Today my office had a cookie swap, where each participant brought in 3 dozen cookies of a single varietal that we exchanged until everyone had a veritable cookie cornucopia for their holiday table.
To foster goodwill with my new co-workers, I participated even though I don’t eat cookies. Mr. P will eagerly pick up my cookie-eating slack, though methinks he can’t eat three dozen cookies before we leave the country in 3 days, even if he eats them for breakfast, as he’s threatened. And my normal solution for food over-abundance — “I’ll just take it to the office” — might not work in this situation, as people may be insulted to find their cookies relegated to communal pickings in the kitchen. If he doesn’t finish, we will just have to toss the cookies.
I choose to make almond biscotti, because if I were to eat a cookie, this is a cookie I’d want to eat: Crunchy, nutty, and the perfect shape for easy nibbling. Two weeks ago I did a “practice run” of my biscotti recipe and they were unbearably dry and lacking in taste. So I found a new recipe that used more egg and more almond and vanilla extract. I substituted some of the almonds for dried cranberries to add a bit of holiday color, and voila! My almond biscotti turned out wonderful (again, according to Mr. P — like all French, his body language will betray his feelings towards a food. When he doesn’t like it, he’ll grow silent, almost sad, with pursed lips; when he does like it, he’ll chew vigorously and his eyes will open wide. And despite the notions of French as slow eaters, in my experience, they will inhale a beloved food; they will only dawdle over a merely adequate dish, focusing instead on the conversation.)
Anyway, isn’t it amazing how 3 dozen biscotti can be magically transformed into 3 dozen assorted cookies in less than 15 minutes? The power of cookie community!
