Basic Cookie Dough

The book has been in the world for three weeks and the world has been kind. The reviews are generous: "a masterpiece of food writing," "the book your Jewish grandmother would write if she had a PhD in English." (I do not have a PhD. I have forty-three years of teaching and a mother who could cook. The combination is, apparently, equivalent.) The book is in its first printing. Rachel says a second printing is likely. A second printing. Two printings of a book by a sixty-eight-year-old retired English teacher from Long Island. Sylvia would say, "It's fine." I am saying more than fine. I am saying: the chain doesn't break, and the book is the proof, and the proof is in the hands of strangers who are cooking the recipes and calling their mothers and making challah in kitchens I will never see, and the never-seeing is the faith, and the faith is the book, and the book is the chain, and the chain is the brisket, and the brisket is six hours at low heat, and the six hours are the love, and the love does not diminish by sharing — it multiplies. The chain doesn't break. It extends.

I made matzo ball soup. The Sylvia version. The three-hour version. The version that is now in a published book on a shelf in a bookstore, the version that strangers are making in their kitchens from my recipe, the version that has crossed from my hands to the page to their hands, and the crossing is the chain, and the chain is the soup, and the soup is fluffy, always fluffy, because some things are non-negotiable, and matzo ball texture is among them. The chain doesn't break. Not today. Not ever. Not in this kitchen. Not in any kitchen.

After I made the soup — after the three hours and the fluffy matzo balls and the quiet of a kitchen that has held forty years of cooking — I wanted something I could give away. The book has already done that with the soup; what I needed now was something simpler, something that travels well, something you can press into someone’s hands and say: here, this is the beginning of something, make it your own. Basic cookie dough is that recipe. It was Sylvia’s before it was mine. Now, like everything else, it belongs to whoever uses it.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 12 minutes | Total Time: 27 minutes | Servings: 36 cookies

Ingredients

2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon fine salt
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
3/4 cup granulated sugar
3/4 cup packed light brown sugar
2 large eggs
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

Instructions

Preheat the oven. Set your oven to 375°F (190°C). Line two baking sheets with parchment paper and set aside.
Whisk the dry ingredients. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, and salt until evenly combined. Set aside.
Cream the butter and sugars. In a large bowl using a hand mixer or stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the softened butter, granulated sugar, and brown sugar together on medium-high speed for 2–3 minutes, until light and fluffy.
Add the eggs and vanilla. Beat in the eggs one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Add the vanilla extract and mix until incorporated, scraping down the sides of the bowl as needed.
Combine wet and dry. Reduce mixer speed to low and gradually add the flour mixture, mixing just until no dry streaks remain. Do not overmix.
Portion the dough. Drop rounded tablespoons of dough onto the prepared baking sheets, spacing them about 2 inches apart.
Bake. Bake for 10–12 minutes, until the edges are lightly golden and the centers look just set. They will firm up as they cool.
Cool. Let cookies rest on the baking sheet for 5 minutes before transferring to a wire rack to cool completely. Or eat one warm. No judgment here.

Nutrition (per serving)

Basic Cookie Dough — The Chain That Extends from Every Kitchen