World's best cookies, plus a trip

I suppose calling these the world's best cookies is a bit of an exaggeration. I mean, I have some other pretty good cookie recipes (like these, these, and these). But, for dramatic effect, I'm going to stick with my claim. I believe in the power of embellishment.

I actually made these a few weeks ago. In fact, I posted about them a long time ago, probably before any of you read this blog. But I didn't include the recipe. So I thought maybe I could squeak by with a repeat.

Plus, I haven't cooked that many new things recently to merit blog posts. We've been eating out a lot, hitting some of our favorite spots multiple times over the last few weeks (like Starbelly, Out the Door, and Nopalito). I guess right now, being out is a little more comforting than being in.

We've also been very busy, and shopping for groceries has taken a back seat. What we have we been doing? you ask. Well, planning a trip, my friends.

Toward the end of Frances's life, we were worried about taking an international trip and being far away in case something happened with her health. I'm sure any of you who are parents to either humans or animals might relate. No one can convince you that anyone could take as good care of your loved one as you. But now that things have changed, we are finally taking a long postponed trip to Europe: two weeks, split between Paris and Barcelona.

Since we're going in April, we've been scurrying to get things in order, like plane tickets and reservations and passports. It's been lots of fun. We're constantly buzzing about what we want to do, whether or not the amount we plan to walk will justify the amount we plan to eat, what to wear so that we don't stand out as tacky tourists, how quickly one of us can get a handle on some basic Catalan (this is largely in the husband's court as he knows Spanish. They're similar...right?). I can hardly wait to get there and unleash my terrible high school French on any number of horrified Parisians.

So if you have any recommendations on where to go or what to eat in either of those cities, please share them. We welcome any and all recommendations.

In the meantime, I give you (one of the) world's best cookie recipes. They really are the perfect chocolate chip cookie--sweet but not too, chewy, and packed with chocolate. And if you can bear to take a few extra minutes to follow the assembly instructions, you won't regret it. They produce the most attractive chocolate chip cookies I've ever seen.

Thick and Chewy Chocolate Chip Cookies
From Baking Illustrated

Makes about 18 large cookies.

2 c. plus 2 T. flour
1/2 t. baking soda
1/2 t. salt
12 T. unsalted butter, melted and cooled to warm
1 c. packed light or dark brown sugar
1/2 c. granulated sugar
1 large egg plus 1 egg yolk
2 t. vanilla extract
1-1/2 c. semisweet chocolate chips

Adjust the oven racks to the upper and lower-middle positions and heat the oven to 325. Line two large baking sheets with parchment paper or spray them with nonstick spray.

Whisk flour, baking soda, and salt together in a medium bowl and set aside.

Either by hand or with an electric mixer, mix the butter and sugars until thoroughly blended. Beat in the egg, yolk, and vanilla until combined. Add the dry ingredients and beat at low speed until just combined. Stir in the chips to taste.

Roll a scant 1/4 cup of the dough into a ball. Hold the dough ball with the fingertips of both hands and pull into two equal halves. Rotate the halves 90 degrees and, with jagged surfaces facing up, join the halves together at their base, again forming a single ball, being careful not to smooth the dough's uneven surface. Place the formed dough balls on the prepared baking sheets, jagged surface up, spacing them 2 1/2 inches apart.

Bake until the cookies are light golden brown and the outer edges start to harden yet the centers are still soft and puffy, 15-18 minutes, rotating the baking sheets from back to front and top to bottom halfway through. Cool the cookies on the sheets. Remove the cooled cookies from the baking sheets with a wide metal spatula.

A surprising salad

A couple of weekends ago, the husband and I skipped town. We were reeling from the loss of our beloved Frances and hoped a change of scenery might provide a bit of peace.

Not in the mood to do a lot of research--we just wanted to leave--we settled on this ridiculously posh spot for our destination. While a jaw-dropping setting can't mend a broken heart, it certainly doesn't hurt. And 70 degree weather and sunshine wasn't bad either.

Half Moon Bay is less than an hour from the city but feels like a sandy, sleepy little beach town. The hotel itself is perched on the ocean and there are walking paths that lead around the golf course (which, surprisingly, is public), and down to the ocean. Both mornings we walked down to the beach and sat with our feet in the sand and the sun on our faces, admiring countless dogs frolicking in the surf, as healing an activity as anything.

Half Moon Bay's main street ("Main Street") is devoid of any chain stores and manages to feel charming without being cutesy. We spent an afternoon strolling around a bit aimlessly, not a bad thing to do, and about all we could manage. After awhile, we ended up at the locally famous Pasta Moon for lunch.

If there were a place like this in San Francisco, I would eat there once a week. Their homemade pasta was absolutely divine--the husband had a gorgeous lasagne and I had delicate pappardelle with prosciutto, wild mushrooms, porcini cream, and white truffle oil.  It was all I could do not to lick the bowl.

Just as captivating, though, was my salad--a surprisingly delicious blend of roasted brussels sprouts, butternut squash, pancetta, baby cannellini beans, frisee and a vinaigrette with white balsamic vinegar.

