And now for something different, plus cookies
I remember ... and you'll remember
Hello! Hello!
Since Anytime Cakes (Bookshop // B&N // Amazon // More) was published, I’ve been traveling — I even bought a backpack. I’ve been talking to so many people — readers, cooks and bakers and some of their partners, who come along because they also bake, or because they like what their other halves make in the kitchen, or just because they like their other halves. And I’ve been interviewed by some very thoughtful people.
There’s been a lot of conversation — a joy and also a step into another world for me, someone accustomed to working alone, padding around the house in comfy clothes and talking primarily to Michael, who, after so many years of togetherness, can finish my sentences — sometimes he can even predict them. Every day that my book, my Labubu (now named Cake) and I have been out and about, I’ve been surprised.
And sometimes, I’ve cried. I got teary when the members of The Bakers Dozen sang happy birthday to me in San Francisco, and just about every time that someone told me they’d made one of my recipes for a special moment in their lives, or that they learned to bake with their parents or grandparents(!) from my books. But I was moved to real tears when the remarkable Nancy Leson, whom Book Larder chose as my conversation partner in Seattle, closed our chat by saying, “When you’re gone, we — and your granddaughters — will be baking your recipes.” I can barely hold back the tears just writing this to you. I’m still thinking this through — it’s hard to really take it in.
And I’m still thinking about my first night on the road. I was with Kate Leahy in San Francisco (we had such a good meal at A16) and, while I can’t remember what she asked me, I remember the shiver I felt when her question provoked a truly unexpected answer. I’ve talked about how this new book is built on memories. That I’ve always had simple cakes in all of my books, but that as I worked to build a collection of cakes for this book, I found myself piqued by remembrances, touched by experiences, people and cakes that might have remained silent in my heart had they not been coaxed to the surface by an aroma, a taste, the shape of a pan or a moment when I thought of past kitchens and the cakes that were shared in them.
“Maybe this is the book I was building up to write, the one I was meant to write,” I told Kate. It was a thought I’d never had before, but as the words formed, I was sure of them.
Once said, the thought stayed with me and made me think of how memory begets memory, kind of the way the idea for one cake spurs the imagining of another. It made me think of the book Joe Brainard wrote called, I Remember.
Some bakes from Dorie’s Anytime Cakes to remember:
Written in America, maybe better known in France
I first learned about the architecture of I Remember from a French friend, who’d read Georges Perec’s Je Me Souviens (“I Remember”), the offbeat author’s version of Brainard’s offbeat memoir. In both books, every sentence begins with the words “I remember” and goes on to conjure a memory, some more fully detailed than others, most with just enough words to paint an image or evoke an emotion. Inspired by Perec, my friend wrote 500 “je me souviens” sentences over the course of months. They’re handwritten and the pages are folded and tucked away, a little treasure to return to.
Later, I discovered the original and read about Brainard, who wrote and made visual art from the time he was a teenager until he died in 1994 at age 52. In The New Yorker, David S. Wallace wrote an appreciation that included these lines:
It [I Remember] has inspired many imitations (including one by the French writer Georges Perec) and even become a kind of creative-writing exercise, but Brainard’s version remains the strongest, unified in its sensitivity and sensibility.
While I have met few Americans who know Brainard’s I Remember (do you?), if I chance to mention Perec’s Je Me Souviens to French friends, most of them nod in recognition.
From the article in The New Yorker, here are a few lines from I Remember.
I remember cinnamon toothpicks.
I remember cherry Cokes.
I remember pastel-colored rocks that grew in water.
I remember drive-in onion rings.
I remember that the minister’s son was wild.
I remember pearlized plastic toilet seats.
I remember a little boy whose father didn’t believe in dancing and mixed swimming.
I remember when I told Kenward Elmslie that I could play tennis. He was looking for someone to play with and I wanted to get to know him better. I couldn’t even hit the ball but I did get to know him better.
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The curiousness of it all
Something — maybe so much — about Kate’s question set me thinking about memory. Again. A little wistfully. Perhaps a little nostalgically. But mostly with curiosity. I bought a new copy of I Remember for the pleasure of its rhythm and song and for the little moments of recognition. (While Brainard was born before me, we share generations.) I opened the pretty notebook that my friend Jane Bertch gave to me before I left Paris for book tour and I sharpened a few Blackwings. Will I remember? Will I write? We’ll see.
Is there time for it?
Book tour is its own merveille — time out of time to put the daily tasks aside and concentrate on just one thing: meeting people who share my love of food and books. It’s a joy, but such a change from my usual life that it’s sometimes hard to find the energy for anything “extra.” Will there be time to remember? This might be the best of times for such a thing or the worst (apologies Mr. Dickens). Again, I say: We’ll see. At least I’ve got the tools.
And I’ll have M&Ms, yes, my little indulgence (I remember when the tag line for M&Ms was “melts in your mouth not in your hands”) and a stack of Melody Cookies, my home baked version of a boxed cookie that Nabisco stopped making decades ago (I remember when I’d eat the scalloped edges, one scallop at a time). I baked a batch to have with ice cream — scroll down for the recipe.
And I’m off again (here’s my schedule, in case we’re both going to be in the same city at the same time).
11/7: ATLANTA, GA — A Cappella Books Marcus JCC Books Festival with Erika Council | GET TIX
11/8: WASHINGTON, DC — Bold Fork Books signing/meet & greet | GET TIX (5PM event sold out)
11/9: PHILADELPHIA, PA — Sisterly Love Collection at the at the Weitzman Museum with Noelle Blizzard | GET TIX
11/10: BOSTON, MA — Mrs. Trillium Presents at Trillium Fort Point with Esther Tetreault | GET TIX
11/12: VIRTUAL — Smithsonian Associates with Carla Hall | GET TIX
11/13: MADISON, CT — RJ Julia with Casey Elsass | RESERVE YOUR SPOT
11/16: NEW CANAAN, CT — Elm Street Books at New Canaan Library with Anna Francese Gass | REGISTER
12/8: BOSTON, MA — WBUR Curated Cuisine with Joanne Chang | JOIN WAITLIST (Sold out)
12/9: VIRTUAL — Federation of Alliances Françaises USA * MEMBERS ONLY with Jane Bertch | REGISTER
Remember to vote (today is Election Day in America). Remember to remember … especially the sweet stuff.
📚 You can find more recipes in my latest books, Dorie’s Anytime Cakes and Baking with Dorie.
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MELODY COOKIES
Adapted from Dorie’s Cookies by moi
Get your copy at Bookshop.org // B&N // Amazon
Once upon a time, the Nabisco company made a cookie called Melody. They were large and round — I’m told by a cookie-dunker that they were just the right size to fit into a glass of milk — had scalloped edges and were topped with sparkly sugar. They were thin, crunchy and more cocoa-flavored than chocolatey. They were beloved. But evidently not enough, because sometime in the 1970s, production ceased. Search — I did — and you’ll find eulogies to the Melody, but no recipe. Until now.
After I’d made many cookies using the Do-Anything Chocolate Cookie Roll-Out Dough, my husband said, “There’s something about these that reminds me of Melody cookies. The flavor is so similar, but the texture is off. If they had some snap, maybe...” Turns out, he was right: Crunch was the missing note!
Are they just the same as the Melodies of childhood? I don’t know. However, these deliver the childish delight of a Melody and the possibility of more grown-up pleasures. My smaller cookies are still a good size for dunking into milk, but they’re also right for dipping into a shot of espresso. And if you love cookies and ice cream (and of course you do), you might want to use these to make ice cream sandwiches. They not only make good sandwiches, they make pretty ones.