that reminds me of Kevin Spacey. Time to move on.)
What, then, makes a recipe a thinking person’s recipe? Creativity? Unexpected use of flavours (or textures) that make you stop and think twice? Cos that was my reaction to the combination of coffee, apricot and chocolate in this recipe. Really? Coffee…and… apricot?
Or is the emphasis on the thinking person knowing how to save a cookie dough that was turning into molten lava?
Because that’s what happened to my cookie dough on Monday night. I had tried to convert the recipe from US measurements into metric/Aussie, and halved the recipe, and added wholegrain flour. Somewhere along the way, I must have stuffed up the ratios, because the first batch of cookie dough became a caramelised, quite delicious smelling, flat, browned, slightly burned (which accentuated the caramel mocha smell) sheet. A sheet of cookies, on my baking sheet.
It looked like a lace cookie gone rogue. On steroids.
But the smell – !
The kitchen smelled divine. There was that combination of coffee, dark caramel, and mysterious dark chocolate. The outer parts of the cookie dough sheet, in particular, had caramelised to a dark brown, lacey edge. Then there were bites of apricots – they were still moist, soft, with a burst of tangy something that cut through and lingered.