Classic Chocolate Chip Cookies

Classic Chocolate Chip CookiesEverything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.” – David Foster Wallace, an excerpt from Infinite Jest.

I bake cookies often. Not for any particular reason, other than I find them the most efficient thing to satisfy in times of sweet craving. There’s an entire section dedicated to cookies in the left of my freezer, with at least one hundred dough balls stashed. They sit tightly contained next to discs of pie dough and left-over streusel, from the times I made too much. All labeled and categorised according to date and type. There’s bags of classic chocolate chip and bags of my favourite spelt dark chocolate chunk kind. There’s bags of brown butter and milk chocolate too. And then there’s a bag filled with the miscellaneous type. A few cookies made with sour cherries and hazelnut, a few cookies made with peanut butter chips. And the odd, stray, m&m. The miscellaneous bag is known to be either hit or miss. And yet, I still keep them. For my taste preferences shift on whim and change as fast as the strength of season. A Classic Chocolate Chip Cookie though, will forever be a favourite.


Chocolate Sheet Cake with Fleur de Sel Frosting

Chocolate Sheet Cake with Fleur de Sel FrostingI’m scared you will realize I’m just bones and questions and leave me for something solid.” – Clementine von Radics

It’s been a while since I last posted a cake recipe on the blog. At the beginning of the year, I committed to sharing a new cake, each month. Though, as is the usual manner of things, my attention was stolen and held captive to something, someone, else. Side-tracked is an understatement, but, I like to think that I made up for it by sharing other sweet things that have been in frequent rotation. Cookies for one, as my instagram will attest.  


Paris | Roam

Paris | RoamParis at night. I step out of the restaurant into darkness. It is a sensual experience. I recognise no one. I stumble. I hear the voice of a man I am sure I could have loved, but he vanishes. Mysterious blue and green lights here and there.” – Anaïs Nin, September 1939

In some way or another, I always find myself back in Paris. All sunsets belong to her. All heat. All rain. All shadow. And memories too. My memories belong to Paris. She was unpredictable at best. Romantic, ethereal, but, nonetheless, unpredictable. Paris was sweltering heat and sporadic rain. Daylight that continued into midnight. Midnight that never lasted as long as the day. And once it was dark, it was dark. Much like this desire. The city at night, a maze of shadow, guided by the sole illumination of strewn light, winding tunnels or vagrant passages. I’m forever at her mercy.


S’mores Brownies

S'mores BrowniesShe was my darling: difficult, morose – But still my darling.” – Nabokov, an excerpt from ‘Pale Fire.’

I realise that this post has been waiting longer than anticipated. But then Paris happened, so, my schedule went completely out the window. Life is consuming. Time, even more so. I still can’t believe that it’s only four months to the end of the year. For the most part, I’ve been laid bare beneath the darkness of dreams and doubt. Fulfilled in the illusion of impassioned loves and hates. Love and hate felt as equally in intensity. Never grey matter. Only the darkness of black in throes and the purity of white in vanquish. Sometimes, off-white. Though, that comes few and far between. The flit of rage in the air, happiness beneath the wall. The sun, existing to pounce the shadows. The shadows, existing to consume the sun. To say it, is to mean it. I do.


Spelt Dark Chocolate Chunk Cookies

Spelt Dark Chocolate Chunk Cookies “There is electricity dripping from me like cream; there is love dripping from me I cannot use – like acacia or jacaranda, fallen blue and gold flowers, crushed into the street.” – Diane Wakoski, from ‘Blue Monday’

I know we’re all here for the cookies. So, this isn’t going to be a proclamations of heaving breath kind of post. It’s a post about cookies. Good cookies. My favourite cookies. And after what felt like an eternity of tests, development and promises. Here they are. Spelt Dark Chocolate Cookies. The way I like ‘em. With crisp edges, soft centers and puddles of molten chocolate. Flaked salt, always mandatory. Oh, and a word on light. I don’t usually choose to photograph in the strong morning sun. But, the cookies were there, the light was warm and they were gleaming.


Vienna | Roam

Vienna | RoamBeauty never slumbers; All is in her name; But the rose remembers the dust from which it came.” – Edna St. Vincent Millay, from ‘Autumn Chant’.

The last time I was in Austria, I was barely old enough to remember. There’s something incredibly arresting about coming home to a place so familiar yet so foreign. A strange remembrance that only exists from experiencing life and culture as youth. Things remain the same, people remain the same, though, not quite how I left them. All-the-more familiar, and all-the-more forgotten. The return, in rush of memories and poetic intoxication. She drinks the world as honey.