experiments in cooking

Posts tagged ‘learning to cook’

Night of the Sweet Rolls

Two Fridays ago, I set out to bake one batch of sweet rolls for a Saturday women’s breakfast I’d planned for my church and wound up making three batches instead.

I started at 4:30 p.m., mixing up the dough for an overnight cinnamon rolls recipe I first tried in December, although this time I planned to make caramel pecan rolls instead of orange rolls. I prepared the dough, put it in the refrigerator, mixed up the topping, and left the house for a couple of hours.

When I got home, the dough hadn’t risen at all. I set it out to rise for another hour, and it still hadn’t risen. So I got worried, and I mixed up a second batch. When it too didn’t rise, I panicked and mixed up a third batch using a second recipe for “everyday cinnamon rolls” and a new jar of yeast. This recipe was one I’d used before that doesn’t require proofing the dough. image

Just as I was forming the third batch into rolls, I realized the first batch had finally risen.

Which meant the second was going to rise as well.

So, faced with an intimidating amount of cinnamon roll dough, I turned the third batch into caramel pecan rolls that I baked before I went to bed around midnight. I made the first batch into two pans of cinnamon rolls, which I refrigerated overnight,  mixed up a quick orange icing (adding food coloring to get it to the right color of yellow) to ice that batch after baking it the next  morning, and froze the dough from the second batch.

What I had envisioned as a couple of hours spent making an easy pan of sweet rolls had turned into seven hours of work. I spilled, broke, and lost things, and I used almost every dish in the kitchen twice. 

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The next morning, after baking  the orange rolls, I took all the rolls to the breakfast–to which, as it turned out, almost everyone brought sweet rolls. Apparently they did this because I had suggested in an email that they bring “comfort food.”

I was ready to regret the time I’d spent the night before, battling all that dough and getting sticky and dropping powdered sugar on the dogs and missing out on watching a movie with my husband.

But then I remembered–cinnamon rolls are one of the best foods on earth.

So, I ate one of each of my own rolls plus some of what the other ladies brought.And you know what? They were really, really yummy! And I had enough rolls left over to freeze them individually for Sunday breakfast for the next couple of months.

Yes, I did think that night was torture. Yes, I did accidentally spill a new bag of flour over my pajamas and slippers after I thought I’d already finished cleaning up the giant mess I’d made. And yes, I did scream “I hate my life!” several times, which seems a bit melodramatic in retrospect.

But these rolls were so good, so comforting, that I would go through it again.

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Chocolate Chip Icebox Cookies

I used to say I didn’t like crisp chocolate chip cookies, only chewy ones. Then I made these and found out I was wrong. These chocolate chip cookies are absolutely yummy—and crisp.

I tried this recipe because I wanted a cookie dough I could mix quickly and then refrigerate until I had time to bake. They can be refrigerated for up to a week (at least) and frozen for longer.

Chocolate Chip Icebox Cookies from Joy of Cooking

About forty-two 21⁄4-inch cookies

Whisk together:

1 ½ cups all-purpose flour
1 ½ teaspoon baking powder
4 teaspoon salt

Beat in a large bowl until fluffy:

10 tablespoons (1 ½ sticks) unsalted butter, softened
1/3 cup white sugar
1/3 cup brown sugar

Add and beat until combined:
1 large egg
2 tsp vanilla

Stir in the flour mixture until blended. Add 1 cup mini chocolate chips along with the flour mixture.

Refrigerate until slightly firm, about 1 hour. Shape the dough into an even 11-inch log. Refrigerate or freeze until very firm.

Preheat the oven to 375°F. Grease or line 2 cookie sheets. Cut the log into 3/16-inch-thick slices and arrange about 2 inches apart on the cookie sheets. Bake, 1 sheet at time, until the cookies are lightly browned at the edges, 8 to 10 minutes. The longer the baking time, the crispier the cookies. Let stand briefly, then remove to a rack to cool.

Christmas Dinner: Spiral-Cut Ham with Cranberry Glaze and Ranch Mashed Potatoes

A few weeks back, I volunteered to make Christmas dinner, because my mother-in-law was scheduled to work all Christmas Day. I, on the other hand, would be home and available to cook.

