Most people, I think, were raised on cookies or bars. I was raised on cookies. It would be interesting to consider the sort of people who are attracted to making bars. There is much to be said for them, they are certainly quicker and, if you crave it, there is the option of uniformity. It must be pleasing, for some, to be able to cut perfectly square or rectangular bars, leaving the curled up edges to be eaten in private by the baker. This is all conjecture since, as I mentioned, my experience and expertise is with cookies.
And yet,the other day, it was chocolate chip cookie bars for which I had a craving. I didn’t do anything about it until Lydia fell upon me crying because Eden was driving her crazy. Eden, who can be quite a pill, wasn’t really doing anything. I diagnosed cabin fever of the deadliest kind and, as I held my sobbing girl close, tried to think what might be a good occupation for someone who is sick and tired and generally feeling fragile. Baking seemed a possibility. I suggested making some bars and Lydia agreed. That it could hit the second bird of my own craving was a bonus.
Once we had settled on the recipe and she had begun to measure ingredients, Lydia came back and sweetly apologized for her earlier fit. This is always her way, given a little room and some compassion her conscience invariably pricks and she makes things right.
Today Lydia made the bars again. She wanted to do it herself and with the help of her sister and one of our visiting friends she measured out the wet ingredients and mixed them. It looked strange and so she called me to check. It was easy to see that she hadn’t fully creamed the butter and sugar before adding the eggs and vanilla. She was worried.
I told her to start measuring the flour and I got the mixer going strong. It soon beat everything into a creamy mixture. It wasn’t what it would have been, but it was fine.
“Is it going to be OK?” Lydia asked after we stirred in the dry ingredients.
I assured her it would be and then asked, “What if it wasn’t fine, what if it was ruined?”
She thought for a moment, “We could start over.”
And in most cases we can. Today we have plenty of butter and sugar and eggs, it only would have taken time to measure them again.
I poured in the chocolate chips and we both leaned forward to hear them hitting each other as they landed. This is one of my favorites sounds in the world and I have taught Lydia to appreciate it too. We mixed them into the dough and then carefully spread it in the pan.
I put the bowl in the sink and filled it with water to wash. “Sweetie, you know if you try anything, odds are -“
“You’re going to make mistakes?”
“Yep. And the sooner you figure out they’re nothing to be afraid of, the happier you’re going to be.”
The bars have baked and been cooled on a rack. Lydia is cutting pieces for everyone as I type.
If you had a bird’s eye view of our kitchen today you would have probably been able to figure out I was teaching my daughter how to bake. But you might not have known, what I am coming to understand I get to do day after day, in the most mundane situations, is that I was teaching her how to live.
We have adapted this recipe and use half a cup of Smart Balance and half a cup of butter in place of the shortening and 3/4 cup of white and 3/4 cup of brown sugar packed in place of the 1 1/2 c. brown sugar.
I highly approve of both lessons.
When are we going to make some chocolate dipped treats? I think I’m going to fire up the machine for the first time tonight.
I hope you don’t mind me using some of your material in my own kitchen.
I just this evening experienced my eldest complaining about not doing something good enough, making mistakes, etc. I’d like to add baking bars to my training.
You made me cry, sitting her on my lunch hour.
Dan, not until after this weekend. I have some pants I have to fit into.
Sara, carry on. We can’t let these amazing girls get stuck in lies and fear.
Amanda, thanks for letting me know.