Dolly Bars

I like my blog stats. I’m always interested to see where people are coming from or what search words have led them to my little site. I am usually grateful to anyone and everyone who has linked up to my blog and I am quick to investigate a referrer when I’m getting more than a handful of hits coming in from a particular place.

So, when I saw I was getting visitors from a bulletin board on the America’s Test Kitchen website, I got curious.

I wish I hadn’t.

It was a discussion linking back to my rhubarb crumb cake post (which seemed odd, how did they even find that one particular post) with the subject of: Okay, guys, am I the only one who thinks this photo is great?

At first I thought she was referring to my rhubarb and/or cake photos, but it turned out she was referring to my blog’s header. Me and my red patent shoes and my red mixing bowl.

There were a few nondescript responses. And then the original poster said something that left me feeling like ice. I think it’s a good thing that I don’t have a photographic memory because it’s probably best I don’t remember the comment exactly. Instead, I’ll give you a summary: It looks as if this woman and her “pleasantly plump” calves (because that I do remember) has eaten everything before it could go in the oven and has had to lie down to digest it all.

And then, further down, another comment that struck even deeper.

No (Original Poster), when I opened the link and saw that across the top, I thought “Wa-huh? Did she get murdered while she was stirring her cookie dough? Or did she go into a diabetic coma from too much sugar? Or is she trying to look alluring with that red plastic bowl from Target and the red plastic shoes from Payless?” I couldn’t quite figure out the point of the picture.

It certainly does not make me want to eat….her cooking.

I felt ill to read that.

I have long known the Internet to be a place where meanness spreads easily. After all, I’ve read the comments on some of my articles for the Herald. People are quick to criticize or make mean comments. Anonymity, no doubt, plays a significant role in how people choose to comport themselves online.

And I know there is a valuable lesson in here about paying attention to the 99 people who like you and ignoring the one critic.

But here’s the problem.

These comments from these women confirmed all the things I feared people thought about me.

The original poster later took down her comments, editing the first post to say she had never intended to offend anyone. My initial reaction was to be appreciative that she seemed sorry. But, after a few minutes, I realized that her edited comment was just as strange. How did she not think people would be offended? Did she believe her comments were being made in a vacuum and the object of her criticisms would not find out? Likely, yes. But she was mistaken.

More than 60 people visited my site because of that bulletin board discussion. I have no idea what the others thought, but I can safely say that I’d prefer to get my traffic some other way.

And yes, a small part of me thinks they would probably be less mean if they had a nice slice of cake once in a while.

So, on that note, (she says, clapping her hands together), that is enough time wasted on that. Let’s eat something delicious!

Dolly Bars I

For elective choices in Grade 8 at high school (because there was no junior high in Vancouver and I’ll spare you the woes of being a 12-year-old girl going to school with 18-year-old boys who would never look at a kid like me) one could decide between food/wood/metal and home ec (food and sewing). I had no interest in working around giant saws that would probably take my finger off, so I chose home ec.

I don’t remember many recipes worth saving, except baby cheesecakes that used vanilla wafers for a crust and these things called Dream Bars. I kept the cheesecake recipe but have no idea where the one for the bars went, which is too bad because I think about them pretty often. (As in, more often than really is reasonable to reminisce about a baked good.) They were sort of chewy-gooey with a shortbread type crust and a sweet layer on top. I think there were pecans involved. And chocolate chips. And that’s about all I remember. I’ve googled until the cows come home, but nothing that calls itself a “dream bar” is actually what I remember.

And then I saw Dolly Bars. They seemed a reasonable facsimile and, therefore, worth a try.

I found this recipe on Smitten Kitchen who adapted it from Homesick Texan. I didn’t notice the discrepancy in the amount of sweetened condensed milk until after it became clear this recipe was a bit of a failure for me. A little more online research showed that almost every recipe calls for an entire can of the stuff, while the one I used called for about 1/3 of a cup. My toppings didn’t really stay stuck to the graham cracker base as a result. Still tasty, but a bit of a failure. So, I’m going to try this again and use the entire can.

All the toppings

Condensed Milk II

Condensed Milk II

Dolly Bars before baking

IMGP1327

Dolly Bars II

Dolly Bars

  • 1/2 cup (1 stick) salted butter, cut into large pieces
  • 1 1/2 cups graham crackers crumbs (about 8 graham crackers, pulsed in a food processor)
  • 1 1/2 cups chocolate chips
  • 1 cup butterscotch chips
  • 1 cup shredded coconut
  • 1 cup pecans, coarsely chopped
  • 1 14 oz. can sweetened condensed milk

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Melt butter in microwave in heatproof bowl until just melted when stirred. Add graham cracker crumbs. Mix and then press evenly into the bottom of 8×8 baking pan.

Layer coconut, pecans, butterscotch and chocolate chips on top of graham cracker base. Pour sweetened condensed milk over whole mixture.

Bake in oven for 25 to 30 minutes, or until the top is light brown.

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One-Cup Cookies

I’m not sure if these are a Prairie phenomenon or if it’s coincidence that I had never heard of them before moving to Calgary.

But they showed up in the newsroom one day, courtesy of a fellow reporter, and I was intrigued. Not quite oatmeal, not quite chocolate chip, not quite peanut butter, these One-Cup Cookies are like the best combination of cookies. The baker offered up a pair of recipes to try, but they essentially boil down to the simplest of formulas: one cup of everything. (OK, obviously not the leaveners.)

