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Chocolate Ganache Chocolate Cookies — The Cake That Said What Words Couldn’t

Valentine's Day is Friday. I will not write a sentimental essay about Valentine's Day because I am not a sentimental woman, despite what my students and my children and my sister might tell you. I am a practical woman who happens to feel things deeply, which is different from sentimentality — sentimentality is feeling without thought, and I have never felt anything without thinking about it for approximately seventy-two hours first. But Valentine's Day with Marvin — the thirty-eighth — is complicated this year, because the man I am valentining is here and not here, present and absent, my husband and a stranger who lives in my husband's body, and the holiday forces me to confront this duality in a way that the ordinary days do not, because ordinary days do not arrive with heart-shaped expectations.

I bought Marvin a card. I wrote in it: "You are still the funniest man I know. Even when you don't know you're funny. Especially then." He read it. I don't know if he understood it. He smiled. He gave me a kiss on the cheek, the way he has always given me a kiss on Valentine's Day — slightly awkward, slightly formal, as if we haven't been married for thirty-eight years and he's still a little nervous about the physical gestures, which is the most Marvin thing about Marvin and which the disease has not yet taken because apparently shyness is stored in the same indestructible vault as Hebrew prayers and baseball scores.

I made a chocolate cake — dark chocolate, dense, with a ganache that I poured over the top and let drip down the sides in that way that looks effortless but actually requires precise temperature control and the patience of a woman who has been teaching teenagers to understand irony for forty years. I cut two slices. I put them on the good plates — the everyday-good plates, the ones with the blue rim that Marvin bought me in 1993 because he said they matched my eyes, which they don't, my eyes are brown, but the sentiment was correct and I have used those plates every day since. We ate the cake. He said, "Happy Valentine's." He remembered. Or he guessed. Or the day told him. It doesn't matter how he got there. He got there.

The ganache on Marvin’s cake that Friday — the one I poured at precisely the right temperature, the one that dripped down the sides just so — is the same logic that lives inside these cookies: dark chocolate on dark chocolate, layered and serious, not sweet for sweetness’s sake but rich in the way that real things are rich. I share this recipe because not everyone has the occasion to bake a whole cake for two people on blue-rimmed plates, but everyone deserves something this deliberate and this good. Make them for someone. Make them for yourself. Make them because sometimes the most loving thing you can do is stand in a kitchen and pour ganache at the correct temperature, and trust that it’s enough.

Chocolate Ganache Chocolate Cookies

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 12 minutes | Total Time: 32 minutes (plus 30 minutes chilling) | Servings: 24 cookies

Ingredients

  • 1 cup all-purpose flour
  • 1/2 cup unsweetened dark cocoa powder
  • 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
  • 1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt
  • 6 oz dark chocolate (70% cacao), roughly chopped
  • 1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, cut into pieces
  • 3/4 cup granulated sugar
  • 1/4 cup packed dark brown sugar
  • 2 large eggs, room temperature
  • 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
  • For the ganache topping:
  • 4 oz dark chocolate (70% cacao), finely chopped
  • 1/3 cup heavy cream
  • 1 tablespoon unsalted butter
  • Flaky sea salt, for finishing (optional)

Instructions

  1. Whisk the dry ingredients. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, and salt. Set aside.
  2. Melt the chocolate and butter. Combine the chopped dark chocolate and butter in a heatproof bowl set over a saucepan of barely simmering water (do not let the bowl touch the water). Stir until fully melted and smooth. Remove from heat and let cool for 5 minutes.
  3. Mix the sugars and eggs. Whisk both sugars into the cooled chocolate mixture until combined. Add the eggs one at a time, whisking well after each addition. Stir in the vanilla.
  4. Combine and chill. Fold the dry ingredients into the chocolate mixture with a rubber spatula until just combined — do not overmix. Cover the dough and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes, until firm enough to scoop.
  5. Preheat and portion. Preheat oven to 350°F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper. Scoop dough into 1.5-tablespoon rounds and place 2 inches apart on prepared sheets.
  6. Bake. Bake for 10–12 minutes, until the edges are set but the centers still look slightly underdone. Do not overbake. Let cookies cool on the baking sheet for 5 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack to cool completely.
  7. Make the ganache. Place the finely chopped chocolate in a small heatproof bowl. Heat the heavy cream in a small saucepan over medium heat until it just begins to simmer. Pour over the chocolate, let sit 1 minute, then stir from the center outward until smooth. Add the butter and stir until glossy. Let the ganache cool until it thickens slightly but is still pourable, about 10 minutes — temperature control matters here.
  8. Finish the cookies. Spoon a small pool of ganache onto the center of each cooled cookie and let it settle naturally to the edges. Finish with a pinch of flaky sea salt if desired. Allow ganache to set at room temperature for 15–20 minutes before serving.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 158 | Protein: 2g | Fat: 9g | Carbs: 19g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 62mg

Ruth Feldman
About the cook who shared this
Ruth Feldman
Week 203 of Ruth’s 30-year story · Oceanside, New York
Ruth is a sixty-nine-year-old retired English teacher from Long Island, a Jewish grandmother of four, and the keeper of her family's Ashkenazi recipes — brisket, matzo ball soup, challah, and a noodle kugel that has caused actual arguments at family gatherings. She lost her husband Marvin to early-onset Alzheimer's and now cooks his favorite meals for the grandchildren, because the food remembers even when the people cannot.

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