Cookies for You (and for the Vegans in Your Life), Part II

This is Part II of this series. For Part I, click here.

...I put the raw batter to my mouth and let it sit on my tongue for just a minute before chewing. There was nothing offensive about the dough - in fact, it tasted really only tasted nutty and spicy, but heavy and grainy. Not shocking.

Sarah transferred the mixture to a bowl, chopped up more pistachios and added them into it along with some vegan chocolate chips (she prefers Tropical Source).


"I could use a spoon," Sarah said looking at the thick and somewhat impenitrable-looking clump, "but hands are just easier." So using what God gave her, she mixed everything together.


"What your left with is a nice, slippery dough. Also, I like to oil the pan with my hands because then you're left with nonstick skin to shape the cookies." Sarah talked to me as she rolled the dough into 2" rounds and placed them on the greased pan.

The dough darkened a little from the chocolate, which was beginning to slightly melt from being handled. It turned from a greenish-brown to a more cookie-looking chocolate brown. I could smell the blend of cinnamon and cloves from my perch about five feet from Sarah was working and found myself salivating. I actually felt excited about eating those vegan cookies.

With the palm of her hand, Sarah pressed the little spheres flat.


"I think I might have put a little too much oil in these. I'll adjust the written recipe for you blog." She frowned showing me her greased hands.


"Wait, you're not going to put this on the blog are you? 'This is my friend, Sarah, she is a hack cook.'" Whoops. There it is.

She placed the pan of cookies in a preheated oven, washed her hands, and sat down to chat as they baked. After a little lull in our conversation (probably something about boys), Sarah looked at me and her eyes brightened. "Erin, you could write about my nice kitchenware on the blog!" She explained and then got up to open her cabinets. "I have some pretty cool stuff." Indeed her shelves were stocked with handmade ceramics and kitchenware that various artist friends had given her over time, but more notable was her heavy-bottomed crystal highball glasses.

"What's that?" I asked. "Oh," Sarah replied removing a glass from the cabinet, "That's my Christofle barware." I looked at her blankly. That was some expensive stuff. I asked her how she came about it. "Well, I was working at a department store in Releigh, and I was helping people make their gift registry and it was right after college, and working with all these brides was making me pretty down, because, ya know, it was right after I graduated and these women seemed to have their shit together..." Ah, yes, I knew the feeling well.


"Anyway," she continued, "I realized I wasn't so much jealous of those ladies, but of the gifts they got. So I made myself my own registry called 'married to me.' I realized that I didn't need the husband - just the line of credit. So I got one, bought myself a bunch of expensive stuff, and took the next year paying it off." I laughed. Sarah, who I met at Penland School of Craft a number of years ago, with her sweet looking smile, light eyes, and bubbly laugh continues to suprise me with her unsuspecting behavior.

Right when Sarah finished her story, the alarm went off, signifying that it was time for some vegan treats. She removed them from the oven and, with a spatula, scooped the sweet discs from pan to cooling rack.


After a few minutes, the cookies had cooled sufficiently to eat. Without asking, I took one from the wire rack and stuffed it in my mouth. It was fucking good. The baked little discs were not too sweet - nutty, chocolatey, and spiced well. I told Sarah that I imagined them as perfect breakfast treats. She agreed as she chewed on her own treat. As I dug into my second and then third cookie, I realized that I completely had forgotten about my headache and nausea and thanked Sarah for curing me of my malaise. With a knowing smirk, she nodded, and then grabbed another cookie.