Miles and Miles from Slice & Bake

Even when people want to move abroad, they will find themselves homesick for certain comforts that are unavailable in their new home. For me, it was warm-from-the-oven chocolate chip cookies. I always enjoyed making my own, but mixing up a batch in Rome became somewhat of a scavenger hunt. 

Things may have changed in the last few years. It’s possible the Pillsbury Doughboy has received a visa and is stocking Slice & Bake products in Roman dairy cases, but in 2001 I had to make these delectable treats from scratch. 

One day while walking in Trastevere, I decided to whip up a batch of chocolate chip cookies when I got home, but I was missing a few ingredients. I ducked into a new-to-me shop which at first glance wasn’t clear what they were selling. There were some comestibles stacked on a couple of shelves for purchase, and with dough rolled out on a table, it seemed they might be making pasta or pizza dough. As I looked around confused, a man wearing a white apron greeted me from behind the counter. I asked if he had farina, flour. He paused for a moment, and then said, “Si.” 

He then went into the back and reappeared a minute later presenting me with four pounds or so of flour in a clear plastic baggie closed with a twist tie. He charged me about 50 cents. 

Later, I told my Italian friend Cristina that I didn’t know that you could buy flour that way, and she said she didn’t either. He was being kind to me – a complete stranger and a foreigner to boot. 

A little further up the street I stopped in a mini grocery on Via Natale del Grande. I needed chocolate chips but they are not a staple like they are in the United States. This was easily overcome though. I bought several Milka chocolate bars cheerfully wrapped in purple packaging. Chopping the bars into chunks to create gourmet-style chips for my cookies would do nicely. 

I stopped at Bruna and Alberto’s produce stand in San Cosimato to get a few things for dinner and noticed they had eggs that day. I had never seen them here before though. I wondered how he would sell them to me because they were just laid out with no carton to protect them, not to mention there was no refrigeration. I asked for a half dozen of the brown orbs. Alberto took a paper bag and gingerly put the eggs in, rolled the top closed and handed me the bag. Okaaaay, I guess I’ll be extra careful carrying these home, I thought. 

When I got home, I had to let the butter sit out for a while to soften. We didn’t have a microwave (much to my husband’s chagrin) to hasten the process. We also didn’t have a mixer. This was a “furnished” apartment intended for college students. No need for fancy cooking appliances. I took out the largest plastic mixing bowl we had and started measuring the dry ingredients. When I started to cream the butter and sugar together, it was a lot of work to do by hand, but the windows were open, and a cool breeze blew in fluttering the curtains. The sounds of neighbors’ dishes clinking and someone’s radio playing Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” distracted me from my tired arm whipping the batter. I’d rest a minute then go back to happily folding in the flour, chopping chocolate bars and tasting. Mmmmm mmmmmm! There’s nothing like chocolate chip cookie dough, but this was better than any I had made before. 

I preheated our tiny gas oven to what I thought was 350 degrees. There was no way of knowing what temperature it really was because there were no numbers or letters anywhere around the knob. A good bit of trial and error went into that. After a few burnt batches, I had a better idea and used a pencil to mark the correct angle for the future. 

When I came back to live in the States again, making cookies with a mixer felt lazy. Sure, it’s convenient to buy all the ingredients in one spot, but every once in a while I’ll skip the Tollhouse Morsels and reach for a few candy bars. I’ll leave my heavy-duty mixer under the cabinet and stir up a batch of cookies by hand. It’s just more fun sometimes. 

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Have you Read My Book? If you enjoy my blog, maybe you’d like to read my memoir about the two years I lived in Rome. Times New Roman: How We Quit Our Jobs, Gave Away Our Stuff & Moved to Italy is available from libraries and bookstores everywhere. Just ask for it if you don’t see it on the shelf.