Cookies

Introduction

The folks at my laundromat love me. I’d like to think that it’s because of my effervescent personality, but in reality it’s because I drop off a big box of assorted cookies during the holidays every year—Eggnog Snickerdoodles (page 256), Neapolitan Checkerboard Cookies (page 140), Chewy Brownie Cookies (page 174), to name a glorious few. One day I heard one of them whisper, “That’s the Cookie Man.”

My name may be Vaughn, but you can call me the Cookie Man, the Cookie Monster, V.V. or That Guy From That Thing I Saw Once. I’ve been baking since I was about seven years old. I would wake up on Saturday mornings, traipse into the kitchen screaming Spice Girls songs and pull out every sprinkle and food coloring we had in the baking cabinet. Colors of the world, spice up your life! I would surprise my mom with a homemade monstrosity that vaguely resembled something I had seen on the Food Network the day before. (The real surprise for her was the green food coloring that now Pollocked all her favorite dish towels.) But in my family I was always encouraged to use my imagination in the kitchen, even when it made a mess. This was especially true with my grandma, whom I called Nannie.

Some of my favorite childhood memories involve homemade cookies and “dip milk” at Nannie’s house after a morning of helping her pull weeds in the hot North Carolina sun, or while glued to her afternoon soaps. (I was too young to understand the intricate plotlines of General Hospital, but the cookies kept me occupied.) As I grew older, I joined her in the kitchen to make divinity, an old-fashioned Southern nougat, and pralines for Christmas; oatmeal-raisin cookies when my cousins came over; or start the Thanksgiving pies . . . in August. (When you have 30 mouths to feed, a freezer can be your best friend.)

I’d been a video producer for New York Times Cooking a little over a year before I began documenting my at-home baking adventures during the pandemic, when I was 26 years old and was living with my family in Raleigh, North Carolina. Nannie quickly became an Internet sensation. It began when I filmed her trying dalgona coffee, that whipped toffee-flavored beverage that you may have seen all over early 2020 TikTok. After a sip, her eyes widened, and she said, “That’s delicious. It would go great with bourbon!” And so the tradition began of bringing Nannie my creations, usually with a big ole glass of chardonnay, and recording her reactions (she lived for my oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, while others were “not for her,” like the Swedish cardamom buns she thought tasted like soap or the sourdough that was too tough for her dentures). We would bond over a glass or three of wine and pore over old family recipes, like her German chocolate cake or her cherry yum yum, a retro no-bake dessert involving cream cheese and cherry pie filling.

But my first confectionary love was cookies. I applied to my first postcollege job in a kitchen because I loved macarons (I had a blog in college called Macaron Memoirs . . . please don’t look it up). For my first nonkitchen job interview, I showed up with a half-dozen of my matcha-ginger-citrus macarons in a Tupperware container, which may or may not be the reason I got the job.

The first recipe I ever developed for NYT Cooking was—you guessed it—a cookie, and I never stopped. That recipe, for Eggnog Snickerdoodles (page 256), will always make me think of the expression on Nannie’s face when she first tried them, savoring every bite, finally saying, “These are so good, baby.” Every baked good that comes out of my kitchen is imbued with Nannie’s love. That’s the power of baking: Just a smell wafting from the oven can evoke memories. As I write, I’m snacking on one of my newest cookie recipes, a blueberry-lemon number that’s like the best part of a muffin (the top, obviously), which you’ll find on page 107.

As a writer, recipe creator and video host for NYT Cooking, I’m part of a team of talented journalists who all share a little part of ourselves through our craft. In the studio during a shoot, I am able to absorb wisdom from some of the world’s brightest culinary minds, and I still marvel at the level of attention and respect that goes into every single detail in the lifespan of a recipe. From Melissa Clark, I learned that I want my caramel to be the color of an Irish setter before I add the cream; Yewande Komolafe showed me that having one really solid shortbread recipe allows you to transform it into so many different variations (my favorite one is her fabulous Spiced Chocolate Marble Shortbread on page 164); and Sohla El-Waylly shared that the secret to the most delicious brown butter is milk powder (make her White Chocolate Macadamia Nut Cookies on page 68 and see for yourself).

Nannie taught me how to bake by feel, rather than with numbers or science. I still use a kitchen scale and a thermometer, but more often than not, my senses lead me in the kitchen. Browning butter for my Salted Butterscotch Chocolate Chunk Cookies (page 46), for example, is a total sensory experience. I rely on not just sight to know when it’s ready; I listen for the bubbles to subside and wait for my kitchen to smell almost of toasted hazelnuts. Many of our recipes provide sensory cues, and that’s to hone the practice of baking by feel.

I don’t claim to know everything about the science of cookies, though I have learned a lot through many failed experiments. We want to make sure all of our recipes are foolproof. And sometimes, it takes 12 rounds of testing to make sure that they are—not just for me, but also for our users at home. I know how special a cookie can be to make, give and receive, and I want the experience of baking them to be as seamless as possible. I know this instills confidence in our home cooks, because I am one, and because I read about your experiences every single day in the comments on NYT Cooking, YouTube and Instagram.

This is a book for anyone who has ever had a strong emotional response to a cookie. It’s for every level of home baker. For the chocolate-obsessed and those who love cinnamon. It’s for the baking curious and the full-on holiday baking experts. Whether you pine after thin and crispy cookies, you want all the ooeygooey recipes or you just like eating dough straight from the fridge (I respect you and I am you), we’ve got you covered.

Many of the 100 cookie recipes in this book are dear to me and have earned a spot in my normal rotation. When baking for my own enjoyment, I usually prefer the path of least resistance—from mixing bowl to my mouth in as little time as possible. If you can relate, you will love the Rum-Buttered Almond Cookies on page 201—trust me. That said, as a Leo, I want to impress people, so we have recipes if you’re looking for a project, too, like the Italian Rainbow Cookies on page 243 and the Homemade Pocky on page 135. I make Eric Kim’s fabulous Gochujang Caramel Cookies (page 147) basically any time I’m going to a picnic because they’re the perfect recipe to make everyone go gaga.

And then there are those that remain classics for a reason: Our Classic Oatmeal-Raisin Cookies on page 56 have been my gold-standard recipe for about as long as I can remember. Don’t just take my word for it—take the word of the nearly 6,000 home cooks who have given it a pristine 5-star rating. Our readers are discerning, which is why throughout this book you will also find real comments from members of our NYT Cooking community, to inspire your cookie choice. If you’re still feeling a little decision fatigue, see the guide on page 12, which highlights recipes for sudden cravings and special occasions.

In these pages, there is a cookie for every moment and every mood. You absolutely deserve a cookie.