The Baking Gene

My mother and both my grandmothers had pretty mad baking skills. (My mother still has them.) My sister and I also love to bake. This got me thinking: Is the love of and skill for baking transferred genetically? I?m sure some grad student somewhere is writing a dissertation on this. I?m also sure some chemical engineer is creating a drug that will either enhance one?s ability to bake or take it down a few notches if one?s enthusiasm for baking threatens to move one outside the status quo. I do know that neither my brother nor my father had any interest in baking, and there are definitely some genes in common there.

My maternal grandmother was the fifth of eight children and the first one in her family to be born in the United States after they emigrated from Finland to Michigan in 1901. Magga, which is what I called her because when I was little I couldn?t say Grandma, passed on right before my eighth birthday, and since she was in charge of chasing me around while my mom was at work, we were extremely close. We had sleepovers at her pad, did a fair amount of shopping and cartoon watching, and we ate pizza. Magga loved pizza with anchovies. We used to go to this hole in the wall in Mount Vernon, the New York burb where we lived, and she would order a slice with anchovies and a cup of coffee. We would sit at the counter together and eat our large thin-crust slices while a small black-and-white TV blared a Yankees game. There were never any other kids around, and usually we were the only females in the place. In retrospect, I think the pizza was responsible for only part of the income of this establishment: I?m guessing the ponies probably brought in the bulk of the earnings.

Magga?s baking prowess was proved by her layer cake with chocolate frosting. It was out of this world, and it was my mom?s favorite. She always topped it with a lone maraschino cherry, which she placed right in the middle of the cake. This cherry was the siren, and I was the randy Greek sailor lured by its song. Luckily, she had a whole jar of those suckers, so she could replace them just as fast as I would pluck them free and eat them.

Nanny, my paternal grandmother who also came from a large family, was a Canadian of French and Scottish heritage. She had a dry sense of humor and was always ready with a smart comeback. She lived to a ripe old age, as is customary on my father?s side of the family. I spent most of my time with her as a teenager when my father would return to the States from his overseas gig and my brother, sister and I would cruise in to see him when he stayed at her small Mount Vernon apartment. I think Nanny enjoyed the company and all the noise that three rambunctious kids generated. Four, if you count my father.

Whenever we stayed at my dad/grandmother?s, Nanny always had boxes of Entenmann?s cookies for us. We came to expect this, and it never even occurred to me that she could bake. One Saturday after lunch, Nanny whipped out a tray of homemade chocolate chip cookies. She had spread them out over the entire baking sheet and cut them into thin, delectable squares. I had never seen cookies like this before. They were incredible, but I couldn?t help but feel that she had been holding out on us in a big way. When I asked why, after all this time, she made cookies, she replied, ?I just felt like baking.? I repeatedly asked her to make me those cookies, and she repeatedly refused. I offered to do it with her. No sale. She had performed her baking service, indulged in one last hurrah and she was done. No amount of coaxing, tears or bribery could get Nanny back into the kitchen for another batch of cookies. Man, was she tough! She was just as reticent about the recipe. To this day it is a mystery.

So, the baking-gene question remains for the scientists and people writing graduate theses to ponder. I?m just happy to have been able to spend time with the strong, intelligent, original, funny women who comprise my family and hope that I can carry on in their stead?in the kitchen and out.

No-Beg Chocolate Chunk Cookies
Makes 18 3½-inch cookies

I used to think of myself as the least competitive person on the planet. Then I met a woman at a dinner party recently who boasted that her chocolate chip cookies were the best, and soon I would be ?begging? her for the recipe, which she would ?never? give me. Instead of quip her to death, as is my wont, I decided to employ some Godfather wisdom: Keep your friends close, your enemies closer. By the end of the party, I had basically gotten her to tell me what made these cookies so good?and they were good? less butter and sugar than you find in most recipes. So I immediately set to work and found what I think is the best combination of ingredients. And, you don?t have to beg for the recipe.

I tried both Ghirardelli?s bittersweet baking bar (60% cocoa) and Green & Black?s dark chocolate bar (70% cocoa). While I like to eat the G&B on its own, the Ghirardelli is better for cookies. If you want to use chocolate chips instead, substitute 1½ cups of bittersweet chips for the chopped chocolate. Ghirardelli makes excellent bittersweet chips. If you want to go vegan with these, sub Earth Balance or another nondairy margarine for the butter and make sure your chocolate doesn?t have any milk fat. Both the Ghirardelli bittersweet baking bar and chips do. If you want to make smaller cookies, use half as much dough for each cookie and bake 7-8 minutes. This will yield about 3 dozen cookies.

1¾ cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
1½ sticks (12 tablespoons) unsalted butter, melted and cooled
½ cup sugar
½ cup brown sugar, packed
¼ cup unsweetened applesauce
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
4 ounces bittersweet chocolate, coarsely chopped

1. Preheat oven to 375° F. Line baking sheet with parchment. If you don?t want to use parchment, that?s fine. Just don?t grease the baking sheet.

2. In medium bowl, whisk together flour, baking soda and salt. In large bowl, whisk together butter, sugars, applesauce and vanilla. Mix dry ingredients into wet ingredients until combined. Stir in chocolate chunks.

3. Drop heaping teaspoons of dough onto baking sheet. Bake 10 minutes. Let cool on baking sheet for 5 minutes then transfer to rack. When completely cooled, store in airtight container for up to three days.