Neither of my parents are bakers. They don’t follow
recipes, nor have they owned more than five cookbooks in their lifetime. Unlike
me, you will find my night table teetering with cookbooks and food memoirs,
because nothing says sweet dreams more than a post-it plastered cookbook.
My parents are Chinese and cook what they grew up
eating. They don’t need instructions to tell them to chop up a quarter cup of
button mushrooms and fry it with a clove of garlic over a sizzling hot wok with
a tablespoon of oil. To finish a dish, my parents always eyeballed how
much oyster sauce to dollop into a bowl, followed by cornstarch and water, then
stirred with chopsticks and added to the wok contents to create a sauce binding all the ingredients together. When I lend a hand, my mom would look over
my shoulder, order me to add more water, which I did, then bark at me again, more water! more water! Because heaven
forbid if the sauce thickens too much, coating the dish with an icky sheen of
cornstarch.
My parents move around the kitchen in fluid
movements, like the way my dad ‘whisks’ eggs with chopsticks to make an omelet,
furiously breaking up the yolk and adding a dash of salt to the bowl. This was
one of the first things he taught me in the kitchen, reminding me to only whisk
the eggs in one direction, if you start clockwise, don't change
directions and whisk counterclockwise. Why? He didn’t even know, apparently his
sister told him it was bad luck to switch directions. It’s just a habit that
stayed with him and something I always think about when I whisk eggs.
One
night, I was helping with dinner and became the
designated egg beater. I grasped the wooden chopsticks between my
fingers and tried with all
might to aerate the eggs the same way my dad did, with gusto, determined
to conjure up a flurry of pale yellow bubbles. But alas, a 7 year old
lacked those critical wrist skills. It took me many years to
master the ease of whisking eggs into a milky mixture with nothing more
than
chopsticks.
There are more than twenty dishes that my
family makes often, none of which are recorded on paper. I could never
replicate the dishes since I would have to go by feel and guesstimation.
As a frequent baker, I like following recipes, I enjoy the detailed flow of
ingredients and though I may stray from a few ingredients, tinkering and adding
my own ideas, the essence of the dessert I’m making is still there so I can
always recreate it and bring back those memories tied to them.
These cookies have been on my mind for a while. They’re
100% whole wheat, another quality that intrigues me, I’ve always had an
interest in using whole grain flours, but never use them frequently. But I
think that’s about to change. I found a recipe for a recipe for buckwheat
cookies from Bojon Gourmet, although I’ve only eaten buckwheat flour in crepe-form,
folded over ham, cheese and asparagus (a real treat if you ask me), I was
stoked to bake with it.
I didn’t quite know what to expect at first. The
dough looked gray, like It’s Overcast and Gloomy Skies gray, definitely not the
happy cookie dough that begs to be baked immediately. Still, I made a batch and despite not intoxicating my apartment with that alluring buttery scent hovering from every corner, they
were simply endearing. They won me over.
When I opened the oven door to turn the baking sheets,
their middles puffed like giant, floating parachutes and when I took them out
to cool, their bellies deflated, leaving behind cute dimples. They are golden
brown on the outside, magical rings that I swear, are almost godlike haloes.
These go suitably well with coffee and
are even better when distributed to people you are very fond of.
There’s a considerable amount of buckwheat,
bestowing the cookies with its undeniably gritty, nuttiness, and just when you
wallow in its soft pillowy insides, there is a subtle heartiness from the whole
wheat flour. These cookies aren’t overly sweet, which makes me like them even
more, a mellow, earthy sweetness is punctuated by the combination of brown and white sugar. A pocket of chocolate teases your tongue in each bite,
followed by, my favourite part, a speck of saltiness, which I think sets these
cookies apart from their typically sugar-laden cousins.
Go on, bake a batch and let them charm you too.
Recipe here!
