During the summer my dining habits shift. The desire to eat out is replaced by the inspiration to cook at home. Restaurants are replaced by farm stands and fishmongers. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, the shift has carried over to this blog. I hope you’ve not only been enjoying the posts, but have been similarly inspired. Maybe this crab cake will help . . .

My husband is from Virginia and we both went to college in Maryland. We have a soft spot for all things Chesapeake Bay. At the top of the list? Crab meat. More specifically, Jumbo Lump Crab meat.

Jumbo lump is the platinum standard of crab meat. The taste and texture is unmatched. It’s succulent, sweet and ideal for crab cakes. Once you have a crab cake made with jumbo lump, you’ll never go back. Or at least not happily.

A good crab cake satisfies a multitude of cravings. It’s protein-packed without being heavy. It’s browned without being greasy. The problem that befalls many a restaurant-prepared crab cake is the use of “filler.” Jumbo lump crab meat is expensive. Very expensive. It has to be hand-picked, a labor-intensive practice that runs the cost up to at least $30/pound. Filler – which can be anything from breadcrumbs to mayo to another type of crab or fish – reduces a restaurant’s raw ingredient costs. It also dramatically reduces the taste and quality of the crab cake.

So why leave yourself, and luscious jumbo lump, at the mercy of a restaurant?

As luck would have it, my mother-in-law is a master of the homemade crab cake. I’ve watched her make them for years, but just last night, made them for the first time myself. Now you can too.

Once you get your hands on the crab meat, the rest is easy. With some saltines, an egg, mayo, mustard, and a kick of cayenne, you’ll be on your way.

Because there is so little filler in these crab cakes, it might seem like they’re falling apart. Just pack them into the tightest cakes you can. Once they start cooking, they’ll stay together better. Ours browned quickly, so we covered the saute pan for a few minutes.

Some folks like to eat these on a bun, but when there’s jumbo lump and no filler, I’m a purist. A dollop of tartar sauce is all they need.

These crab cakes also make a blockbuster appetizer. Just reduce the size of the cakes for a pre-dinner treat.

Chesapeake Bay Crab Cakes

1 pound fresh jumbo lump crab meat
8 saltine crackers, crushed
1 egg, slightly beaten
1 tablespoon country dijon mustard
1 tablespoon mayonnaise
1/2 teaspoon cayenne

Mix all the ingredients together. Shape into four cakes and sauté in hot butter until golden on both sides. Serve with tartar sauce.

Tarter Sauce is just mayonnaise, mustard, and pickle relish. Make your own!

I’ve been thinking a lot about New Orleans. It’s one of my favorite American cities. A truly amazing place, rich with culture and history, that doesn’t deserve the environmental and political disasters that have toppled its levees and oiled its waters. If you haven’t been to New Orleans it should be at the top of your list. When you do go, prepare to eat your way through its charming streets. You will experience unrivaled flavors and culinary traditions. Your mind and palate will be blown.

On our last trip to New Orleans, one of the greatest foods to grace our lips were the Chargrilled Oysters from Acme Oyster House, where oysters on the half shell are given the creole treatment – a healthy dousing of Acme’s seasoned butter and Romano cheese – before being cooked on an open flame. If you can believe it, they’re even better than they sound. Determined to recreate them, my grill-crazed hubby intently watched the oyster griller prepare these bayou jewels. This weekend we put his studies to the test.

The most important ingredient is the seasoned butter. Though Acme won’t give out their secret recipe, we made do with a Cajun Spice Blend. It’s a mix of paprika, celery seed, garlic, basil, white pepper, cayenne, thyme, and parsley. You can make your own or buy a pre-made bottle. Creole Seasoning would likely work too. Mix the spice blend with softened butter (about 4 TBSP per dozen oysters) to your desired level of heat and flavor. Next, grate some Romano cheese.

Apply a dollop of seasoned butter and a sprinkling of cheese to your shucked oysters. If you shuck these babies yourself, more power to you. We took the easy way out and bought them on the half shell. If you have options, choose a slightly larger, more plump variety of oyster.

Fire up your grill to medium heat, grab yourself a pair of cooking tongs, and watch the butter and cheese melt into oyster harmony. They don’t need too much time on the heat, so keep a close eye on the grill. Serve them straight off the grill, with lemon wedges and bread to sop up any extra butter. (For those of you who are grill-less, you can broil them in your oven, though they won’t have the same charbroiled taste.)

Not bad, huh? They looked and tasted like our fond Acme memories. We were pretty pleased with ourselves. So were our guests. Once the oysters were eaten, the only sounds were of forks and teeth chiseling away at every last crispy shred of cheese that had adhered to the shells.

If you enjoy these as much as I think you will, don’t make your new found ability to cook creole style an excuse not to go to New Orleans. I’m hoping for the opposite.

At this very moment you can only be asking yourself one question, Where can I get my hands on that gorgeous lobster roll? Pearl Oyster Bar? Ed’s? At some secret seafood shack whose name is about to be revealed? No, no, and no. The answer, dear eater-friends, is that I made that lobster roll. And yes, you can too.

Truth be told, I’ve had lobster rolls on the brain since my May trip to Pearl. When The Amateur Gourmet posted his homemaking lobster roll experience last week, my fate was sealed. It was only a matter of time before I would tackle this summer staple in my own kitchen. With helpers poised at the ready this past holiday weekend, I had my opportunity.

While making lobster rolls turned out to be much easier than I originally thought, it must be said that this exercise is not for the faint of heart. It involves the boiling of live crustaceans and the smashing of their claws. You and your kitchen will smell like lobster. You and your kitchen will get messy. Very messy. But it’s with my sincere apologies to the folks at PETA that I also must tell you, under no uncertain terms, that it’s totally worth it.

The most difficult part of the preparation was extracting the lobster meat. While the tail relents, the claws and knuckles are more stubborn. We did not have lobster crackers or mallets, but someone smartly suggested smashing the shells with the bottom of a frying pan. Did I mention this was messy business? It worked like a charm and was admittedly kind of fun.

Much of the lobster roll construction is about personal taste and it’s important to add the ingredients – mayo, chopped celery, etc. – slowly and with frequent taste tests until you get it just right. There is, however, a step that is not up for debate: the buttered and toasted bun. Whether you use a frying pan or a grill, it brings this luscious sandwich to the next level.

If my goal in making lobster rolls was to relieve myself of the craving, my plan backfired. I’m already looking forward to next time.

Lobster Roll

Five 1.5 lb lobsters yielded seven overstuffed rolls and a few extra forkfuls. (Your per roll cost should make you smile.)
finely chopped celery
mayonnaise (I used Light)
lemon
salt
pepper
hot dog buns – buttered and toasted

Bring a large pot of salted water to a rapid boil. Add the lobsters gently. Cover and cook for about 12-15 minutes. The lobsters are ready when they’re bright red. Remove lobsters and place in an ice bath to stop further cooking.

When the lobsters are cool enough to handle, either tear or cut off the tail and claws (including the knuckles). Remove the meat employing whatever tools your kitchen affords. Cut the meat into chunks and put in a bowl.

Add celery, mayo, some squeezes of lemon juice, salt and pepper. Taste and adjust accordingly.

Butter and toast hot dog buns. Pile on the lobster meat and eat!

Note: The lobster meat can be made in advance and refrigerated, but don’t chill the lobster meat before adding the mayo.

Managing expectations is a critical component of so many facets in life, from careers and relationships to movies, books, and food. More often than not, if we’re told something is the “greatest” or the “best ever,” it falls short of the hype. We end up disappointed instead of wowed.

