Chocolate Chip Cookies

America has a smell.

Maybe not America, but definitely New York.

OK… on second thought, scratch that. It’s not New York… it’s JFK. And I’ll go even a bit further to say, it’s not all of JFK, but one specific point, past customs and baggage claim and the desk for lost luggage, where I tend to spend quite a bit of my time. It’s the part right where you exit the automatic doors to where the pickups are. That place right there… it has a smell. Pollution, car exhaust, sweat, steam.

It smells like home.

No matter how far I go, no matter how much I convince myself that I am, once and for all, over New York–a city that truly was a love for me, an unrequited, heart-wrenching, ugly, messy love story over the course of the three years I spent at boarding school and the year and a half I spent in Toronto–I never really am. It was a love affair that had me watching Manhattan over and over and over again on my DVD player in high school and tracking down movie sets meant to be in New York in the biting cold of a Toronto winter. A love affair that made recognizing the buildings that dotted the skyline of my hometown make my heart ache.

I’ve since forgotten about New York: Cannes broke the spell it had on me, quickly replaced with Paris. I’ve become flighty in the true sense of the word, forgetting all the places I was in favor of the place where I am.

But JFK brings it all back.

If you haven’t grasped from the above soliloquy, I am back in America: land of peanut butter sold in vats, 24-hour supermarkets, pharmacies that sell shampoo, and ever-present air conditioning. I’ve stopped thinking of Paziols, the place that had me head-over-heels, except when I’m writing this blog and paging through never-ending photographs that should make it up here, some day.

These cookies should remind me of Paziols: I made them for a neighborhood cookout, where we set up picnic tables along our street–the French equivalent of a block party. I, as the American representative, started cooking at 10 and managed to arrive with a vat of cole slaw, a massive bowl of potato salad, two trays of macaroni and cheese, and these: what we know as chocolate chip cookies and what are translated as simply cookies.

I should remember the endless wine that was poured into Dixie cups and just as quickly knocked over by the Tramontagne wind. I should remember the eggplant appetizer that one of our neighbors is famous for. I should remember the massive platter of grilled meat that was passed up and down the table. I should remember the kids laughing and vying for attention, trying to understand the rapid-fire accented French that was surrounding them. I should remember all of this.

Instead, I think of other things. Of days when I lived back here, days when afternoons were spent at diners splitting plates of fries with ketchup–no mayo to be had. Days when I did my homework at the kitchen table, absently snacking on platters of fruit that were omnipresent in my childhood. Days that were so limited–I only lived at home until I was fourteen–but days that, at the time, seemed to last forever.

I remember–however brief it was–the time when I really, truly was just a regular American kid.

Strange, how much a cookie can make you remember.

Chocolate Chip Cookies (adapted from Alton Brown’s “The Chewy”)

2 sticks unsalted butter
2 1/4 cups bread flour
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 cup sugar
1 1/4 cups brown sugar
1 egg
1 egg yolk
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
2 cups semisweet chocolate chips

Heat oven to 375 degrees F.

Melt the butter in a heavy-bottom medium saucepan over low heat. Sift together the flour, salt, and baking soda and set aside.

Pour the melted butter in the mixer’s work bowl. Add the sugar and brown sugar. Cream the butter and sugars on medium speed. Add the egg, yolk, and vanilla extract and mix until well combined. Slowly incorporate the flour mixture until thoroughly combined. Stir in the chocolate chips.

Chill the dough, then form with a tablespoon and place onto buttered baking sheets. Bake for 8 minutes or until golden brown, checking the cookies after 5 minutes. Rotate the baking sheet for even browning. Serve with a tall glass of milk, à l’américaine.