Stack of One-Cup Cookies

The main difference between the two recipes is the amount of peanut butter. One calls for a cup of the stuff, the other only 3/4 of a cup. After trying both (several times), I’ve decided I like the one with less peanut butter. The taste is barely noticeable, but adds just another dimension to these cookies.

The best thing about this recipe is that it’s infinitely adaptable. Add nuts, seeds, raisins as you see fit. Don’t like cranberries? Don’t add them. Don’t want your kids hopped up on chocolate? Omit the chips. And so on.

I love the addition of cranberries, though. The play of sweet chocolate against the tang of the slightly tart of the dried fruit is really nice.

Like all cookies, the trick to keeping these chewy is to pull them out of the oven, while they’re still slightly puffed and gooey looking in just the centre. They’ll keep cooking from the residual heat even after you pull them out, but won’t get overly crisp.

Chips and Coconut

The ingredient trio

One-Cup Cookie Dough

One-Cup Cookies

  • 1 cup brown sugar
  • 1 cup white sugar
  • 1 cup butter, softened
  • 3/4 cup peanut butter
  • 2 eggs
  • 1 cup rolled outs
  • 1 1/2 cups flour
  • 1 teaspoon baking soda
  • 1 teaspoon baking powder
  • 1 cup coconut
  • 1 cup dried cranberries
  • 1 cup chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 350. Cream butter and sugars, then beat in the eggs. Add peanut butter, then dry ingredients. Drop spoonfuls onto cookie sheet. Bake for 10 minutes, until edges are golden but middles are still slightly gooey looking. Let rest on cookie sheet for a few minutes before cooling on a wire rack.

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Long Lost Cookies

Say what you will about Facebook, it reunited me with a long-lost recipe for some of the best cookies I’ve baked in a long time.

Long Lost Cookies

Of course, it’s a little more convoluted than that.

Let me try to put this in as small a nutshell as possible. Back in high school, I traveled to England for six weeks to spend time with a friend of mine. The summer was pretty awesome: we snuck into pubs with our pitiful fake IDs that should not have helped us gain entry anywhere (Seriously, mine literally said: Canadian I.D.), visited London and Stonehenge, spent a week in a cottage in a seaside town in Wales and basically spent a lot of time hanging out without much parental supervision. But back in Vancouver, a girl whom I had called a best friend (and whose friend we were visiting in England) essentially severed our friendship. Since she had been friends with the girl in England much longer than I, I pulled back.

And then, 15 years later, she found me on Facebook. Did I still make those famous cookies? she queried. Um, what cookies?

Over the course of several e-mail conversations, she then relayed this message: I see you travel a lot. Any chance you’re coming over here any time soon? And I was.

Was I hesitant to reconnect with a person I had not seen, let alone communicated with, in more than a decade? A woman now with a husband and children who probably no longer craves Buck’s Fizz (an awful concoction of fizzy wine and orange juice that I guzzled that summer) and with whom I may no longer have anything in common? Um, yes. But then I arrived in Bristol to a Welcome Home sign coloured by her two children. I was welcomed at the dinner table like family and everything fell into place as if no time had passed other than we have grown wiser (for the most part) and can now legally buy our alcohol.

During the three days in Bristol, she pulled out of her recipe book and showed me the short list of ingredients written in my own bubbled printing that I had given her when we were still teens. I had, apparently, made these all the time. I have no recollection of them. I copied out the recipe — an odd sensation copying something written in my own hand — in my travel journal. Since then, there have been little nudges from overseas, reminding me of the recipe.

So, when a cup of butter sat softened on the counter and my plans to make a type of roll-out cookie had fallen through, it seemed only right to see just why that recipe had stood the test of time.

I am so grateful to have it, and my friend, back in my life.

Getting started

The batter

Mmmmm chocolate chips

Preparing to bake

It’s so basic that I don’t quite understand how all these dull-normal ingredients can come together to make such a thick, chewy cookie. But I’m definitely not going to lose this recipe again.

Long Lost Cookies

  • 1 cup butter
  • 2/3 cup white sugar
  • 2/3 cup brown sugar
  • 2 eggs
  • 1 tsp. vanilla
  • 1 1/2 cups flour
  • 1 tsp. salt
  • 1 tsp. baking soda
  • 2 cups oatmeal
  • 1 1/2 cups chocolate chips

(I would consider the addition of nuts or dried cranberries might be a nice touch. But this recipe is pure deliciousness as is, so don’t feel you have to experiment.)

(EDIT: Some people have wondered why there are two types of chocolate chips in my photo. The answer is, quite simply, that I had half of a bag of milk chocolate chips left over from some other baking frenzy and wanted to use them up. Though the combination was good, just use whatever you have on hand.)

Preheat oven to 350. Cream together softened butter and sugars until light. Beat in eggs and vanilla. Add flour, salt and baking soda, then oatmeal. Stir in chocolate chips (and nuts or cranberries, if desired). Bake for 10 – 12 minutes. (I like my cookies a good solid size. These ones I measured out using a mounded soup spoon and they took 12 minutes.) Let cool.

Long Lost cookies

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