When word came that The Best Chocolate Cake in the World, a Lisbon original, would be arriving on New York’s Spring Street, I was intrigued both as a foodie and a marketing professional. The self-aggrandizing moniker succeeds in tantalizing your taste buds and piquing your interest, but could the chocolate cake even come close to meeting the high expectations set by its name?

The Best Chocolate Cake in the World is actually more like a torte in that it’s flourless. There are two versions, a Traditional that has a 55% cacao content and a Bittersweet that has a 70% cacao content. Both will set you back $6.50 a slice.

The cake is made with Valrhona chocolate, constructed of thin layers of chocolate meringue and chocolate mousse, and glazed with a chocolate ganache.

The Traditional is way too sweet and tastes more like milk chocolate than 55% cacao. The crunchy meringue only bolsters the over-sugared taste while giving the torte an unappealing consistency that is granular and dry. A huge glass of milk was more of a necessity than a desire.

The Bittersweet is better. The deeper and more intense chocolate provides a much needed distraction from all the sugary layers. But it’s still far from the best chocolate cake in the world.

The name got me in the door, but the cake will not bring me back. There is many a chocolate confection in which I’d prefer to indulge, all of which cost a fraction of the price. Manage your expectations, New York.

Heat is rising from New York’s sidewalks. Close toed shoes have been banished to the back of closets. We look for excuses to be outside. Summer is here.

And just as our cheeks start to crave daily sun exposure, our taste buds crave the delights that mark the new season. For as many summers as I can remember one of these delights has been the ice cream sandwich.

On a steamy afternoon last week, I walked Hudson Street from SoHo to Chelsea to collect some of the city’s most touted ice cream sandwiches. That night, four of us tasted them and waxed poetic about how they stacked up against the tried-and-oddly-true Toll House Chocolate Chip Cookie Sandwich that we’ve all enjoyed since childhood.

Jacques Torres’s ice cream sandwich ($5.50) not only looked the best, it also had the best tasting cookie and the best vanilla ice cream. Amazing, none of these wins translated into the best overall sandwich. The chocolate in Torres’s chocolate chip cookies was so rich it overpowered the entire sandwich. Apparently better ingredients do not a better ice cream sandwich make, a realization that is counter intuitive to how we’ve come to think about food.

Torres’s sandwich was also the largest and the most difficult to eat. The ice cream wasn’t evenly distributed and did not reach the cookies’ edges. The cookies broke and the ice cream oozed. And unlike its Hudson Street competitors, Torres does not offer freezer to-go bags. You best live close to home or be ready to scarf this baby down.

Three Tarts Bakery ($4.25) makes a whoopie pie-ice cream sandwich hybrid. It’s square instead of round. Instead of cookies, there are thin pieces of cake. Instead of run-of-the-mill ice cream flavors, artisan combinations are employed. There’s goat cheese, strawberry balsamic ice cream and rosemary chocolate chip ice cream. I opted for the rosemary. You should not. The herby ice cream was too grassy and potent. A fellow taster remarked that it, “tasted like eating a christmas tree.” Tis the wrong season.

The Tollhouse version has many advantages. It’s the cheapest ($3), the easiest to find, and it always delivers on its memory. The cookie-to-ice cream ratio is so perfect it could only have come from a factory. Unfortunately, the same goes for the uniform cookies, with their slightly chalky and not so real taste. Even if it’s not superior, a Tollhouse ice cream sandwich can still satisfy a summer craving. This humble ice cream sandwich held up against its newfangled competitors. We were surprised and happy with its performance.

We were also surprised by Chelsea Market’s unassuming Ronnybrook Milk Bar sandwich ($4.08). At first glance the cookies look too dark, as if burnt. The sandwich itself looks too regular to be special. Our first bites relieved us of our assumptions.  The cookies had great homemade taste and were the ideal ice cream sandwich consistency, soft but not mushy. The sandwich stayed intact from first bite to last. The ice cream was icy and fresh. It wasn’t trying to be more than it should have been and it turned out just right. It was, in essence, a better Tollhouse.