I let Chris decide what he’d like for dinner, and he chose ham. I’d never baked a ham before, but I said I’d do it. A couple of days before Christmas, Chris’s brother dropped off a spiral-cut ham for me to bake. Thanks to his work schedule, he wouldn’t be at Christmas dinner himself, but we planned to send ham and all the fixin’s to him after dinner was over.

Spiral-cut hams are typically fully cooked, so you just have to warm them before serving, unless you want to serve cold ham. It was going to take quite some time to warm up a ham the size of the one Jeremiah brought over. The package recommended two and a half hours at 275 degrees, so I popped the ham in the oven at 2:15 p.m., planning to take it out of the oven at 4:45 and serve it at 5 o’clock.

Around 4 p.m., I mixed up a cranberry glaze (taken from Joy of Cooking) for the ham and began a pot of mashed potatoes. I’d never made mashed potatoes myself before, although I’d helped my mom make them once or twice. The thing is, I hate mashed potatoes. But most people, including my husband, seem to love them, and they go well with ham, and it was Christmas, after all, so I thought, Why not? For the potatoes, I combined an online recipe with one in my new 2006 edition of Joy of Cooking.

At 4:45, the potatoes were coming along swimmingly, and the cranberry glaze was on the ham, but the ham just wasn’t hot. Frustrated, I checked my Joy of Cooking, which suggested baking a fully cooked ham at 325 degrees, a full 50 degrees hotter than suggested by the instructions that came with the ham. Stupid instructions! I wound up having to turn up the oven to 400 degrees for the last several minutes, and shortly after 5 p.m. got the ham warm enough to eat. But it still was not as hot as I would have liked.

The ham tasted good, even if I wasn’t happy about the baking process. And the cranberry glaze was delicious. (In fact, it was so good that I used the leftover glaze a couple of days later as a topping for baked chicken breasts—baked them beneath the cranberry glaze at 350 degrees, covered, for 40 minutes. Yum!)

Also, Chris and his parents told me the potatoes were great. They certainly looked good—white and fluffy as any I’ve ever seen—and they smelled good too. The ranch dressing, everybody said, added a nice flavor.

Finally, Chris begged me to try a bite, and I did, but couldn’t stomach ’em. I just flat out don’t enjoy mashed potatoes, no matter how pretty they are. You know how much easier my life would be if I could enjoy a big pile of mashed potatoes? For one thing, then I wouldn’t have to hear Chris telling everyone how weird I am.

Below are the recipes for the best parts of our Christmas meal: the glaze that I loved, and the potatoes that Chris loved.

Cranberry Glaze

1 can of cranberry sauce, jellied or whole

¼ to ½ cup brown sugar

Orange juice (amount left to the cook’s discretion)

Optional: whole cloves

Mix cranberry sauce, brown sugar, and orange juice. If you are using the glaze on a ham, remove the ham from the oven 45 minutes before the end of the baking time. If you want to use cloves, press them into the outside of the ham. Spread cranberry sauce mixture over the outside of the ham and return the ham to the oven.

Ranch Mashed Potatoes

3–4 baking potatoes, peeled, cut into chunks

1 bay leaf

2 cloves crushed fresh garlic

2 tbsp butter

¼ cup Light Ranch Dressing

For best results, cut potatoes into equal-size pieces to ensure even cooking. Cook vegetables, garlic, and bay leaf in boiling water in large saucepan 20 min. or until tender; drain and remove the bay leaf. Add butter and dressing. Mash until light and fluffy.

The Science of Making Candy

Two days before Christmas, Chris emailed me a recipe from a co-worker for something called “Glass Candy.” This co-worker had brought some to a work party and he thought it would be something I’d like to make. I’d never tried making candy before, but it looked pretty easy.

I started making the candy after lunch on Christmas Eve. First, I coated a cookie sheet with powdered sugar. Then I combined sugar, water, and Karo syrup in a pot. Then I read the next step: “Boil until the mixture reaches a hard crack about 300 degrees.”

No problem. I had a thermometer. But as I stood at my stove, the sugar mixture already heating to a bubbling syrup, and looked down at my thermometer, I was dismayed to see that it had a maximum temperature reading of 220 degrees. What could I do?

I considered the reference to a “hard crack.”Was “hard crack” an actual candymaking term? I had thought it was just a description chosen by the writer of the recipe, but if were a “technical” term used in candy making, perhaps it held the solution to my problem.

