Mint Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Dip

Ethan, twenty, entered the MTC last week and reported for his mission to the Philippines. Brandon and I drove him to Provo, and the drop-off was the kind of thing I have read about for thirty years and finally lived. He was wearing the white shirt and the tag and the haircut. He hugged us in the parking lot. He told Brandon to take care of his mother. He told me, quietly, 'I'll write about the food.' I almost made it to the car before I cried. I cried the whole drive home and into the kitchen and most of the way through dinner, and Brandon did not say a word. He did the dishes. He let me cry. That is the version of him I almost lost in 2018 and chose to fight for in therapy, and Sunday night he did the dishes while I cried and that was love.

I stood at the kitchen window this morning and watched the light come up over Mount Timpanogos and thought, again, that I have lived inside this view my whole life and never once gotten tired of it. The week was a summer week, the kind where the light through the kitchen window arrives at a particular angle and the freezer hums in a different register depending on the temperature in the garage. I made notes in my prep notebook on Sunday afternoon, the way I always do: meal name, ingredient list, cost per serving, prep time, freezer instructions. Twenty-eight bags. Two hours and eleven minutes. A little slow this week, by my standards, but Brandon was helping and the conversation was good, and I have learned, slowly and against my own grain, that the conversation is sometimes the point and the time is sometimes a courtesy I extend to my husband for being willing to chop onions on a Sunday afternoon.

The recipe of the week was chocolate chip cookies, which I have made some specific number of times in my life and have refined to a system that I now hand to other people in printed form. The version I made this week fed eight, cost under fifteen dollars, and required twenty-six minutes of active prep, which is within my requirements and not a coincidence. Three of the bags I pulled out this week were dated nine months ago and they were perfect, because labeling is theology in my house. I have stopped explaining the freezer-meal philosophy to people who already follow my work, and I have stopped apologizing for it to people who do not. The philosophy is simple: tomorrow is coming whether you are ready or not. You can either be ready or not. I pick ready.

Brandon called me at lunch on Tuesday for no particular reason and I knew without him saying so that he was thinking about Grace. Twenty-some years in, I can hear the silences. We have been married a long time. The arithmetic of it is the arithmetic of my whole life. There were years we missed each other in the same room, and there are years we find each other in the silences, and this is one of the latter, and I am old enough now to know that the latter is the achievement and the former was the cost.

The accountant in me keeps a private ledger of how old Grace would be. I do not consult it. It is automatic. I do not write about her every week. I do not avoid her either. She is in the kitchen the way the kitchen is in the kitchen — woven into the structure, not announcing herself, present. The photograph above the stove is the only one of her smiling, and it has watched me batch-prep more freezer meals than I can count, and I have stopped feeling strange about the parasocial relationship I have with a four-month-old who has been gone for years. She is my daughter. The photograph is what I have. I look. I keep cooking.

I'm Michelle. The freezer is full. Talk to you next week.

The week called for chocolate chip cookies — it always does, when something large has happened and the kitchen needs to be busy — and this dip is the version I reach for when I want all of that comfort without standing at the oven for a second longer than I have to. Brandon was home, the light was still coming through the kitchen window, and I needed to make something sweet that I could portion out, label, and tuck away for the weeks ahead, because Ethan is in the Philippines now and the freezer is how I take care of people who are not in the room with me anymore.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 15 min | Servings: 12

Ingredients

1 (8 oz) block cream cheese, softened
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened
1 cup powdered sugar
2 tablespoons packed brown sugar
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon peppermint extract
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, heat-treated (see note)
3/4 cup mini chocolate chips, plus more for topping
2–3 drops green food coloring (optional)
Graham crackers, pretzels, or vanilla wafers, for serving

Instructions

Heat-treat the flour. Spread flour on a baking sheet and bake at 350°F for 5 minutes, or microwave in a bowl for 60–90 seconds, stirring every 30 seconds, until it reaches 165°F internally. Let cool completely before using.
Beat the base. In a large bowl, beat the softened cream cheese and butter together with a hand mixer on medium speed until smooth and fluffy, about 2 minutes.
Add the sugars. Add the powdered sugar and brown sugar and continue beating until fully incorporated and creamy, about 1 minute.
Flavor it. Mix in the vanilla extract and peppermint extract. Add 2–3 drops of green food coloring if desired and stir to combine.
Fold in the flour and chips. Add the cooled, heat-treated flour and stir until the mixture has a true cookie-dough consistency. Fold in 3/4 cup mini chocolate chips by hand.
Chill and serve. Transfer to a serving bowl, sprinkle extra mini chocolate chips on top, and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes before serving. Serve alongside graham crackers, pretzels, or vanilla wafers.
Freezer instructions. Portion into airtight containers or zip-seal freezer bags, label with the date, and freeze for up to 3 months. Thaw overnight in the refrigerator and stir before serving.

Nutrition (per serving)

Mint Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Dip — The Batch I Made the Week I Drove My Son to the MTC