Saturday, June 19, 2010

Father's Day and Dad's Toffee Cookies

Father's Day.

Meet The Weasel:

Priority objective: Get my phone call in to Dad earlier than this guy, thereby reaffirming my status as Favorite. It's not that hard to do, since he's in Colorado, I'm in North Carolina and Dad is sandwiched in between in Arkansas. I have a good two-hour head start. I've only missed once, and that was because I was in the pokey in Tijuana because of that unfortunate misunderstanding with that man over a donkey and some chickens.

But this isn't about me. Or the Weasel. Or our staged sibling rivalry. (I'm actually pretty crazy about my baby brother.) It's about Dad.

Sorry ladies, he's taken.

Dad used to put my hair in pigtails. So tight it would stretch my eyes closed, and I'd run into things, thus giving me the unshakeable reputation for being clumsy. He was also the one in charge of getting gum out of it. I had a problem keeping Double Bubble in my mouth, evidently. (Man, I was a mess, wasn't I?) Peanut butter was his tool. He used the same peanut butter (if he hadn't used it all on getting gum out of my ponytails) to bake peanut butter cookies with me. I got to do the crosshatch part on top of the cookies. 

Dad was the breakfast cook in our house most mornings when I was a kid.  He made scrambled or fried eggs, bacon, and most mornings, toast. We didn't have a toaster (I'm not sure many people did those days) and we cooked toast under the broiler, which often led to "....AAAAAAHHHHHHHhhhhhhh @#!@#!$$" (scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape) and piles of burnt crumbs in the sink. If he didn't make toast, he'd make homemade biscuits, usually fairly sweet drop ones that I loved.

He is the Snack Man. Give him some cash and turn him loose in a candy store and he's in heaven. Or hand him a gelato. Or a bag of potato chips. You can also make him really happy with a good baguette and some butter. Fortunately, he's got great heart and cholesterol genes, and he's super-active (he'll probably spent Father's Day cycling six hundred miles), so he's seriously fit despite the large quantity of Jelly Bellies and Sour Worms I sent him for his birthday. But he nibbles a lot. Half the pictures I have of Dad, he's eating or drinking something.

I got the predilection for nibbling, and the good cholesterol genes, but unfortunately NOT the fitness bug. He gave that all to John, apparently. One of Dad's favorite stories - he walked into the kitchen and caught me with my arm up to my elbow in the cookie jar after being told, in no uncertain terms, that I could NOT have a cookie. I looked at him and said "Want a cookie, Daddy?"

I think I won that one.

He also likes to tell about the time I hid a dozen donuts behind the shutters in my bedroom. I don't know what I was thinking. Cheetohs would have kept so much better.

Dad still goes through Cookie Baking Benders. He developed his own recipe for toffee cookies that I love. They can be inconsistent in baking, depending on the humidity and such, but that's part of their charm. They taste great no matter what you do to them.

Well, except burning them. It's hard to scrape a cookie.

Happy Father's Day, Dad.

 By the way, most of these pictures were taken by The Weasel. My pictures of Dad are all a blurry mess.

Dad's Toffee Chocolate Chip Cookies

1 cup butter, melted
2/3 cup brown sugar
3/4 cup sugar
1 tsp salt
3/4 tsp baking soda
1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp vanilla
1 cup toffee chips
1 cup chocolate chips
1 cup chopped pecans

Mix butter and sugar together. Add salt, baking soda, and vanilla. Add all chips and pecans. Drop by rounded spoonfuls onto sheet and bake at 350 for 10 minutes. Or so. Don't burn 'em, 'cause you can't scrape 'em.

No comments: