The Cookie of the Month Club: A Gift for my Father

My father is a man of simple pleasures. He loves watching the Yankees win, pouts when the Giants lose, and aims to always beat his lowest score on Sundays at the golf course. When it comes to food he enjoys unassuming tastes; hot dogs and hamburgers, a good steak, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The one food I could call him a connoisseur of is the cookie. He loves cookies. He even has a nightly ritual of eating one or two with a small Tupperware cup of milk either hanging around the kitchen or watching the end of “the game” on the couch.

This past Christmas I wanted to come up with a creative gift for him. It always feels like I’m giving him a Yankees t-shirt or a new box of golf balls (which are surprisingly expensive, by the way!). I searched. I thought. Finally, an idea dawned on me: The Cookie of the Month Club. A homemade batch of cookies delivered directly to my parent’s doorstep with a new flavor every month. An idea that would support his love of cookies and my love of the post office and baking!

Throughout middle and high school I did a lot of baking, almost always with a set purpose: a youth ministry picnic, Key Club bake sale or to be sneaked into a crush’s locker for Valentine’s Day. Eventually I started getting complaints from my dad and my brother that there were never any cookies left for them. Now with me in living in Manhattan, baking more than ever, and my parents a few hours north of the city the situation hasn’t changed much. There’s plenty being made, and little getting to my dad. The Cookie of the Month Club allows me to share what I bake with my dad all year long. I love the excited text message or phone call that comes once my dad receives the monthly shipment and the feedback he gives on flavor and texture.

Negotiating Breakfast

Father's day is Sunday. I had started thinking about a Mother's Day post back in May but opted to save my idea for this week. Breakfast is something near and dear to my heart. As a family we revel in celebrating those simple, but sentimental, holidays at a late morning table full of food. Also, there are few foods that I truly tie to my father in memory- but big breakfast has always been as much, if not more so, his domain than my mother's. So here is a little bit about our morning meal tradition, with or without holiday occasion.


"Big Breakfast” is a term that has always been bandied about in my family. Less so now that we aren’t all under one roof, but it still comes up on occasion since none of us are too far apart. Big breakfast means a hot, filling meal made fresh, usually on the weekend or a holiday, when everyone eats together. No cold cereal, no yogurt, no singular toast or banana. The big breakfast goes all out. Almost certain to be eggs; if they’re not the main event they’re served as the savory side. There will be something sweet; usually carb forward stacks of waffles or pancakes, sometimes French toast or just buttered toast. And of course there will always be bacon. If all 6 (mom, dad, sister, brother, and my niece) of us are together there will be a big plate of bacon, maybe some stray sausage links or some slices of ham. Once in a while there will be potatoes, but since big breakfast tends to happen spur of the moment there isn’t always time for them.

Up until a few years ago breakfasts like these were always prepared by my mom or my dad. And typically one or the other, but not both. When it came to fried eggs and omelets my mom held down the fort and the battered up mornings were my dad’s turf. I’m not really sure why things seems to always fall this way, but it is how it is. Nowadays I’m happy to take over whatever, whenever necessary. My obsession with poached eggs has also infiltrated the big breakfast realm. Months ago when I was still working on my poaching craft my parents would grumble at the whisper of the word “poached” because the egg whites would get all over their sauce pans. Now that I’m at least partially masterful of the craft, I can poach with ease and the opposition has desisted. I’m also always game to make the pancakes or French toast, but for some reason I will always leave the waffles to my dad. I think someone gave us our first waffle iron a long while ago. Sometime in the early 90s. It had a white plastic exterior with a light that was orange when the waffles were cooking. That broke at some point and it was replaced with a sleek Cuisinart model with a metal and black design.  I think I was with my dad when we got it- at Christmastime at Macy's during our annual Christmas Eve shopping outing to buy all his presents for my mom. He always gets one or two things for "the family" that tend to be things he just wants in the house. Like the new waffle iron, from which we all benefit.