Here’s to a summer of simple pleasures.

For the third time in as many weeks I went to Mulberry Street. More specifically the block between Spring and Prince, which has become quite the culinary destination. This particular Sunday the occasion was dinner at Balaboosta.

Einat Admony, the chef-owner of Balaboosta, is also the woman behind Taim and its acclaimed falafel and hummus. Staying true to her Israeli roots, Balaboosta’s menu features Middle Eastern food with a Mediterranean touch. The cozy restaurant, filled with bookshelves, wooden tables, and flickering votives also provides a venue for Admony to show us that her aspirations far exceed chick peas.

Balaboosta means “the perfect housewife” in Yiddish. The name suits the restaurant. The servers are warm and friendly. The food has a home cooked quality. The wine is poured more quickly than the water.

Admony’s signature hummus comes to the table in a playful mortar and pestle set-up. When the restaurant first opened it was more of the “make your own” variety. Now, thankfully, it arrives ready for consumption with just a few whole chick peas for those who can’t resist the opportunity to mash. The hummus is thick and fresh. The piping hot pita that accompanies it is out of this world.

The best dish of the night was the Crispy Cauliflower. The marriage of crunchy florets, sweet currants, and pine nuts worked so well we had to resist a second order. Foolproof Patatas Bravas were jazzed up with a sour cream-like  garlic aioli.

Another stellar play on texture and flavor, and a testament to Admony’s skill and creativity, is the Shrimp “Kataif.” Whole shrimp are wrapped in shredded phyllo, fried, and doused in a fish roe sauce that pops in your mouth.

The nightly special was a Seared Duck Breast, glazed with cherry and pomegranate and accompanied by a vegetable tarte tartin. It felt more fall than summer, but it also sounded too good to pass up. The duck was cooked perfectly. The tarte tartin was mediocre. This one is best left for October.

To the contrary, Grilled Branzino, served with asparagus and a fennel and citrus salad was the perfect warm night meal. The fish was slightly under-seasoned and the skin slightly under-crisped, but I’ve yet to meet a Branzino I don’t like.

I’m always reminded how much I enjoy poultry prepared “under a brick.” It rivals even the moistest of roasted birds. Balaboosta’s succulent chicken is no exception.

The best entree was the Spice Rubbed Skirt Steak. Another well-prepared protein with a tantalizing flavor profile that melds sweet and spice. Roasted sweet potatoes and a refreshing and crunchy cumin slaw completed the dish.

Our dessert of Date and Banana Bread Pudding was a poignant conclusion to a meal marked by approachable preparations. More dishes with the skilled and artful punch of the Crispy Cauliflower and Shrimp “Kataif” would cement this NoLIta block on the culinary map, but even as is, this is one housewife Mulberry Street should be proud to call its own.

Balaboosta is located at 214 Mulberry Street near Spring.

Don’t worry, your computer screen is not experiencing a green tint malfunction. Matcha Box, a SoHo pop-up, is capitalizing on the goodness of green with matcha-based drinks and sweets. The mini-store is care of Alissa White, the green goddess behind Matcha Source, who is in Manhattan for the month of June to share her love of all things matcha with New Yorkers. (For the tea-challenged: Matcha is a Japanese green tea that is at the heart of the very special Japanese tea ceremony.)

The offerings at Matcha Box are limited, but the flavor is intense. Hot Matcha, Iced Matcha, and Matcha Lattes are made with care by a skilled brewologist. The result is an emerald drink that is just as bright and refreshing in taste as it is in color.

The treats, created by pastry chef Jessica Chien, all use matcha in one way or another (dust here, glaze there) and nicely adhere to the color scheme. The pillowy Match-mallow was the best of the lot, followed closely by the Madeleine and an oddly addictive Marshmallow Munchy. The shortbread cookie – with too much matcha and not enough buttery taste – was the only sweet that wasn’t carefully balanced.

