Drunken Winter Crazy Cookies

Brutal. And it's going to get worse.

I try not to be bitter over my exile in this Winter Wasteland.  I try to love this place the way some of my friends and colleagues do.  But I. Just. Can’t.

It’s dark here.  Nothing is easy in the cold.  My footing is still, after 15 years in Alaska, unsure on the ice.  Between plugging my car in, scraping windshields, donning and removing 3 layers of clothing multiple times each day, shoveling my driveway, chipping away at the ice dams that form on the inside of my bedroom window, and trying to keep up with 3 pairs of gloves, hats, snowpants, scarves, and boots, I’m up to my eyeballs in desperation. It’s the desperation that leads me to food.  Thinking about it, reading about it, studying food, listening to “A Chef’s Table” podcasts, listening to the chef’s memoirs I get through Audible.com, watching Top Chef or No Reservations. I write about it. I obsess over it. Food is solace.  Food is pleasure.  Feeding others is a pleasure. The history of food is the history of humanity.  The only thing food can’t do for me is buy me a plane ticket out of this place.

Here is the recipe for a cookie that encompasses my dark feelings regarding Alaskan winters; it’s a cookie in which I find solace (even if I can’t actually eat it…I have sugar and flour issues) because this cookie understands me.

Drunken Winter Crazy Cookies Part I

  • Soak 1 cup of raisins and 1/2 chopped dates in 1 cup of Triple Sec overnight.
  • Preheat oven to 375F.

Drunken Winter Crazy Cookies Part II

  • 2 & 1/4 sticks of butter, softened
  • 1 & 1/4 cups packed brown sugar
  • 1/2 cup white granulated sugar
  • 1 & 3/4 cups all purpose flour
  • 1 tsp baking powder
  • 1/2 tsp salt
  • 2 & 1/2 cup Quaker uncooked oats
  • 1/2 cup pecans

Beat the butter and sugar into submission.

Add beaten eggs.

Combine dry ingredients then fold into the wet mixture.

Stir in the drunken raisins and dates and add the nuts.

Bake for 10 minutes or until otherwise done.

Eat until Hell freezes over.

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