Where do you get your ideas? This is probably one of the most popular questions an author, artist, musician or any other creative individual faces, and one I’ve even been asked a few times. Aside from other bakers, hand me down recipes, the internet, magazines and books, there are a few that grow from simple questions.
The last batch of cookies I made was derived from a chocolate bar J bought the other day while we were at lunch. He broke off a small piece and offered it to me and I said, “No thanks. I don't like chocolate,” to which he replied, “I just want you to try it, taste the flavor combination and tell me what you think.”
Okay, it was the size of a small raisin, and milk chocolate so I’d probably survive a sample. “Mmmm hmm, chocolate, sweet, sugary, light chocolate which translates to semi-decent.” Then he says “What else?”
“Um, fruit of some sort, and what's that spice?” See, if I ate chocolate I would probably be familiar with something called a chocolate orange, or some such candy that is popular around Christmas time. Being the naïve (or stubborn) individual I am, my taste buds have been spared any more chocolate than necessary.
The finishing spice turned out to be cardamom. Now I've had cardamom cookies and found them rather blah in my sweet tooth estimation, but they tend to be popular with other countries. And that subtleness added to the overall effect.
I proceeded to bite into my Caprese and suddenly wondered if I'd dribbled balsamic vinegar down the front of my shirt. “What?” I asked as J stared at me like I was refusing to answer the million dollar question.
“Well?” he asked. And I was sure the puzzlement on my face gave away the fact that I was trying to come up with an answer. My mind reading skills being severely tested as I racked my brain trying to remember what it was I was supposed to be formulating a response to, luckily with a mouth full of food I gained a few precious moments. Unfortunately, I was still unable to come up with anything other than, “what?” Articulate, that's me.
"That was good wasn't it?" I shrugged.
“It was okay'” and took another bite of my Caprese, it didn't contain chocolate.
“Don't you think it would make a good cookie?” Ah, the light bulb switched on, albeit dimly. After all, in J’s estimation everything is a possible cookie flavor. He just might be on to something.
Orange, cardamom, and milk chocolate as a cookie, even though I'm sure it's been done before, I had never tried it and J was giving me that 'C'mon, I know I just sparked the grey matter into a seething, bubbling mass of energy.' He understands how easily I’m tempted and soon I began throwing out ideas.
“Could do an orange shortbread, with cardamom, dipped in chocolate, or add orange zest to melted chocolate over a cardamom spice cookie,” and the brainstorming continued, all the while J looking like the cat that ate the canary.
“I think it would make an excellent cookie,” and I didn’t have the heart to point out there wasn’t a cookie he didn’t like. I do have to give him credit as he's been the impetus, if not the head cheerleader behind a few of my better baking innovations.
“Don't get your hopes up; I won't have time until the weekend to even try to make them.” It was his turn to shrug, “I don't care, I'm just sayin’.”
On the way home we made a quick stop for dinner at the grocery store, and a couple of oranges found their way into the shopping basket along with extra chocolate pieces. I was already committed to making a batch each of chocolate chip and almond joy cookies.
So in the relative coolness of the evening (read balmy 73 outside and a stifling 85 in the kitchen) at 8:45 pm I was already on my second batch of cookies and beginning to contemplate. ‘You know it wouldn't take much to whip together a batch of cookie dough with orange zest, a bit of orange juice, a dash or two of cardamom, and then toss in some chocolate chips.’ I was in that Zen moment. Put a pan in the oven, take a pan out, cool, transfer to wire rack and scoop more dough onto a pan. At 10:34 pm I finally turned off the oven, the kitchen lights and fell into bed, thinking J would be pleased I had attempted his idea.
'Those are good,” but then again J tends to like most anything labeled ‘cookie’. “They'll be gone by noon.” Being the pessimist I reminded him there was only half a batch and that statement seems likely as most folks enjoy free cookies. No bet.
So, like any good crack dealer, I wait for hapless addicts to walk by and start pushing the 'newest creation'. J’s prediction proves right, again. Even the one guy that claims to not like orange declares the cookie is good. I’m never going to hear the end of this.
If every cookie idea was this easy, I’d already have a dozen books out, and J an overinflated ego. Most cookies take a few trial and error bakes, meaning I’m throwing away a lot of rejects, and some cookies never make it past the ‘idea’ stage. And still there are others that, after a few years, remain in the planning stage awaiting that one ingredient or method that will push them into the coveted realm of my personal repertoire. Until such time, keep the suggestions coming.