Matcha Box is only scheduled to be open until the end of June, so hurry up and get your green on.

Matcha Box is located at 33 Crosby Street and according to their website, will be open Saturday through Tuesday from 11am to 7pm.

This beauty of a bird is Torrisi’s House Roasted Turkey. Its simple moniker significantly understates its preparation. There’s so much more to this turkey than just an oven, a roasting pan, and some basting, which is why it tastes like no other roasted turkey you’ve ever had.

The most discerning palate might be able to identify the ingredient-laden glaze of garlic, pepper, herbs, and honey. The glaze gives the meat a balanced flavor, but without the processed uniformity of sodium packed deli meat. Some bites taste a little sweeter. Others like thyme.

What’s more difficult to figure out is how the turkey gets its texture, which is by far, its most distinguishing feature. It’s so moist, it’s almost wet. There were bites that seemed more pork than poultry. One could even draw a parallel to a dense fish. The turkey’s uncharacteristic juiciness is the result of a sous-vide type cooking process that involves plastic wrap, a special moist-convection oven, and an extensive cooking time.

At lunch time it’s cut by hand and can be ordered by the 1/4 pound or on a sandwich.

I opted for the Turkey Hero ($9) which comes with tomato, shredded lettuce, a few strings of red onion, mayo, and a spicy tomato-pepper sauce. (There’s also a Turkey Roll for $7.) The bread is of the old-school variety, care of neighborhood favorite Parisi Bakery. In true deli tradition, the bread is just right. Those accustomed to the newfangled, oat and wheat kinds might be disappointed. The spicy sauce has an ideal piquant level and though I’m normally not a fan, the shredded lettuce worked.

Since Torrisi starting serving lunch, their turkey has been touted as the second coming. I completely understand why people are wooed by the non-turkey texture, but if the talent at Torrisi can dress up a turkey so well, imagine what they could do to pork loin or a piece of catfish. The thought alone is enough to make my mouth water in a way that turkey never will.

In 1999 I was introduced to the best smoked turkey I had ever eaten. The thickly sliced turkey was moist and had that wondrous hickory taste without being too salty. In a stroke of genius, it was served on a buttered and toasted croissant.

The turkey is still smoked on-site and served at the Blue Ridge Pig, a BBQ shack that is identifiable by the pig signage that hangs over Route 151 in Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains and the glorious smell of wood chips. Last weekend I was lucky enough to be in the area and got to whet my turkey taste buds and test my memory.

Had the tryptophan affected my judgment a decade earlier? It had not. The turkey was just as good as I remembered (as were the mustardy baked beans).

May your long weekend be filled with BBQ. Happy Memorial Day!

Last Wednesday I had the pleasure of dining with Gael Greene. Well, sort of. We were both at Pearl Oyster Bar satisfying our craving for a lobster roll. We were not however, at the same table. Fortunately, Pearl’s Lobster Roll was so friggin’ good that it kept me focused on my meal. I assume the same can be said for Gael, who never came over to say hello.

There’s much debate about who serves the best lobster roll in NYC. At Pearl, huge hunks of delicate lobster are tossed with tangy mayonnaise and served on a sweet roll that holds together despite the heft of its load. The sandwich is of such grand proportions that it is near impossible to eat without the occasional help from a fork. With the accompanying pile of shoestring fries this single plate is a filling dinner on its own (which makes the staggering price tag more palatable). That’s not, however, how I roll.

In addition to our entrees (two lobster rolls and a soft shell crab special), our table of three also chowed on fried oysters, sandy steamers, and a bountiful side of grilled vegetables. There were also two desserts – a sundae and a parfait – that made their way to our table. But now I’m just embarrassing myself.

Rebecca Charles, the chef and proprietor of Pearl, is the mother of Manhattan’s lobster roll. And for now, she is also the queen.

