I’m very sorry to report that if you want to bake exceptional cookies — perfectly round ones with caramelized edges and soft centers — there are no shortcuts.
This is true of tall, tender shortbread cookies, which need to be rolled into a log, brushed with egg wash, and sugared before they firm up in the fridge for many hours. It’s also true of chocolate chip cookies, whose dough improves with the addition of browned butter and a sustained period of rest, the latter of which allows the flour to hydrate and creates a chewier cookie. And it’s certainly true of the cookies I baked last week, huge things with unbelievably satisfying layers of molten chocolate. To achieve that effect, the recipe called for chopping, melting, and spreading the chocolate in a thin layer across a parchment-lined baking sheet, freezing it until firm, and finally breaking up the chocolate in the dough. The cookies I pulled out of my oven were worth the work, but they were also a testament to the fact that patience is one of the most important ingredients in baking.
Most of the time, that is. There are inevitably days when I’d like a really delicious cookie without the browning, beating, chopping, and chilling of it all. And when they come around, I turn to the oatmeal raisin cookies I’ve been making since I was a young baker. They were one of the first treats I baked on my own, and if you make a lot of oatmeal, you might recognize them as the “vanishing oatmeal raisin cookies” from the old-fashioned Quaker Oats lid. The recipe is quick, and simple and straightforward in terms of ingredients and tools. The cookies you end up with are delicious — and the exception to my no-shortcuts rule.
The most high-maintenance part of this recipe is having raisins around. If you don’t and want your cookies ASAP (a situation I often find myself in) you can substitute them with whatever is in your pantry: chocolate chips or peanut butter cups, a swirl of Nutella, or a few bags of M&M’s. I made one of my most special batches with leftover movie candy: Buncha Crunch, Raisinets, peanut M&M’s, and Sno-Caps. It’s also worth mentioning that I whipped those up at a friend-who-doesn’t-bake’s apartment, and had to do so with a metal soup spoon. The final product was exactly what it always is, whether I use my stand mixer at home, my parents’ hand mixer or a small spoon: a huge hit.
Just one batch churns out the precise 48 tablespoon-sized balls of dough that the recipe promises. I like to bake them for the minimum amount of time suggested — eight minutes — so that they stay soft long after they’ve cooled down. The cookies aren’t too big or too thick, making two of them a perfect snack, or, when paired with a fat scoop of vanilla ice cream, an adorable ice cream sandwich. When I really want to impress people, I make two tablespoon-sized balls of dough, bake them for a few minutes longer and sprinkle the tops with flaky salt. These come out of the oven chunkier, with a crisp shell and a center that stays chewy for days. No matter the method or mix in, you’ll wind up with a mountain of warm, soft, cinnamon-heavy cookies.
Over the years I’ve adjusted things a bit to my liking. I always add extra cinnamon and top each cookie with a pinch of salt. I personally think they could do with ⅓ cup fewer raisins, though I’ve had people tell me that the abundance of raisins is their favorite part of the cookies. Whatever your preference, you can spin these nearly any way you’d like; the base of butter, brown sugar, eggs, flour, and oats is both simple and forgiving, two rare qualities for a truly great recipe to have. The only thing I must warn you of is that these buttery, sweet, spiced cookies disappear as quickly as they come together. I’m always surprised by how difficult it is to stop reaching for one after another. I guess there had to be a reason they’re called “vanishing oatmeal raisin cookies.”
Gaby Scelzo is a baker, writer, and New Yorker.
Additional photo illustration credits: Gabrielle Scelzo
