As a child, I spent a good amount of time a few floors down in the apartment of my mom's best friend Lisa. Her daughter Anna and I were roughly the same age, and we passed countless afternoons pretending we were at the Zoo, and dumping all of her toys in the tub so they could "swim."Before they moved I had some pretty good memories there, from shattering their life size mirror as an infant to getting caught attempting to put mascara on my 6 year old friend. Lisa used to always make the most delicious, buttery, just something so perfect and not ordinary at all oatmeal cookies in the whole entire world. And who knows what was in them, since her kids were strictly allergic to dairy and eggs and nuts and unfortunately many other things, but you can't feel too bad, because they got to have those cookies in their house.
Only after I grew to love cooking did I wake up one morning, and I mean this as literally as possible, the memory of Lisa's oatmeal cookies- no, drops, since they never ever flattened out (that was the glory of them, you see)- popped into my head. I bothered my mom to ask for the recipe for weeks and weeks until finally did she comply, and days later I got to baking.
They flattened; and my face accompanied them as the image of the perfectly round and puffed cookies I snuck from the kitchen years ago (the truth finally comes out) faded. Maybe I built my expectations to high? Or, maybe it just wasn't the right recipe that she thought of? Of course I was so absent minded that when I saw the name of the recipe, "Lacy" Oatmeal Cookies, I was ignorant enough to think that the cookies had some long history and that Lacy was a person. And then my mom informed me, as I took them out of the oven, that Lacy, simply, is a type of cookie. Though they were good, I could not help but feel disappointed because I do love my cookies more on the ooey-gooey brownie side, and these were more crispy and delicate. So I dipped them in melted Nutella.