Jeanne-ology: Cookie Hell.

Hi there! It’s Thursday, which means I convinced Jeanne to drop in with her weekly words of wisdom. Last week she discussed pot pie and this week she takes on a hot topic at PJP…cookies. Enjoy. xoxo - Rebecca.

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Well, it is Thursday again and that means it is time to write the blog. Rebecca yelled to me as I was leaving PJP today. She said, "Do the blog!". A gush of anxiety ran through my body. She has already written about the snow storm, the American Pie Council contest, and whatever has been happening at the pie shop. What in the world can I talk about? Our puppy Dixie is still chewing us out of house and home and she is a speeding blur running through the house. My home life is mundane, unless you consider that a news program seems to be constantly on the television, or the fact that we go to bed by eight pm every night, or my husband is always muttering under his breath about the puppy. However, he mentioned one word tonight that I am so tired of hearing. That word is COOKIES.  (Rebecca editing to add: there is nothing mundane about her house. Unless you stop by when they are re-watching Gunsmoke, which is precisely what they were doing when we walked over on Sunday after the snowstorm.)

My husband is a cookie fanatic. He can never eat enough cookies. Tonight, he reminded me that his cookie dough container is empty and would I make sure I made some tomorrow? I think cookies are a security blanket for him. When the cookie dough runs low, he reminds me of our puppy Dixie. He doesn't run around the house in a frenzy, but he does pant heavily and will remind me several times before we go to bed. In the morning, I already know that he will mention the cookies.  (Rebecca editing to add: It is a good thing he doesn’t know how to use the Internet. I feel like he might cringe when the world reads his love of cookies is on par with crazy puppy behavior.)

When I met my husband, he was 60. He always had store bought cookies on hand and would eat them for breakfast. About two years into our relationship, he had forgotten to buy cookies. I remember that being a Sunday morning. He announced that he was going to the grocery store and buy himself some cookies. I offered to make him some cookies. He seemed shocked, "you know how to make cookies?". Sure I do and they are not hard to make. He reluctantly said okay as we gave me a dubious look. I whipped out all the ingredients I needed and baked him some cookies. When they came out of the oven, he was hovering over the stove. They sure smell good, he said, I have never had a home baked cookie before. Whaaat? That is impossible, I said. Didn't your mother or someone in your life ever bake cookies? Nope, he said as he leaned over the cookie tray breathing in the cookie aroma. (Rebecca editing to add: this story still freaks me out.)

I guess I will never forget that day because it was life changing. Life changing in that I couldn't imagine it would start a road to cookie hell. I will NEVER buy a grocery store cookie again! he said.  He ate the whole dozen of cookies that morning. He has remained true to his word to this day. I felt so flattered at the time, however, it has caused me to have a heavy cookie burden on my shoulders. He wants the same cookie with no variations. I have failed at persuading him to try a different flavor. Why he doesn't weigh a few hundred pounds is beyond me. (Rebecca editing to add: I can attest to the truth of this story. I’ve seen her make cookie dough to take home during some of our lowest of lows at PJP when I couldn’t fathom her energy for such a task.)

At his suggestion, we started selling these cookies at PJP. We can bake a few dozen or so and hope they get bagged and out front to sell to our customers before the entire baking crew eats so many that we have to bake them again to have enough to sell.  To me, these cookies are not anything special…just filled with a lot of pecans, coconut, white and chocolate chips to name a few ingredients. My husband claims they meet all the food group requirements and are a meal in themselves. (Rebecca editing to add: I can’t figure out why she doesn’t think they are special. They are AHMAZING. She’s not joking when she says Team PJP can polish off a baking tray’s worth before we can get them bagged to sell. In full disclosure, I’ve eaten my share of raw dough too…salmonella be damned.)

We bag them by the dozen. We didn't have a name for them, except Jeanne's cookies.  That seem to stick and are labeled as such. We are offering them daily and sometimes we give out samples. 

So, tomorrow I will make sure I make another batch of cookie dough. He will not ask how my day was, if I am tired, were we busy, etc., until I answer the most important question of the day. Did you remember to make me some cookie dough? A sigh of relief will come out of his mouth. We're back in business baby! Just get home as soon as you can!