I flipped open my new 2006 edition of The Joy of Cooking to the chapter about candy, where I found a description of how to check the readiness of sugar syrup without a thermometer, using the cold water test. It was followed by illustrations.

Apparently the hard-crack stage occurs between 300 and 310 degrees Fahrenheit. Toffee, nut brittles, and lollipops are all cooked to the hard-crack stage. The hard-crack stage is the highest temperature a cook is likely to see specified in a candy recipe. At these temperatures, there is almost no water left in the syrup.

To perform a cold water test, you drop a little of the molten syrup in cold water. At the hard-crack stage, it will form hard, brittle threads that break when bent.

So! I could check the readiness of the candy without an accurate thermometer.

But, even with an answer in hand, I was nervous. I had never tried anything like this before, and I had no one to show me how to do it right—just a set of illustrations and some reading done on the spot while the pot was boiling.

I used my thermometer to tell me when the mixture has passed 220 degrees. Then I began testing the sugar syrup by scooping a small amount of it on a metal spoon (that I warmed in a nearby jar of warm water) and dropping it into a small bowl of cold water. The first time I did this, the syrup formed a liquid-y thread in the cold water but did not ball up or harden. My cookbook told me that this is called the thread stage.

I tested the syrup several more times. Each time it did something different when dropped in the cold water:

  • Formed a soft, flexible ball that flattened when I removed it from the water (soft-ball stage, 235° F–240° F)
  • Formed a firm ball that remained malleable when removed from the water and flattened when squeezed (firm-ball stage, 245° F–250° F)
  • Formed thick, ropy threads as it dripped from the spoon into the water, then formed a hard ball in the water and did not flatten when removed, although it could be squashed (hard-ball stage, 250° F–265° F)
  • Formed threads and not a ball in the water. When removed from the water, the threads were flexible, not brittle, and bent before breaking (soft-crack stage, 270° F–290° F)
  • Formed hard, brittle threads that, once removed from the water, broke when bent (hard-crack stage, 300° F–310° F)

When the syrup reached the last stage, I immediately added several drops of blue food coloring and about two splashes of anise flavoring. (I was so nervous that I forgot to measure the anise I used, but I’d estimate I used a couple of teaspoons.) Then I poured the mixture onto the prepared cookie sheet and let it cool completely.

When the sheet of candy was cooled to the touch, Chris and I shattered it with the edge of a meat tenderizer and placed the pieces in a glass dish. The candy looked just like pieces of blue glass and tasted like licorice.

Making glass candy for the first time was not as easy as it looked. It’s probably just as well that I didn’t know how nerve-wracking it would be, because I might not have tried it. Now, on the other side of my first candy adventure, I can say that the science experiment of progressing through the stages of cooking sugar syrup using the cold water test was pretty darn fascinating.

I’m looking forward to trying candy again. And I won’t have to do it without a clue as to the actual temperature next time, because my mother-in-law just gave me an old candy thermometer to use, one that most definitely reads up to 300 degrees.

Sweet!

Glass Candy

Powdered sugar

2 cups sugar

1 cup water

¾ cup Karo syrup

Flavoring (peppermint, anise, etc.)

Food coloring

Prepare a cookie sheet by coating with powdered sugar.

Combine in a pot sugar, water, and Karo syrup.  Boil until the mixture reaches a hard crack about 300 degrees.

(Note: if using the cold water test to check the syrup’s readiness, look for the syrup to form, after being dropped in the cold water, hard, brittle threads that break when bent. CAUTION: To avoid burns, allow the syrup to cool in the cold water for a few moments before touching it.)

Quickly stir in desired flavor and food coloring. Note: it probably will take twice as much as you think it should.

Pour onto prepared cookie sheet.  Allow to cool for a bit. If desired, sprinkle top with powdered sugar. (I liked it without the powdered sugar on top.)  Allow to cool completely.

Break apart (the edge of a meat tenderizer works well) and enjoy!

Cherry Moos: Not Quite Like Grandma Used to Make

For Christmas Eve this year, Chris’s mom and I planned a German Mennonite supper of chicken noodle soup, zwiebach, and cherry moos (pronounced moze.) I volunteered to bring the zwiebach (all I had to do was thaw some rolls I froze in November) and to make the cherry moos as part of my education in traditional German Mennonite cooking.

