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  • Writer's pictureA is for Agape

Butting In and Cookie Exchanges

Right now, my husband is on his way to a cookie exchange.  He took our four year old daughter with him.  As I am not feeling well and our son has absolutely no interest we stayed home.  My daughter heard cookie and decided this was definitely something she should attend.

Since it was his co-worker hosting I didn’t feel entirely obligated to go or involve myself.  So, my husband was going to take his usual, and absolutely yummy, classic chocolate chip cookies.  Of course, at the last minute I just couldn’t let it happen.  In typical fashion I suggested he make something different than his normal.  “Why don’t you make Almond Lace Cookies instead, everyone likes those.”  As if no one likes chocolate chip or it was any of my business.

I proceeded to look up a recipe for lace cookies and found one on that sounded good and simple, Almond Lace Cookies.  I showed him the recipe and he said that looked fine to him.  Why he lets me get away with these things I still don’t understand.  The trouble then was that we had no almonds and no time to go to the store.  “I think I will make it with hazelnuts instead,” said my laid back and forgiving husband.

After the cookies come out of the oven, a little funny shaped, remember we live at high altitude, but delicious, he let them cool and was ready to box them and take them to the party when again I interjected.  All of this while I am supposed to be resting in bed because I am not well.  “The whole point of an Almond Lace Cookie is the lovely chocolate drizzle on top.”  This may only be true for me but it has to be this way.  Now I’ve created a whole new job.

Now, my husband is melting chocolate, the wrong way, so I take over and start a double boiler for him, making a creamy chocolate concoction that we will drizzle on top of the crunchy cookies.  Once the chocolate is all melty and smooth, by this time he is nowhere to be found, I’m assuming he is changing and putting things in the car, tasks that I won’t take over, I take a fork and dip it into the chocolate and swish it over the cookies that are laying out flat on parchment paper.  It’s beautiful!

When he does come back, he looks at the masterpieces and pronounces them perfect.  “They ARE better this way.”  And he packs them up and he and my daughter take off for their party.  Now I am left in the kitchen with a pot of stuck on chocolate, brown splatters on every surface, my pajamas are dusty with flour and other sticky things and I have only myself to blame.

(Find the recipe on my food blog at

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