Cooking Crybaby: Crybaby's Pantry List

Refrigerator

Dijon mustard

Regular mustard

Capers

Roasted red peppers

Kalamata Olives

Sundried tomatoes

Tomato paste

Anchovy paste

~~Tabasco~~

~~Spray butter~~

Salad dressing

Sherry

Marsala Wine

Soy Sauce

Worcestershire sauce

~~A-1 Sauce~~

~~Taco Sauce~~

~~Wing Sauce~~

Barbecue Sauce

~~Minced Garlic~~

~~Lime Juice~~

~~Lemon Juice~~

~~Bacon Bits~~

Parmagiano Reggiano

Pecorino Romano

Gorgonzola

~~Walnuts~~

~~Almonds~~

~~Pine Nuts~~

Pancake Mix

Syrup

Onions

Potatoes

Reduced fat mayonnaise

Cole slaw dressing
Pepitas

Freezer

Chopped spinach

Chopped broccoli

Corn
Edamame

Ice Cream

Chicken breast

Shrimp

~~Orange juice concentrate~~
Chicken Stock
Tomato Sauce

The Tall Cabinet

Rice

Pasta

Arborio Rice

Barley

Chicken stock

Beef stock

Tomato sauce

Chopped tomatoes

Whole tomatoes

Green Beans

Cream of mushroom soup

Black Beans

White Beans

Chicken Stock

Beef Stock

~~Onion Soup Mix~~

~~Ranch Dip Mix~~

Dried bread crumbs

~~Raisins~~

Crackers

~~Dried cranberries~~

Popcorn

Salsa

Pumpkin

~~Cake Mix~~

The Corner Cupboard

Kosher Salt

Sea Salt

Olive Oil

Extra Virgin Olive Oil

Truffle Oil

White Vinegar

Red wine vinegar

Balsamic vinegar

White wine vinegar

Telicherry whole black peppercorns

Oatmeal

Sugar

Brown Sugar

Powdered Sugar

White Flour

Wheat Flour

Bread Flour

Cake Flour
Masa Harina
Farina

Baking powder

Baking soda

Corn starch

~~Chocolate Chips~~
Corn meal

The Small Cupboards

Vanilla extract

Almond extract

Yeast

Dried mushrooms
Herbs and spices

Perishable Staples

~~Lemons~~

~~Limes~~

~~Garlic~~

Carrots

Celery
Shallots

1% milk

Cheese

Butter

Eggs

What's all the crying about?

It was December 1990, in Mom and Dad’s brand new colonial with the big new kitchen. Beth was home from college. All year long I had fantasized about it. Baking Christmas cookies from the bonus “cookies” book that came with the red-and-white-checkered Betty Crocker Cookbook I received for Christmas the year before.

I had arranged the suburban kitchen island like the set of of a cooking show. Having learned from past mistakes, I had all the ingredients and tools ready to go: bowls of all sizes, flour, sugars, eggs, vanilla, mixer, pastry blender, cookie sheets, food coloring.

Beth cracked open a beer, ready to heckle more than help. My mom patiently tied an apron around her, in that gentle way that moms do, knowing you have to let the kid crash and burn in order for them to learn.

We would make the Santa cookies. Little Santa figurines made from dyed sugar cookie dough. Enchanting little fellas. We followed the directions carefully: One bowl of red dough for the bodies and hats; a bowl of black for the boots and belt; a bowl of plain for the faces, hat tips and gloves. We would use tiny candies for the eyes and buttons.

To make three dozen Santa cookies, I rolled up approximately 252 little dough balls of varying sizes. Carefully, I formed the pieces and pinched together the bodies, placing them on parchment lined baking sheets. Oven preheated to 350. Go time.

“They’ll probably taste like crap,” Beth taunted.

“Whatever,” I responded, smug.

I monitored them through the glass oven window, time ticking. The cookies plumped merrily as they baked. I took them out after 11 minutes, placing them on the stove top, cooling rack poised. They were beautiful. My Mom was surprised and relieved. Even Beth was impressed.

I relaxed, letting the warm vibes of family, holidays and home-baking seep over me like a hot, sweet icing.

Batch number two now halfway through baking, I turned my attention to the first batch, slowly sliding a spatula under a firm, hot Santa cookie ready to make the transfer to the cooling rack. Deftly, I slipped it off the spatula.

And it all fell apart.

First the red triangular-shaped hat cracked off and fell through the slats of the cooling rack, crumbs tumbling. Then, when I attempted to reattach it, the mittens fell off. I took a deep breath. I tried another one. Same thing. Dammit!

My Mom, she can be so kind. “Maybe they need to cool longer?” She suggested. “Maybe we can make an egg wash and glue them back together?” My face grew hot and red. Nothing worked. In a baker’s rage, I scooped up the warm fresh cookie parts, smashed them together in my hands, and threw them in the trash.

I turned to my sister, who sat watching me, wide-eyed and afraid. Then, on the verge of bursting into tears, I laughed. We all did. Big, ridiculous, soothing laughter.

That’s how my story begins. Cooking triumphs and tragedies: from the thrill of perfectly-sauced homemade pasta to crying over burnt onions. The triumphant beef tenderloin, medium rare, from Christmas Eve 2009. The apple-carmel cheesecake disaster of Easter, 2007. But, there is nothing quite like getting it right. Like when Mark takes the first taste of new recipe and says, surprised, “You could actually serve this to company.”

Lessons Learned from the Santa Cookie Disaster of 1990: (1)
Give yourself an entire day for a recipe like this; (2) Do a test run before rolling out 252 dough balls; and (3) Buy the darling Santa cookies at the bakery, and live to bake another day.

Cooking Crybaby

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