Cherry moos are essentially a cherry soup or thin cherry pudding. I’d had cherry moos only once before, the Christmas Eve when I met Chris’s grandma Dorothy Weber 10 years ago. So I had a vague idea of what they should look and taste like.

Without the German gastronomical experience, I confess, I found the idea of plain cherry soup to be missing something. It wouldn’t sound odd to me if I’d grown up eating cherry moos, I’m sure. But I am who I am. So I decided to add my own touch to the cherry moos.

When my parents serve strawberries and cream, they serve the fruit over broken pieces of pie crust, which is eaten scooped up with the fruit like crackers crumbled into soup. That gave me the idea for making pie crust Christmas shapes to eat with the cherry moos. I figured it would be like a deconstructed cherry pie.

“Could you eat cherry moos over cookies or a crust?” I asked Chris.

He gave me a weird look. But after a moment he said, “I don’t know. That might be okay.”

And that was all I needed to forge ahead with my plan to make some “holiday pastry crisps” to serve with the cherry moos.

Other than adding some pastry as an accompaniment for the cherry moos, I intended to stay completely true to Chris’s grandmother’s cherry moos recipe. I read over the recipe several times before Christmas Eve. It didn’t look difficult.

But when I went in the kitchen on Christmas Eve to start cooking, it suddenly occurred to me, rather late in the game, that I didn’t have an important ingredient in my cabinets: cherries.

I sent Chris, armed with a cell phone to call me with questions, out to Russ’s Market to buy two cans of cherries. He called me a few minutes later.

“What kind of cherries am I supposed to buy?” he asked.

I looked at the recipe.

“The recipe says 1 quart fruit in syrup,” I said.

“Well, there are two kinds here,” Chris said. “Tart red cherries and dark cherries.”

“I have no idea which,” I said.

“You’re sure the recipe doesn’t say?”

“Nope, it doesn’t,” I said.

There was silence on the other end of the line. Clearly we were at an impasse.

“How about dark cherries?” I said. “They sound good.”

“Okay!” said Chris, sounding relieved.

As soon as he got home with the cherries, I got to work. The recipe was easy to follow. And while the cherry moos were stewing on the stove, I made my pastry crisps. Then we put everything into portable containers and took it over to Chris’s mom’s house.

After dinner, I brought out bowls of steaming, purple cherry moos and stood a couple of pastry crisps in each bowl. I hoped the cherry moos tasted right, but only Chris and his parents would know.

Chris took a bite. His mother took a bite.

Quietly, everyone took a few bites. But no one said anything.

The silence seemed significant.

“Well, how do they taste?” I said.

“It’s … good,” said Chris. But he sounded puzzled. And I wasn’t convinced.

“Yes, it’s good,” Chris’s mom agreed. But she’s so nice, she’d say it was good if it was the worst thing she’d ever tasted.

“You can serve cherry moos cold,” said Chris’s dad.

As we were not discussing the temperature of the dish, this non sequitor seemed to be a hint that the cherry moos were not all that they should be.

“It’s not right, is it?” I blurted out. “Just say it.”

“No … It’s … good …” said Chris.

“Then why are you saying it that way?” I asked.

“Something is different,” he said.

Bad is different,” I said. “I knew it!”

“No, not bad,” said Chris. “Let me think …”

Then inspiration hit him.

“The cherries!” he said. “You used dark cherries.”

“You said you didn’t know which to buy,” I said.

“I know, but I think maybe you’re supposed to use the tart cherries,” he said.

“I wish you’d remembered this earlier,” I said.

“But this is good!” said Chris. “Now that I know why they’re different, I think they’re fine.”

I looked at Chris’s mom.

“I like it this way,” she said. And she said it very firmly, not like when you serve her meat that is underdone or overdone and she says she likes it but you know she couldn’t possibly like it, really.

I must have still looked downcast, because she added, “I suppose my mother and grandmother used the tart cherries, but I don’t think they had canned dark cherries available back then.”

“I wanted to make it the way you remembered,” I said.

“No worries!” said Chris. “And you know some people make moos with plum. I bet it tastes like this.”

But it wasn’t plum moos I wanted to make for Christmas Eve.

On the plus side, the “holiday pastry crisps” added a nice texture to the dish, as well as a nice visual contrast to the deep color of the cherry moos.

