Flour, sugar, eggs, vanilla, butter and chocolate.
Chocolate chip cookies rarely veer from that humble, well-trod recipe printed on the backs of countless bags of morsels. Why, then, are they all so different?
Sarah Botcher, the pastry chef and owner of Black Walnut Bakery in Minneapolis, calls the chocolate chip cookie "a benchmark of the quality and integrity of a bakery." She says the choice of ingredients and the flavors that come through provide insight into a baker's priorities and values.
"Does the cookie taste original, and slightly unique while still maintaining the essence of a classic chocolate chip cookie? Would you go back for another? Another important question, is it a freshly baked cookie? If so, you may have found a good bakery."
There are variations on ingredients, of course. Brown sugar vs. white. Milk chocolate vs. dark chocolate. A blend of flours vs. all-purpose. And mix-ins: to nut, or not to nut?
You could also say love plays a role, as it does in most comfort foods. Reaching deep into the most primal chocolate chip cookie memories, it tends to matter who was baking (grandma, babysitter, new neighbor) — and why (skinned knee, a lunchbox surprise, just because).
No one in my family baked. The first time I remember tasting homemade chocolate chip cookies was around second grade. I’d go to a friend’s house every day after school and wait for my parents to get home from work. My friend’s mom always kept an orange Tupperware on the counter filled with cookies. Full on Monday, the supply dwindled as the week went on. They were small and really hard; burnt on the edges, and not in a good way. But those cookies had something I couldn’t name. Was it the taste of real butter? (This was the margarine-schmeared ‘80s, after all.) Or, to a lonely latchkey kid, was it simply the feeling of being taken care of?
That was the flavor I sought as I tasted my way through dozens of chocolate chip cookies in search of the Twin Cities' ultimate. For months, anytime I spotted one on a menu or in a pastry case, I'd buy it and bring it home where I'd weigh, measure and photograph it before taking a bite. And it never got old. Every cookie had its own unique character: the giant diner cookie and the petite butter-bomb, the thin-and-crispy and the gooey dough ball. They all followed that deceivingly complex road map — flour, sugar, eggs, vanilla, butter, chocolate — and came out of the oven a complete original.