There is a feeling of anticipation, closely followed by a wave of excitement, when I sit down in a new restaurant and am handed the menu. I stop talking and begin to examine entrees and scrutinize side dishes. Then I start to barter with my dinner mates. The “if you get this then I’ll get that” exchange that ensures maximum menu coverage. I can’t imagine doing it any other way.

Unless, of course, there isn’t a menu. In these rare scenarios, you sit back, sip wine, and submit yourself to the mercy of the chef. This “Sunday night supper” style doesn’t always charm, but when it does, it can be immensely enjoyable. Such was our experience at Torrisi Italian Specialties, where the $50 per person charge covers a family-style menu that rotates daily but always includes five antipasti, a pasta, a choice of two entrees, and a pastry sampling.

Chalkboards serve as story boards, laying out what the kitchen has planned for you. The atmosphere and service are very casual, the wine list is limited, but the food is of the Italian-Grandmother-meets-trained-chef variety: satisfying and delicious.

The meal kicks off with Torrisi’s dreamy mozzarella. This planet-like orb of warm cheese is served with heavenly garlic bread. The clutch move is eating them together, a ritual that rendered our table silent. Rest assured, the mozzarella has been a menu staple. It’s served every night and I’m confident there would be a Mulberry Street riot if it was ever erased.

After such other worldly decadence it seemed plausible that the meal could trend south. It didn’t. Soft-cooked calamari was an ethereal homage to tripe. Crumbled pieces of juicy lamb sausage were served with hunks of eggplant and drizzled with olive oil. There was a refreshing cucumber salad and a love song to greenmarkets in the form of fried spring onions.

The ricotta gnocchi was light and pillowy, but its subtly was lost in the shadows of the bang-up antipasti that preceded it. Both entrees – the Black Bass and the Devil’s Chicken – were excellent. The flaky fish was foiled by tomatoes and olives while the chicken was doused with mustard and spice. The quality of chicken was a testament to Torrisi’s focus on ingredients.

Italian pastries are often one-dimensional. They look different, but taste the same. Not so at Torrisi where the pastries are exploding with flavors like espresso and bourbon. These are not your Grandmother’s cookies.

Eating at Torrisi will however, require your Grandmother’s patience. They don’t take reservations and depending on when you arrive, the wait for a table in this eighteen seater can be over two hours. There’s no bar, but they’ll take your phone number and call you when your table is ready. Torrisi also serves lunch (think sandwiches and lasagna), but while it’s good, it’s not as much fun. There is, after all, a menu.

Torrisi Tricks: 1) You can always check Torrisi’s website for the daily menu and 2) they essentially have three seatings: 6pm, 7:45 and 9:30. Plan your arrival accordingly.

Dense chocolate cake is iced with a layer of nutella, marshmallow spread and a sprinkling of hazelnuts in The Village Tart’s Chocolate Hazelnut Skillet Torte ($5.95). The Village Tart is a newish bakery and cafe in NoLIta. It’s a little slice of adorable on Kenmare Street where baked goods beg to be bought and consumed.

When a bite of the torte included every component it was satisfying enough, but after the measly sprinkling of hazelnuts (go ahead, count for yourself – there were only three halves!) was gone, so was any hint of complexity. The torte, that looked so irresistible when it was being scraped from the skillet, revealed itself as little more than a glorified brownie.

I promised myself that I would not peruse the pages of the June Food & Wine until I shared one more recipe from the May issue. Needless to say, the June issue arrived and I can’t wait a minute longer.

This Moroccan-inspired dish was big on flavor and lush in color. Red pepper flakes and an extra dose of cayenne gave it a spicy boost. It was a great accompaniment to pork chops, but would do just as well with chicken or lamb. I would make it again in a second.

Pot-Roasted Eggplant with Tomatoes and Cumin
(Food & Wine)

Notes: Though F&W claimed this would serve 4 people, it only took 3 of us to polish it off. As mentioned above I added red pepper flake. More notes below.