We had several pastry crisps left over, so I froze them to serve with the next batch of cherry moos I make. And I will get them right next time.

Below are Grandma Weber’s recipe for Cherry Moos and my recipe for Holiday Pastry Crisps.

Cherry Moos

Combine:

1 quart fruit in syrup (traditionally, tart red cherries are used)

3 cups additional water or milk (can use 1 cup cream)

½ cup honey or sugar

Cook slowly until fruit is soft.

Combine in small bowl:

4–5 T flour

Additional honey or sugar if needed

1 cup milk or cream

Mix to a smooth paste. Dip out some of the hot fruit mixture and stir into paste; then slowly pour mixture back into the fruit, stirring constantly. Continue cooking over low heat until thickened. Serve warm or cold.

[Sarah’s note: May serve over shortbread, pie pastry, or, in warmer months, over ice cream.]

 

Holiday Pastry Crisps

1 pie crust (premade refrigerated crust is fine)

Sugar to sprinkle

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Let the pie crust sit out for a few minutes or take the chill off it by microwaving it for a few seconds. Roll out the pie crust, then cut out shapes with cookie cutters. (I cut out stars and Christmas trees.) Reroll the dough and cut out shapes until it is used up. Place shapes on a cookie sheet, either greased or ungreased. Sprinkle shapes lightly with sugar. Bake approximately 8–10 minutes or until light golden brown. Remove from pan and cool.

Serve crisps with cherry moos or strawberries and cream. Dip the crisps into the fruit mixture like a cracker into soup.

Sticky Pinwheel Biscuits

Back in the day where I used to eat giant breakfast pastries for breakfast every morning, I would eat enormous biscuit rolls from Walmart every chance I got. Because I wasn’t much of a baker, I didn’t know exactly why they were called “biscuit rolls.” They looked like cinnamon rolls. But they were yummy.

Then I was reading my Joy of Cooking the other day and came across a recipe for Pinwheel Biscuits. I realized I was reading a description of those yummy rolls I used to be so obsessed with.

I’m not a huge fan of biscuits. But add brown sugar to anything and roll it up like a cinnamon roll, and I’ll eat it.

Well, maybe not anything. I don’t want my husband to take that as a challenge and try to serve me something repulsive, filled with brown sugar. Although I’m sure his imagination is running wild as he reads this.

Because Chris and I are big fans of breakfast suppers, I made the pinwheel biscuits after work one night and served them with scrambled eggs and bacon. I almost burned them—I’ve been having difficult with brown sugar and burning lately—but I pulled them out of the oven just in time. They were warm and gooey and had chewy edges. I love chewy edges.

The boys wouldn’t touch the rolls (they never do, because the rolls aren’t made of chocolate), so there were several left over. They froze well, and I’ve been eating the leftovers for a Sunday morning breakfast on the way to church.

This is the quickest way I’ve found to make sweet rolls. If you like biscuits and don’t have an hour and a half to make sweet rolls, this recipe will be perfect for you.

But watch the rolls carefully—brown sugar can be tricky.

 

Pinwheel Biscuits

Position a rack in the center of the oven. Preheat the pan to 450 degrees. Grease a large baking sheet or a 13×9-inch pan. Prepare the dough for Fluffy or Shortcake Biscuits as directed below.

Whisk together thoroughly in a large bowl:

2 cups all-purpose flour

2 ½ tsp baking powder

¾ tsp salt

1 tsp sugar

Drop in:

5–6 tbsp cold unsalted butter, cut into pieces

Cut in the butter with a pastry blender, tossing the pieces with the flour mixture to coat and separate them as you work. For classic fluffy biscuits, continue to cut the butter until the mixture resembles coarse breadcrumbs. Do not allow the butter to melt or form a paste with the flour.

Add all at once:

¾ cup milk

Mix with a rubber spatula, wooden spoon, or fork just until most of the dry ingredients are moistened. With a lightly floured hand, gather the dough into a ball and knead it gently against the sides and bottom of the bowl 5 to 10 times, turning and pressing any loose pieces into the dough each time until they adhere and the bowl is fairly clean.