I knew I wanted to make my own version of this delightful salad one day soon, and I tried it this week. I swapped watercress for frisee, and bacon for pancetta. And, I couldn't find baby cannellini beans, which I have to say were the perfect miniature addition to the dish. I did, however, cook cannellini beans from scratch, which I have never done before. Usually I open a can. They were good, but I'm not sure worth the effort.

But overall, the dish was a great success. Since we had been eating pretty heavily in the previous days, I served it as sort of a main course alongside creamy polenta. This is what it looked like.

I don't have a recipe, but the idea is: roast some brussels sprouts. Roast some butternut squash, which you've cut into small dice. Fry up some bacon or pancetta and at the end add a little minced garlic and the beans to warm them through. Toss everything with a green of your choice and a simple vinaigrette.

All of the proportions are up to you. At Pasta Moon, the brussels sprouts were the main attraction, with all of the other ingredients acting as careful accents. But you could tweak it any way you like. I do think the white balsamic, which I had never used before, added a lush and sweet flavor to the dish--also, being clear, it did not darken the salad.

So, give it a whirl.

I also wanted to say thank you for all of your kind comments about losing Frannie. It has been a very difficult few weeks but we are adjusting, slowly. We are already looking forward to adopting another dog (or two!) in the near future. But first, a trip. I'll write more about that as our plans take shape.

In any case, thank you. You've softened a rough blow, and I am grateful.

My Hungry Dog

Frannie in Santa Cruz, May 2010

Last Thursday, we lost our sweet Frances. She would have been 15 today.

I'm not sure I can convey exactly how heartbroken the husband and I are. We are devastated, numb, anchorless. 

I have been trying very hard to think of how wonderful her life was, from the moment I picked her out of a litter of wiggly chocolate lab puppies in March 1996. She was eight weeks old.  I was 22 and had just lost my dad. I was looking for something good to focus on.

In a rare moment of life giving you exactly what you need at the right time, I found Frannie. She was happy, curious, sweet, and instantly loving, all the things a puppy should be. She was also highly destructive, chewing shoes and insoles, table corners, remote controls, and computer discs. She ate everything in sight and was unstoppable at the beach, at the park, anywhere she could fetch, run, chase, or swim. She was the friendliest dog on the planet, introducing me to countless people throughout our life together. She was also fiercely loyal and protective. She made me feel safe.

I loved these things that were part of her from the very beginning. But as she got older, I discovered all of the other lovely qualities she had that were even better. She was extremely sensitive, and when I was sad, she would come sit next to me and just stay there quietly. She was generous, welcoming other dogs into the house by dragging out her toys for them to play with, letting them lie on her bed and drink out of her water bowl.

Perhaps above all, she was brave. When she was diagnosed with cancer the first time, she went through surgery and chemo with her tail wagging. The staff at the vet's office were amazed by her resilient spirit and cheerful nature. When she had vestibular disease, extreme vertigo which can last for days, she stayed courageously in the hospital for several nights, and afterward put up with wearing a little harness so we could help her navigate slippery spots in the house. Toward the end, we carried her up and down the stairs, which she also put up with, grudgingly.

When the cancer returned in July 2009, when she was 13, we knew we couldn't put her through any more and we decided to all live exuberantly together for as long as she had left. We thought maybe a few months. A year and a half later, she was still going strong.

In fact, Frannie propelled through life full-force until the very end. She enjoyed every single day, going on walks, visiting friends, eating roast chicken and hamburgers. Over the last few months, I started to feel like a short-order cook, frying up a little burger in our cast iron pan every night and then breaking it over her kibble. She would stand very close to me, waiting impatiently, and then wolf down her dinner the way only a labrador can.

And, in spite of how absolutely broken I feel now, I know that she had a wonderful life, and I am proud that we played a part in it. Not because of the surgeries or medicine or all the chickens we roasted for her, but because of the attention we paid to her. Every day of her life, and in particular in the last four and a half years, we showed her we loved her, by petting her soft head, talking to her, taking her places, helping her when she needed it, and letting her do things on her own when she needed that too. If there is one thing I am proud of, it is that I did not squander one single day I had with her. And ultimately, all you have with those you love is time. You cannot save or stockpile days to cash in later; you begin with the clock running, and no matter how valid your reasons or good your intentions, you are losing every second you're not with them.

So I guess I feel grateful, not just to have been with her for so many years--nearly half my life--but that somehow my little pea brain grasped early on that every day was special. 

I don't believe in heaven, but I do like to believe that Frannie's essence is still somewhere in the cosmos, leaving a trail of happiness wherever she goes. She certainly left an indelible mark on this world and on me.

Thank you to my mom, my sister, our dear friends Liz and Neal, Stephanie and Scott, Kami, Amy, Claire, all of the guys at the office--Martin, Randy, Michael, and Earl the hound dog, and everyone at Mission Pet Hospital, not only for making these last few days bearable with your kind words and gestures, but for making Frannie's life so happy. Mostly, thank you to Alby, who just may have loved Frannie as much as I did, and who got me through the worst day of my life. I love you all.