Norfolk. I'm home.
Not home-home — San Diego is home now. But Norfolk is the home before home. The home that made me. The home where Donna Abernathy keeps the recipe binder and Kevin Abernathy grows tomatoes and the kitchen smells exactly the same as it did when I was twelve.
I walked through the front door and stood in the kitchen and breathed. The smell: onions, butter, the ghost of thirty years of fried chicken. The same smell. The EXACT same smell. The kitchen of my childhood, unchanged, permanent, the only room in my life that has never moved.
Mom was there. Dad was there. Megan drove down from her place (she's still with the lobbyist in Arlington). The whole family. In the kitchen. For the first time since I left for ODU at eighteen.
Mom made fried chicken. Obviously. The cast iron she's had since 1990. The seasoned flour. The golden, perfect, exactly-right fried chicken.
I ate it at the table where I've eaten a thousand meals. The same chairs. The same placement. Rachel's seat: second from the left, near the kitchen.
Dad said grace. 'Thank you for bringing our girl home.'
The reading was the next night. A bookstore in Norfolk — not the biggest, but the one near the naval base, the one where military families shop. A hundred and fifty people. My people. Norfolk people.
I read the pot roast headnote. In Norfolk. Where the pot roast began. Where Mom made it during Dad's deployments. Where I learned that cooking is love made visible.
Mom was in the front row. She was crying before I started reading.
Made nothing tonight. Mom's kitchen. Mom's food. Mom's table. Mom's girl.
I'm home.
I didn’t bake a single thing that night — it was Mom’s kitchen, Mom’s food, and I was perfectly content to just sit in my old chair and let her feed me. But the next morning, before anyone else was up, I found myself standing at the counter wanting to give something back. These cream cheese cookies are what I made: simple, soft, the kind of thing that doesn’t announce itself but fills the whole kitchen with warmth. Mom took one bite and said “these taste like you,” which is the best thing anyone has ever said to me about my baking.
Cream Cheese Cookies
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 12 min | Total Time: 27 min | Servings: 36 cookies
Ingredients
- 1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
- 8 oz cream cheese, softened
- 1 cup granulated sugar
- 1 large egg yolk
- 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
- 2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- Powdered sugar, for dusting (optional)
Instructions
- Preheat oven. Heat your oven to 350°F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper and set aside.
- Cream butter and cream cheese. In a large bowl, beat the softened butter and cream cheese together on medium speed until light and fluffy, about 2–3 minutes. Scrape down the sides as needed.
- Add sugar and flavorings. Add the granulated sugar and beat until well combined, another 1–2 minutes. Mix in the egg yolk and vanilla extract until smooth.
- Incorporate dry ingredients. Add the flour and salt, mixing on low speed just until the dough comes together. Do not overmix — the dough will be soft and slightly sticky.
- Portion the dough. Roll dough into 1-inch balls and place about 2 inches apart on the prepared baking sheets. Use the bottom of a glass or your palm to gently flatten each ball to about 1/4-inch thickness.
- Bake. Bake for 10–12 minutes, until the edges are just set and the bottoms are very lightly golden. The tops should look barely done — that’s what keeps them soft.
- Cool and finish. Let cookies cool on the baking sheet for 5 minutes before transferring to a wire rack. Dust with powdered sugar once fully cooled, if desired.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 105 | Protein: 1g | Fat: 7g | Carbs: 10g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 55mg
About the cook who shared this
Rachel Abernathy
Week 496 of Rachel’s 30-year story
· San Diego, California
Rachel is a twenty-eight-year-old Marine wife and mom of two who has moved five times in six years and learned to cook a Thanksgiving dinner with half her cookware still in boxes. She married young, survived postpartum depression, and feeds her family of four on a junior Marine's salary with a freezer full of pre-made meals and a crockpot that has never let her down. She writes for the military spouses who are cooking dinner alone in base housing and wondering if they're enough. You are.