The last batch of cookies I made was derived from a chocolate bar J bought the other day while we were at lunch. He broke off a small piece and offered it to me and I said, “No thanks. I don't like chocolate,” to which he replied, “I just want you to try it, taste the flavor combination and tell me what you think.”
Okay, it was the size of a small raisin, and milk chocolate so I’d probably survive a sample. “Mmmm hmm, chocolate, sweet, sugary, light chocolate which translates to semi-decent.” Then he says “What else?”
“Um, fruit of some sort, and what's that spice?” See, if I ate chocolate I would probably be familiar with something called a chocolate orange, or some such candy that is popular around Christmas time. Being the naïve (or stubborn) individual I am, my taste buds have been spared any more chocolate than necessary.
The finishing spice turned out to be cardamom. Now I've had cardamom cookies and found them rather blah in my sweet tooth estimation, but they tend to be popular with other countries. And that subtleness added to the overall effect.
I proceeded to bite into my Caprese and suddenly wondered if I'd dribbled balsamic vinegar down the front of my shirt. “What?” I asked as J stared at me like I was refusing to answer the million dollar question.
“Well?” he asked. And I was sure the puzzlement on my face gave away the fact that I was trying to come up with an answer. My mind reading skills being severely tested as I racked my brain trying to remember what it was I was supposed to be formulating a response to, luckily with a mouth full of food I gained a few precious moments. Unfortunately, I was still unable to come up with anything other than, “what?” Articulate, that's me.
"That was good wasn't it?" I shrugged.
“It was okay'” and took another bite of my Caprese, it didn't contain chocolate.
“Don't you think it would make a good cookie?” Ah, the light bulb switched on, albeit dimly. After all, in J’s estimation everything is a possible cookie flavor. He just might be on to something.
Orange, cardamom, and milk chocolate as a cookie, even though I'm sure it's been done before, I had never tried it and J was giving me that 'C'mon, I know I just sparked the grey matter into a seething, bubbling mass of energy.' He understands how easily I’m tempted and soon I began throwing out ideas.
“Could do an orange shortbread, with cardamom, dipped in chocolate, or add orange zest to melted chocolate over a cardamom spice cookie,” and the brainstorming continued, all the while J looking like the cat that ate the canary.
“I think it would make an excellent cookie,” and I didn’t have the heart to point out there wasn’t a cookie he didn’t like. I do have to give him credit as he's been the impetus, if not the head cheerleader behind a few of my better baking innovations.
“Don't get your hopes up; I won't have time until the weekend to even try to make them.” It was his turn to shrug, “I don't care, I'm just sayin’.”
On the way home we made a quick stop for dinner at the grocery store, and a couple of oranges found their way into the shopping basket along with extra chocolate pieces. I was already committed to making a batch each of chocolate chip and almond joy cookies.
So in the relative coolness of the evening (read balmy 73 outside and a stifling 85 in the kitchen) at 8:45 pm I was already on my second batch of cookies and beginning to contemplate. ‘You know it wouldn't take much to whip together a batch of cookie dough with orange zest, a bit of orange juice, a dash or two of cardamom, and then toss in some chocolate chips.’ I was in that Zen moment. Put a pan in the oven, take a pan out, cool, transfer to wire rack and scoop more dough onto a pan. At 10:34 pm I finally turned off the oven, the kitchen lights and fell into bed, thinking J would be pleased I had attempted his idea.
'Those are good,” but then again J tends to like most anything labeled ‘cookie’. “They'll be gone by noon.” Being the pessimist I reminded him there was only half a batch and that statement seems likely as most folks enjoy free cookies. No bet.
So, like any good crack dealer, I wait for hapless addicts to walk by and start pushing the 'newest creation'. J’s prediction proves right, again. Even the one guy that claims to not like orange declares the cookie is good. I’m never going to hear the end of this.
If every cookie idea was this easy, I’d already have a dozen books out, and J an overinflated ego. Most cookies take a few trial and error bakes, meaning I’m throwing away a lot of rejects, and some cookies never make it past the ‘idea’ stage. And still there are others that, after a few years, remain in the planning stage awaiting that one ingredient or method that will push them into the coveted realm of my personal repertoire. Until such time, keep the suggestions coming.