1 large eggplant, at least 1 1/4 pounds (next time I might use more)
4 garlic cloves, minced
Kosher salt
1 cup drained, canned diced tomatoes
3 TBSP extra-virgin olive oil
3 TBSP chopped parsley
1 TBSP cilantro leaves (I did not use)
2 tsp sweet smoked paprika
3/4 tsp ground cumin
Pinch of cayenne pepper (I used more)
1 TBSP fresh lemon juice (I used more)
Freshly ground black pepper

1. Heat a large enameled cast-iron casserole. Using a fork, prick the eggplant in a few places. Add the eggplant to the casserole, cover and cook over moderately low heat, turning once, until charred on the outside and soft within, about 40 minutes.
2. Transfer the eggplant to a colander and set in the sink. Make a length-wise slit in the eggplant. Let drain for 10 minutes. Scrape the insides into a bowl, discarding the skin and any hard seeds. Mash to a puree and transfer to a large skillet.
3. Mash the garlic to a paste with 1 tsp salt. Add the tomatoes to the skillet along with the olive oil, parsley, cilantro, paprika, cumin and cayenne. Cook over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until all liquid has evaporated, about 10 minutes. Stir in lemon juice and season with salt and pepper. Serve warm or at room temperature.

It was a Lower East Side duel for the ages:

Classic vs. Contemporary
Cow vs. Pig
Pastrami vs. Pork Belly
Katz’s Deli vs. Cafe Katja

Someone had to judge. It only seemed fair that I do the dirty work. As it turns out, my job was fairly easy.

The Classic: Pastrami Rueben, Katz’s Deli

It’s not the individual ingredients that make a Rueben so tasty, it’s the sum of its parts. The combination of sauerkraut and Russian dressing. Brined and cured meat paired with swiss cheese. Or at least it should be. At Katz’s, any potential this sandwich might have is dwarfed by over-rated pastrami and an exorbitant price tag ($15.75). Tourists might feel better that for the cost they get a heaping pile of meat, but it only renders the nuances of the Rueben, the very reasons we order this deli delight – the kraut, the mustard, the cheese – obsolete. Overall, the preparation feels apathetic, which is just how I feel about the sandwich.

The Contemporary: Pork Belly Rueben, Cafe Katja

The Pork Belly was what initially wooed me, though it wasn’t what ultimately wowed me. Katja’s pigtastic version (and an economical one at $11) is all about the little things. The bread is buttered and griddled. The piquant mustard is a blockbuster. (The kind of mustard that makes you go home and question all the gourmet jars you keep in your fridge. The ones you thought were soooo good.) The cheese is melted and gooey. It’s prepared so well it’s hard not to fall a little bit in love.

Katja’s pig prevails. Winner declared!

A lifetime ago, when I could count my age on two hands, I loved to bake cookies. I especially loved when my older brother joined my Mom and I in the kitchen. One of our go-to recipes was for Snickerdoodles.

As a kid, I think it was the funny name and the cinnamon and sugar that made these so appealing. As an adult they fell off the cookie radar, replaced by more decadent confections with nuts and chocolate chunks. But yesterday, as I struggled to decide what treat to bring to the hospital where I would visit my brother, sister-in-law, and their new baby (yep, niece #2!), the forgotten Snickerdoodle presented itself as the answer.

Brownies would be too heavy and cake too difficult to eat. These days I avoid baking with any type of nut or peanut butter when children and babies are in the mix. My sister-in-law makes killer Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies with which I would never dare compete. Chocolate Chip Cookies seemed too boring. My options were limited. And then I remembered my Snickerdoodle roots.

The simple, light, buttery, crispy-edged, soft-middled Snickernoodle. They’re a perfect way to end a meal and just as ideal with a midday cup of coffee or tea. They even work for breakfast (a theory I tested today).

There isn’t a cookie on earth that could be as sweet as my new niece, but what better way to greet the future, than with a blast from the past?