One week to launch. The final week. The week where everything is done and nothing is done because the waiting is the hardest part.
Recorded the launch-week podcast — a special episode: 'The Night Before.' Me, sitting in my kitchen at midnight, not cooking, just talking. About what it means to put a cookbook into the world. About the recipes that traveled from Norfolk to Jacksonville to Pendleton to the desert to San Diego. About the women who gave me their food and their stories.
I talked about Mom for twenty minutes. About the binder. About the care packages. About the fried chicken that never changed while the woman who made it never broke.
I talked about Ryan. About the pot roast after Torres. About the journal. About the man who writes in a notebook because his wife showed him that words help.
I talked about the kids. About Caleb's cooking journal and Hazel's toy kitchen and the chain of teaching that started with Grandma Carol and continues through my hands into theirs.
The episode ends with me saying: 'Tomorrow, the book goes into the world. A hundred recipes from nine kitchens. Every one of them a person I love, a place I remember, a meal that held something together. I hope you cook from this book. I hope you splatter sauce on it. I hope you dog-ear the fried chicken page. But most of all, I hope you sit down at your table, wherever it is, and eat with the people you love. Dinner at 1800. Or whenever you can manage. The time doesn't matter. The sitting down does.'
Made nothing tonight. Sat at the kitchen table. Waited.
One week. The night before. The sitting down.
I said I made nothing tonight — and that’s true, I didn’t. But if I’d needed something to do with my hands at midnight while I sat with all of it — the podcast, Mom, Ryan, the kids, nine kitchens and a hundred recipes — it would have been these. Four ingredients. No flour. No fuss. The kind of cookie you can make in a quiet kitchen when you’re not really cooking, just existing somewhere between what was and what’s about to be. The sitting down matters. Sometimes the slow stirring does too.
Flourless Peanut Butter Cookies (Gluten Free)
Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 12 min | Total Time: 22 min | Servings: 24 cookies
Ingredients
- 1 cup creamy peanut butter (natural or conventional)
- 1 cup granulated sugar
- 1 large egg
- 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
- 1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt (optional, or to taste)
Instructions
- Preheat. Heat your oven to 350°F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper and set aside.
- Mix the dough. In a medium bowl, stir together the peanut butter, sugar, egg, vanilla extract, and salt until a smooth, cohesive dough forms. It will come together quickly — no mixer needed.
- Portion. Scoop rounded tablespoons of dough and roll gently between your palms into balls. Place them about 2 inches apart on the prepared baking sheets.
- Press. Use a fork to flatten each ball with the classic crosshatch pattern, pressing once in each direction. The cookies should be about 1/4 inch thick.
- Bake. Bake for 10–12 minutes, until the edges are set and just beginning to turn golden. The centers will look slightly underdone — that’s right.
- Cool. Let the cookies rest on the baking sheet for 5 minutes before transferring to a wire rack. They firm up as they cool.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 105 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 6g | Carbs: 11g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 55mg
About the cook who shared this
Rachel Abernathy
Week 491 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.