Cookies

Dear Daniel/Dan,

Congratulations on qualifying for the Finals. I knew you would. There is that extra something in you that makes people win competitions and win hearts. Do not get worked up with these words. I do not want to put any extra pressure on you. It is what I always felt while working by your side through the levels of the competition. This is my opinion, and if it adds a little to your confidence, I will only be happy. If it irritates you, ignore it.

Probably you are mad at me. Probably you are disgusted with me. But I had to leave. It was getting overwhelming for me. People would say this was unprofessional, and I agree. Who quits such a big competition? Who qualifies in the first place? I was lucky to have got the spot. I still feel I am the biggest fool to have wasted that opportunity. But I had my reasons.

You would say there is nothing more important than one’s life goals. You would say the little awkwardnesses, little insults, and setbacks are part of learning. I can’t agree more. And I envy you for your focus and determination. I envy your ability to persevere, your ability to put your priorities before everything else, and I know you will be successful because of them. I wish I could be like you. But I am not.

When they teamed me up with you during the first week of the competition, I knew you were disappointed. You had never been able to say this. You were too polite for that. Even later, when things got easy between us, it was the friendship that kept you from telling me the truth. But I knew. I always knew. I could not count my blessings more for getting teamed up with a talented chef like you. I reached up to the quarters because you were there beside me. Otherwise, I would not have cleared the qualifiers even. (Don’t disagree. I know this is the truth.)

Then things started getting awkward for me. I thought it would be in the best interest of both of us if I quit. You disagreed, but I could not stay. Sorry about that. Quitting was the best possible thing I could do at that moment. I could not drag you down with me. Friends, there have told me that you are now teamed up with Shein. She is one hell of a chef. She also had the misfortune of getting teamed up with a lousy partner, and she got knocked out. Now that she is back by wild card entry and teamed with you, you two are a perfect match. I agree with her that this should have been the arrangement from the beginning. (I hope she will be less angry with me now. Laugh it out.)

As for me, I am doing okay. I am almost done letting the reality settle that I did actually quit. Participating in Chef Nation was a valuable experience for me. If nothing else, the competition made me realize that I am good at baking. You said it too. Someday I hope to become a pastry chef. Do not worry about me now.

In a week, you have your Finals. Thank you so much for inviting me as your guest. I have thought about it a lot, Dan. Please don’t be mad. I probably will not be able to attend the Finals as your guest. I will see when they broadcast. I promise. I wish all the very best to you and Shein. Win it for me. If things go wrong by any chance, and you don’t, it does not matter at all. You will still be the winner for me. You already know that I believe you are the best in there.

There is something very different I want to tell you now. It is somewhat the reason why I decided to let the Finals go.

I told you about my Grandma, right? She was a great cook herself. It was she who was my inspiration for cooking and baking. She encouraged me to be a chef too. I owe it all to her. So, she had some unique recipes of her own. She never wrote those down, though, and I don’t know why I never tried writing them down either. Probably because she always told me to learn them first hand and not to write them down. The problem is, after she passed away, I ended up modifying her recipes. You know my flair for experimentation, don’t you? I drove you mad with those. Now I can understand why keeping it simple is good sometimes. Life is too complicated, and we need those simplicities in between to keep us sane.

I miss her, Dan. I miss working beside you. I miss the competition. And I miss her cookies. Those cookies were comfort food for me. They gave me peace. They reminded me of her, of a comfort zone that could soothe any pain. But my modified recipes lack that flavor, lack that power. I feel pathetic.

So, I tried making one of her cookies exactly the way she used to, as far as I could remember, of course. It took me two weeks to get somewhat near her. And it helped to take my mind off the competition and all the baggage that came with it.

I felt I should share the experience with you, Dan. The letter is getting long. Read it if you have time. Otherwise, read it after the Finals. But read it. It is about baking. (Something you liked me doing.) And, it is about my journey towards self-preservation.

So, on the first day, I mixed everything perfectly - one cup of all-purpose flour, sugar, exactly two eggs – one egg yolk and the other whole. I cut the chocolate chunks into perfect pieces, added the dry fruits, strawberries, blueberries, cranberries, hazelnuts, orange peels in the right amount. The baking powder and baking soda were of the exact amount to let the cookies swell. I preheated the oven adequately. And trust me, the cookies looked like darlings. I could never bake such perfect cookies at the Chef Nation. You would have been proud of me if you saw them.

But the cookies were a bit too perfect. They were not my Grandma’s cookies. I did not find solace in them.

I took a gap of two days. (You always said taking a small break is essential.) I tried to figure out what could have gone wrong. Were my Grandma’s cookies sweeter? A bit saltier? The chocolates, a bit gooier? Then I remembered, she sometimes let them brown a bit. The chocolate pieces poking out sometimes had crunchy edges. And sometimes, her dried fruits were a bit too sour. Her fruits were taken from the garden and cut and dried at home, with no added colors or flavors. I processed mine at home also, but the fruits were from the supermarkets. You are possibly laughing at me now. But trust me, Dan, even the organic fruits from Supermarkets are different from what grows in the backyard. The homegrown fruits taste different. Probably we have a special place for them in our hearts. We feel that they are our own. We wash them carefully. We admire them more, and we love them more. Could that have made the difference?

