The importance of a cookie

As I sit here munching on some delicious pumpkin bread (thanks Tara and Peter), I am met with a recurring feeling of disappointment. It stems from having brought in pumpkin bread to the office yesterday, my first foray into the pumpkin bread-making business. Pieces of the freshly baked good were passed out to the gals in my department, and received positive reviews all around. The positive reviews are great and, admittedly, it was quite exciting to introduce five people to the goodness of sugary, spicy pumpkin (pumpkin is reserved for savory dishes around these parts and I've been eager to share the brilliance for some time now).

A few people have asked for more today, which could easily be taken as a compliment since the bread was so good! (Well let's be honest, it was.) But over the last two years, my experience in sharing the baked goods has been a bit disheartening. Let's take a bit of a backtrack and look at the history of sharing all things homemade and sweet.

The first time I remember making food for people (and naturally the only food I do make for people is dessert) was back in my second year at UW for Valentine's Day. I was in a bit of a frenzy with almond bark, strawberries, pretzels, and nuts, doing lots of dipping and drying and in general making a mess. The idea arose that it might be fun to drop off little care packages at friends' houses, so I packed up plates of chocolatey morsels and set off, leaving little parcels of love and sweetness on my friends' doorsteps.

When Christmas rolled around later that year, there was a bit of brainstorming on what to do for friends on a college budget. I've always loved the smell of pies, fudge and treats in the kitchen around Christmas time, and I have always been an advocate of personally-made presents, so it seemed that making treats for people would be the perfect marriage of homemade and tasty (and let's face it, budget). So began the ritual of Christmas treats.

Moving on from college, the next stop is the College Success Foundation. At the first staff meeting I ever attended, someone had just returned from a trip to Belgium and passed around a few boxes of Belgium chocolates to share amongst the work colleagues. A few weeks later, someone got back from a trip to Hawaii and left a few boxes of chocolate covered macadamia nuts in the kitchen to share. This was just about the greatest thing ever to me, and I jumped in on the kitchen sharing (except with chocolate chip cookies). Such was the environment at that office--some days someone would bring in a cake, others apple strudel, and still others brought brownies. It was such a great atmosphere, and everybody shared, complimented and said thank you. There was an appreciation of people's contributions, which made you want to bring things in.

Concurrently to the CSF time, I also got in the habit of baking cookies for friends' birthdays. In our family, you always got a homemade cake, which in our family was also most likely due to financial constraints, but it was so nice. You got something baked especially for you, and you even got to choose what kind of cake you got. Since I decided that cake wasn't my thing back in high school, cookies became the dessert of choice and cookies were made for friends. These were tailored cookies, according to what kind of chips someone liked (some prefer butterscotch or swirl) or if they were vegan and had to have something extra specially whipped up. It was fun, and I really enjoyed doing it for my friends.

Now let's fast forward a bit to South America, and my time traveling. I was living with my Peruvian family who had been kind enough to open up their home to me. From my point of view, it takes a big leap of faith and a vast amount of trust to do something like that to a complete foreigner that you've known for less than a week. I was cooked for every day, cleaned after, had my bed made every day. What could I possibly do to repay these people for their kindness? The first thing that came to my mind was cookies, and so began the cookie escapades in Peru.

I also had so much time while I was traveling, and when all of my volunteering positions fell through, there was a need to feel productive and convert that time into something. Along with Spanish classes and sight seeing, there was a gap--this boring gap that I wanted to fill with something. Baking was what filled it for me. It filled up my time and helped make me feel less lonely.

Throughout the rest of my trip, I used cookies as a way of making friends, an icebreaker, a way to give kindness to people and maybe make them feel more at home while they're wandering on the other side of the world. There were so many people that could be made happy by a simple, homemade cookie. People who appreciated having something nice done for them and biting into something made with love. When I was in Argentina, I met some wonderful people who totally got it. Carlos, who was so surprised that I would make cookies for everyone, and every time I made cookies would give a look that expressed this gratitude and appreciation for that small little thing. Melvin, with his love of food, totally got it, and made food for me in return. Then when I met Cami and Anthony, we would get together and they would make me dinner and I would make cookies, or we would all make cookies and have a bake-off, and there was this recognition. A recognition of love and this particular way of showing love to another person.

Then let's skip up to my time in Australia. I have definitely gotten pidgeon-holed as the "cookie girl" since I've been here, and that's not wrong. I am definitely the cookie girl and have baked countless things for many, many people in many, many offices. A few people get it. But most are just excited to get some free food, and there's very little appreciation. At the Heart Foundation, there was absolutely no reciprocation and very genuine thank yous. Since arriving at STC, the people are definitely better and there are always thank yous. There's more appreciation, though I think that's also because most people here appreciate food more in general. There's still little reciprocation, though, and then this becomes an expectation. "Hey Tina, when are you gonna make more cookies?" "Hey Tina, do you have any more of that pumpkin bread?" "Hey, you should make cookies."

It irks me, because less than a handful of people get it. They don't understand that it's not just about the cookie or the scone or the bread. It's not just because I love to bake. It's because I'm trying to share with them, I'm trying to involve them in a conversation of love, and thus far I seem to be failing in this dialogue because very little comes back. But it makes me want to bake less because who do I give this stuff to that understands?

And there are a few really lovely people who do the gratitude and give really great thank yous when I do bring things in. And I have at least one friend who has reciprocated in kind. She's a foodie and totally gets it. She made me cupcakes for my birthday and had the gall to apologize for the frosting job. I was so touched that someone would actually bake for me for my birthday because that hasn't happened in a long long time. We did a Christmas in July dinner with her and her boyfriend and they cooked us a feast! Pork belly and ham, delicious cheesebread, mulled wine, and all kinds of delight. It's so exciting when you meet other people who understand this, and you can have that kind of dialogue of sharing, reciprocation and gratitude.

A cookie is not just a cookie (and it's certainly not a biscuit). A cookie is sweet, soft and chewy. It's something to be savored and enjoyed. It's something made up of a myriad of ingredients, grainy, bland flour, alkaline powders, salty butter, sweeteners and flavors. Someone's elbow grease combined these together, measured, mixed, melted and rolled. Someone dirtied bowls, cups, spoons and trays, and someone certainly had to do the dishes afterward. A recipe that has been in existence for who knows how long (and maybe it came from some ancient family member or a dear friend) may or may not have been adhered to. Maybe that process was someone's thinking time, a way to let off some steam or a way to make themselves feel less lonely. Maybe when someone gives you a cookie, it's their way of asking you to be their friend or a way of showing you their love. But I'll tell you one thing for sure--a cookie is not just a cookie. There is a story behind that cookie that begs to be understood.