I've been good. Really, really good. No cookies, no cake, a spoon or two of ice cream. Minimal processed sugars and dairy. Low carb, and no refined carbs. So when my son started his read-aloud homework last night, my reaction was understandable.
"The Cookie Quest? Sounds like the story of my life," I said drily. I listened with half an ear as he read, stopping him to ask about words he misread as other words, trying to entertain my daughter, who was making tea in the cupboard, uninterested in her brother's assignment. At some point, the reading stopped. I'd lost track of the details, but I had a vague sense of the plot: something about a mother creating a contest-winning cookie recipe, and her son's friend trying to find it out before it was published. Not exactly a quest, in my book. I reached for the pen to sign the sheet saying he'd done the reading.
"All done," he said. "Oh, wait ..." He turned the page. "Hey LOOK, Ma! There's a recipe! We can MAKE these cookies!" He was practically shouting now. "Kitchen Sink Cookies," he read, pointing.
"You mean I can make these cookies," I corrected him, knowing full well who was going to end up manning the mixer and dropping little balls of dough onto cookie sheets for two hours. "Since when did your homework become my homework?" I scanned the recipe quickly and turned back to N., who was now dismantling the cupboard.
Ignoring me, he continued, "SO? Do we have all of the ingredients?"
I shook my head. Negative, dude. No chocolate in the house. I can't be trusted. Actually, I probably could be trusted now. But I am not about to start taking chances just yet.
"Well, you can go shopping tonight and get the chocolate chips," he assured me. "I'll copy the recipe for you." And he climbed up onto the stool to reach a recipe card, beginning the painstaking process--for a first-grader, at least--of transcribing the recipe by hand, in pencil. "I'm going to use abbreviations. Do you know what 'tea' and 'tab' will stand for?"
I was beaten. And really, what kind of a parent would I be if I didn't bake him cookies from his read-aloud homework book?
I didn't go shopping last night. But guilt-ridden, I went to the store today.
I took a few liberties to make them a little healthier, but really, they're still cookies. I guess I'll have to send them to his teacher. I hope I get an A.
Have you ever found a recipe in an unexpected place?
Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Coconutties
The "real" kitchen sink cookies, in my book, are made with more stuff. Like raisins. Or butterscotch chips. Or cranberries. And maybe potato chips and pretzels. Random bits of things in your cupboard. You can do that and tell me how they turn out. In the meantime, I think my name for them is better.
1/2 c. shortening (use Earth Balance)
1 c. coconut palm sugar (or use 1/2 c. brown and 1/2 c. white)
1 T. vanilla
3/4 c. flour (whole wheat pastry will work OK)
1/2 t. baking powder
1/2 t. salt
1 c. oats
1/2 c. chocolate chips
1/2 c. unsweetened coconut
1/2 c. chopped walnuts (or other nut of your choice, or raisins if you have nut allergies)
Preheat oven to 350.
Using an electric mixer, beat shortening and sugar until well combined. Add egg and mix well. Mix in the vanilla.
In a small bowl, whisk together flour, baking powder, and salt. Add to the shortening mixture and beat to combine.
Add in the rest of your mix-ins, and combine well, using your hands if necessary to incorporate all of the bits. The dough may be a little crumbly in appearance; don't worry about that.
Mold the dough into 2 t. size balls (you can squish it in your hands to make the balls solid), and bake on baking sheets covered with a sheet of parchment for 10-12 minutes, or until browned. Cool cookies for a minute or two on the baking sheet, and transfer to a wire rack to cool completely. Store tightly covered for up to 1 week.