Transfer the dough to a lightly floured surface. With a lightly floured rolling pin, roll out the dough into a 10-inch square ¼ inch thick. Spread evenly with:

5 tbsp unsalted butter, softened

Sprinkle evenly over the surface:

1 cup coarsely chopped walnuts or pecans (I left these out because Chris hates both)

2/3 cup packed dark brown sugar

½ cup raisins

Roll the dough up fairly tightly (it will lengthen slightly as you roll). Cut crosswise into 12 equal slices, each about 1 inch wide. Place the slices, cut side down, on the baking sheet or in the pan. Bake until golden brown, 10 to 12 minutes on the baking sheet, about 14 minutes in the pan. Remove from the oven and invert onto a plate to unmold. Serve warm, sticky side up.

Italian Ribbon Twists

I don’t have any idea what makes these cookies Italian, but I got them from an Italian recipe web site, Mangia Bene Pasta, so I guess they are. The “ribbon twists” part of their name is self explanatory.

These ribbon twists are made by twisting strips of pastry filled with fruit preserves and sugar, cinnamon, and chopped nuts. The process was similar to the way I twist the homemade breadsticks I’ve been making, but messier because of the preserves.

I made the pastry on a Thursday afternoon, left it in the refrigerator overnight, and baked the cookies on Friday afternoon. I had never before made a filled cookie of any kind, so I was excited to try this recipe. Everything went really well, except that when the cookies were done and I’d pulled them out of the oven, I had to leave the house for a couple of hours. When I came back, the cookies were stuck to the wax paper I’d baked them on. I tried really, really hard to get all the wax paper off the cookies. I tried to slip a spatula beneath them, I tried to peel the paper off gently, and I also tried trying to rip it off quickly, like a scab off a wound. (Yes, I have a fondness for unappetizing similes.) But I only managed to save about a dozen, plus a handful of cookie scraps that I’ll make my family eat for Thanksgiving.

From this process, I learned:

Do not leave the cookies sitting in jam that will harden. If you bake cookies filled with jam, and the jam leaks out of the cookie while it’s baking, you absolutely must remove the cookie from the baking pan (and any paper you baked it on) before the jam hardens.

Apricot jam is not weird after all. I have never, ever tried apricot jam. I’ve always steered away from light-colored jams. I don’t know why, I just found darker jams more appealing. And less “out there.” Well, I used a jar of apricot jam my mother-in-law let me have—only because it was recommended by the recipe—and they tasted really good in this cookie. So I’m a convert.

Pie pastry is not as hard to make as I thought it was. When I taste tested one of the cookies, I realized that the cookie was basically pie pastry with jam on it. I had made pie pastry without even realizing it. What was I so afraid of? Well, apparently all anyone would have had to do to get me to try pie pastry would have been to call it “cookie pastry.”

This was a fun cookie, and I will make the recipe again, because I really want to get the process right at the very end.

I took the dozen pretty ones to our church potluck Thanksgiving dinner, and they did get eaten. I hope people liked them.

Ribbon Twists from http://www.mangiabenepasta.com
(Should make about 36 cookies)

Pastry:
4 ounces (1 stick) butter, room temperature
3 ounces cream cheese, room temperature
1 egg yolk
1 cup flour

Filling:
2 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 cup finely chopped walnuts (or other nut)
1/4 cup apricot (or other flavor) preserves

Using an electric mixer, combine the butter and cream cheese until smooth. Add the egg yolk and mix until incorporated. Add the flour and beat just until combined. Form dough into a disk, cover and refrigerate for 1 to 2 hours or overnight.

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Line 2 cookie sheets with parchment paper.

In a small bowl, combine sugar, cinnamon, and walnuts. Set aside.

Divide the chilled dough in half. Lightly flour a work surface. Roll the dough into a rectangle about 20 x 6-inches.

Spread a thin layer of preserves on the dough. Sprinkle half of the sugar mixture on top.

Take one of the long edges of the dough and fold to down to meet the other long side.
Gently press down on the dough to seal the top to the bottom.

Using a pastry cutter [I used a pizza wheel], cut the dough into strips 1/2-inch wide by 3 inches long. Take the strip of filled dough and gently twist. Place the twisted strips on the prepared baking sheets about 2 inches apart. Repeat the procedure with the second half of dough.

Bake for 12–15 minutes, or until lightly browned. Remove the baking sheets from the oven. Allow the cookies to cool approximately 10 minutes [but no so long that they stick to the paper on the pan] and then transfer the cookies to wire racks [or a cloth or fresh wax paper] to cool completely.

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