Equal Parts

There’s a saying in French — Tous les chemins mènent à Rome. This is a saying in English too — All roads lead to Rome — but of course the French is far more beautiful. I came across the expression in my new book on classic French pastry, which I bought the week after Thanksgiving with the intention to come to a greater understanding of French tart dough, in the hopes that its similarities and differences will teach me more about American pie dough.

As I flip through the pages of millefeuille and croquembouche and gâteau St. Honoré, a further consequence emerges. My dormant Francophilia has come alive. I dream of waking up at Le Meurice, un croissant au petit déjeuner, and a morning stroll through le Jardin des Tuileries. Then an afternoon at the Louvre followed by l’apéro at a sidewalk bistro before walking to dinner. I hear L’Ambroisie is nice. I’d wear a new dress from Sézane, and afterwards we’d take in the city lights from the bank of the Seine. Consider this the plan for my 40th birthday, Jeff.

I studied French in high school, but to me it was just another class. My teacher was obsessed with all things la Tour Eiffel, but I just wanted to know what I needed to memorize in order to ace the test. In college I rebelled and enrolled in Spanish classes, though I did take two trips to France at that time. First to Angers (the home of Cointreau) to visit a friend studying abroad, and another to Paris and beyond with that same high school teacher. I was completely in awe of the beauty of the country, the architecture and landscape in particular. But I was also a tourist acting like a tourist – cramming an agenda of museums and cathedrals, bus tours and long lines, all with jet lag – and it’s hard to be enamored by a culture when you’re just plain fatiguée.

But sometime after graduation I watched Être et Avoir, a beyond charming documentary about an ordinary one-room schoolhouse in a small French village, and the intimate relationship between the teacher, his students, and their families. I also began working at a textiles showroom, and studying the artistry of fabric design. Many of the mills we worked with were located in France, and early that summer I heard one of my coworkers say that our customers better get their orders in, because the French shut down for August and they won’t care if our American sofas need reupholstering at that time. Huh… so the whole nation will be at their country homes enjoying the sun and the smell of lavender, drinking wine and eating soft cheeses, reading literature on blankets in the grass? Ok, I can get behind this. Suddenly it was my plan to move to France for a year, and I started researching programs to teach English.

It didn’t happen, because I got interested in other things, as is often the case when you’re 23. But every once in a while, when I brush up against it, the French culture pulls at my heartstrings, and I wonder how I can buy a pied-a-terre in Paris. Like when Jeff takes me to Margaux for our anniversary, or makes boeuf Bourguignon for Valentine’s Day. When I read the estate names on the bottles of red at our local wine shop. When I re-watch Être et Avoir, as I did last night. When I simply hear the word Chamonix. When the camera pans to overhead views of the countryside every summer during the le Tour de France. When I say, “let’s go to Montreal soon,” so we can save our money for Paris later. Again, how can I buy a pied-a-terre?

But back to that French expression — Tous les chemins mènent à Rome. As the internet will tell you, there are millions of claims for the “best chocolate chip cookies.” In fact I tried most of them in the weeks surrounding Olivia’s birth. Particulars aside, I believe no matter the method you choose, in the end you’re still eating chocolate chip cookies, and that’s pretty great. From our repertoire I prefer the whole wheat variety, whereas Jeff likes the enormous ones he discovered during quarantine. These from Tara O’Brady are our new favorite, a perfect, meet-in-the middle, soft and chewy option that’s easy to make, perfect for freezer-stashing, and a joy to discover there. Meet our new Everyday Chocolate Chip Cookies. Shoutout to the call for melted butter, because nothing negates an “everyday” cookie recipe like the need for room temperature butter. Do not omit the sprinkle of flaky sea salt, and please, use fleur de sel.

Now excuse me, I plan to spend the remainder of the afternoon virtually perusing the Musée d’Orsay and memorizing the arrondissements while the coq au vin stews.

EVERYDAY CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES, inspired by Tara O’Brady

You’ll need:
1 cup unsalted butter, chopped
3-1/4 cups flour
1-1/4 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1-1/2 tsp kosher salt
1-1/2 cups brown sugar
1/2 cup granulated sugar
2 eggs
2 tsp vanilla extract
12 oz semisweet or bittersweet chocolate, chopped (or chocolate chips)
Flaky sea salt, for sprinkling

Heat oven to 360. (Yes, 360, I appreciate the research Tara must have done to call for that.) Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.

In a medium saucepan over the very lowest heat, melt the butter. Stir regularly until the butter is almost entirely melted, then remove from heat and set aside. (The specificity here is to not lose moisture.)

In a bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.

Pour the melted butter into a large bowl and whisk in the sugars. Add the eggs one at a time, and whisk to just combine. Add the vanilla and stir to combine. Add the dry ingredients and use a strong spatula to stir to combine. When it is mostly blended, fold the chocolate into the dough. Take care to fully incorporate all ingredients without overmixing. Refrigerate the dough for 5 minutes.

Scoop the dough into portions of 3 tbsp and roll into balls. Set on the prepared pans, leaving 3 inches between each. Sprinkle with flaky sea salt. Bake until the tops are cracked and slightly golden, and the centers remain soft, about 10 to 12 minutes, rotating the pans halfway through.

Repeat with the remainder of the dough, or better yet, form into dough balls and freeze for later use. Your future self will thank you.