So, I went to our country house and got those homemade dried fruits from our farm. You see, I have all the time I wanted now with no competition to run me. So, don’t blame me for squandering away precious time. My uncle stays there, and he loves the country life. I asked him about Grandma’s cookies. But he is not a chef. He loves to be “The Farmer.” He could not help. But he provided me with a piece of information, that sometimes my Grandma added grounded cinnamon to her cookies. He remembered that because he hated them. (I remembered how you hate cinnamon too. Is that a boy’s thing? Or, was it random?) As for me, I definitely had forgotten the cinnamon. I had mixed it up with another of her cookies.

I returned home with the dried fruits.

This time I let the cookies brown a bit more. I let the chocolate edges go a bit crunchier. The fruits also tasted a bit sour. I added cinnamon powder too. This batch resembled hers more than the previous to certain extents, but it again could not get me the feel of my Granma.

By this time, you can guess, I had started losing my heart. You already know how impatient I can get and how easily I get disheartened. You probably had uttered “Patience” for me more times than you did in your whole life. Good that those annoying times are gone for you, and you can concentrate on your work peacefully. (I feel like an ass for having irritated you so much.)

So, I took a few days off again. And I started missing the Chef Nation. My mother came to my rescue and pulled me to the kitchen counter. She uttered the exact words that you used to say, “Brace yourself up.” Trust me. I was so stunned. It brought back the memories of us getting thrashed by Peter. The bitterness of Peter’s words started pricking me again. He insulted us so often, and you were always there to brace me up. Thanks for those words. I hope he is not giving you finalists any more tough times now.

But, for the first time, remembering Peter’s snide remarks made me more determined. “How dare he insult me with a pastry, Dan?” I used to say when my pastry would taste heavenly to everyone and like mud to him. You used to laugh as I sulked. I was so naïve. But now, when I think, his remarks pushed me to perfect my art. Maybe one day, I will thank him for those acid comments, as you have predicted. But not today. I am still not ready for that.

Okay, back to context. This time, I was determined to get my Granma back. When I started measuring the ingredients, my mother was watching. She made a passing comment. She told me that Granma never measured ingredients so correctly. She threw things together in the mixing bowl. Can you understand the shock I got? How can a bake be perfect without perfect measurements? It sounded insane. But I decided to give it a try. I chucked my cup measures and measured the flour and sugar and everything else with a teacup. I added the dry fruits from the country. I chopped the chocolate unevenly. I ground the cinnamon half-heartedly to have some slightly chunky pieces. I added two whole duck eggs. (She loved duck eggs, so probably she might have used them. What do you think?) I let them be in the oven a little longer than my comfort. And when they came out, bingo! Sitting on the baking tray were my Granma’s cookies. It brought back memories of childhood when I still had time to watch her bake the goodies. My mother was so elated, she broke one hot cookie and burnt her tongue. (You are probably getting from where I got my impatience? Haha!) As far as her opinion goes, the cookies were perfect. I waited for the cookies to cool down before I tried tasting them. I was a bit tensed too.

What do you think, Dan? Do you think they tasted perfect?

Let me tell you. I broke one big piece. Big because this was how I used to have her cookies. Mouthful. I closed my eyes and put it in the mouth. They tasted the best, Dan. The best so far. The measurements were not perfect. The timing was not perfect. The chocolate chunks were not perfect. But the cookies tasted so good. Almost perfect.

And almost because I still could not feel her in the cookies. Something was missing. I went out of the house for a walk. I had thought I was good at baking, yet I could not recreate my Granma’s favorite cookie. It was so disheartening. I kept blaming myself for not being disciplined, for not being systematic, for not remembering the recipe correctly, for being the lazy ass who never wrote the recipes down. Then I started thinking; probably there was a secret ingredient which I never knew.

I thought and thought and thought. At some point, fiddling with my phone, I reread your invitation mail. It felt different this time. Different from the hundred other times when I had read it before. Then I thought about my time at Chef Nation. So many people made it so special. The realization came then that the missing ingredient of the cookies was my Granma. Probably the fact that she baked them made the cookies so special? What do you think, Dan? Can it be that? I will never get to know. But I realized that people are important in our lives. They make all the difference. They make things more lovable, more cherishable. But they also unknowingly make us dependent on them. Exactly the way I am attached to my Granma. The way I hung on to you during the competition. It did hurt to let you go. I went through your mail again. It made me want to go to the Finals. Then I thought I could not let myself miss you like I missed my Granma. (I cannot keep giving you hiccups. It won’t be right on a friend’s part, isn’t it?)

So, Dan, I am sorry, I cannot keep the promise of meeting you at the Finals. Maybe one day I will meet you somewhere. But not this time. It is self-preservation. Win the competition. Make me proud. I wish you all the very best for your cooking.

Ever yours,

Riona (Rio)

p.s. The box contains the cookies I baked. A few from each batch and have included the recipes too. They will stay safe with you – a little something to make you remember me. Maybe you will bake those cookies one day and give them the Dan flavor. Maybe one day I will come to get the recipes from you. Till then, stay blessed, stay happy.

Oh, say hi to Shein for me.