EMWTTSFM - Don’t Tell My Doctor About the Cookies
My intent for the Saturday Farmers Market was healthy enough. I had a practical list in mind: fresh vegetables, fruit, protein from the butcher, and lots of tomatoes. This time of year, the stalls are filled with produce, some of it appearing for the first time in the season. It was exactly the kind of morning that should have ended with a tote bag full of responsible choices. Then I became distracted by the cookies at Shared Experience Bakery.
The offer was five for $15, which worked out to more than 25% off the individual cookies I eventually chose. I’m not saying I bought the cookies because of the bargain, but I’m also not saying the bargain didn’t help. One of them was a $5 oatmeal cream double cookie, the kind of thing that looks less like a snack and more like a private decision. Don’t tell my doctor.
I promised myself I would take just one bite of each cookie, partly for the required photo and partly to keep myself from indulging in an overindulgence of great proportions. This was a practical plan, a mature plan, and a plan my doctor might have approved of, had he known anything about it. Then I ate the oatmeal cream cookie in just a few bites, washed it down with cold brew coffee, and quietly abandoned the entire framework of restraint.
It was worth it. The cookie was soft, sweet, and just messy enough, with that creamy filling holding the two oatmeal cookies together like it had serious work to do. It tasted nostalgic, but not childish. More like the grown-up version of a snack cake, the kind you buy at a farmers market while pretending you came for vegetables. Don’t tell my doctor.
Over the next four days, I ate each of the remaining cookies, starting with the chocolate chip cookies and cream. That’s the dark one on the far right in the photo, looking dramatic and slightly dangerous. It had white chocolate chips tucked into a buttery cake-flour cookie, Oreo wafers, espresso powder, and a dollop of not-too-sweet crème on top. It was soft and joyful, with just enough bitterness from the espresso to keep all that sweetness in check.
I ate around the centered crème, saving it for the final bite. When the moment came, I slid it over my lips and into my mouth like the oddly shaped chocolate kiss it resembled. I’d take the cookie over a kiss any day. Don’t tell my doctor.
Next, I moved to the remaining center cookie in the trio: the Biscoff toffee cookie. It came loaded with white chocolate chips, toffee, brown sugar, Biscoff XL cookies, Biscoff cookie butter, and apple cider vinegar. Yes, vinegar in a cookie. It helps soften the dough, especially when Biscoff cookies are folded in. That little bit of tang also kept the sweetness from running completely wild, which it easily could have done with all that brown sugar, toffee, and cookie butter involved. Again, don’t tell my doctor.
Now I had a more difficult decision to make: the classic chocolate chip cookie or the oat chocolate chip. Being a moderate diner, I ate half of each and saved the remaining halves for the next morning. This turned out to be a good decision, mostly because it was hard to pick a favorite. Both had the required chocolate chips and brown sugar, but they went about their business differently. The classic chocolate chip cookie used apple cider vinegar and vegetable shortening to soften the dough and give it a little extra density. The oat cookie was simpler, with oat grains providing the weight and texture.
Don’t tell my doctor I bought so many cookies. It’s difficult enough deciding which half-cookie to eat first the next morning without adding medical judgment to the situation. Farmers’ markets are supposed to send you home with something fresh, local, and seasonal, and I did manage two out of three. I came home with something local and fresh. I just skipped the produce and went straight to dessert. No regrets.
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