A Devil's Dozen

Meg called the class room to order and waited for everyone to take their seats.

“Please thank your parents for the wonderful cookies they sent. After everyone has sampled them, we’ll vote for the best cookie.”

The young students murmured approval of the sweet feast in which they were about to indulge.

Meg continued, “You can vote for three favorites. Or you can cast three votes for one special cookie. I’ll tabulate the votes. And next week we’ll have a run-off of the top three against my favorite recipe.”

Cindy assisted in handing out the paper ‘ballots,’ for favorite cookie.

Meg knew the vote would only be a popularity contest. But it would also be a ‘teachable moment,’ a chance to introduce democratic concepts to her students. And have fun too. She took pleasure in returning them home with gargantuan sugar rushes. Just in time for dinner.

“Now please let everyone try all the cookies. You may really love a particular treat, but only take one of each. There are enough for all if we share.”

The students lined up at the counter. “Take a paper plate and one cookie from each sheet. Taste them all and then vote.”

She planned to bake her mother’s secret recipe. She had won baking awards with it at county fairs over twenty years. Meg only had to remember how it all went together. She couldn’t believe her mother never wrote the recipe down.

Why would someone let their legacy die? That’s what Mama did. And now it’s cookie season. You know, Christmas. Meg forgot the key ingredient that set her cookies apart.

The parents had delivered a variety. Chocolate chip cookies had three entries (one of which looked commercially baked). Traditional sugar cookies and oatmeal raisin each had two. The balance were ginger cookies, macaroons and a peanut butter confection. One looked to be not a cookie but a block of solid sugar. Yum.

Eleven batches in all. A ‘devil’s dozen’ according to her mother. So named because a short dozen always led to suspicions of cheating. Meg had seen disputes almost come to blows over a missing cookie. She preferred children acting like adults way beyond the opposite set-up.

Working with kids in such cases proved simple. Sugar fueled fisticuffs were rare. But when money, pride and prestige were at stake, watch out for adults. She felt blessed never to have seen actual weapons drawn. But sharp tongues were ever ready.

The decibel level rose in the classroom as the kids snacked. She poured them milk. She reminded them to vote for their favorite cookies.

Wally’s target of choice, red-haired Cindy’s voice wailed above the din.

Meg approached them. “What’s up guys?”

They protested as one. She told him to go first.

“Cinnamon keeps bugging me.”

“Do not! He’s…”

“One at a time, Cindy. About what?”

“She says I took too many cookies... And I didn’t.”

“How many did you take?”

“He took twelve!”

“I took eleven. Like you told us.”

Meg sighed. “How many do you have, Cindy?” She presented her plate with ten cookies on it. “Ten… And you haven’t eaten any?” Cindy shook her head.

“It’s interesting that the missing cookie is from the selection your father brought. I’m not saying you took too many, but if someone did, Wally, they risk losing votes because not everyone got to try them.”

“But I didn’t!”

“I don’t know if you did or not. But to ensure an honest election, it is best to let everyone vote.”

Both children felt affirmed despite being unsure of the principles involved.

“By the way, Wally, those cookies your father brought look scrumptious. Did he bake them himself?”

Wally looked away. “I think so.”

“And they’re so perfectly formed and uniform in their shape. I’ve never seen such perfect home-baked cookies.”

“Yeah, he got ‘em… I mean made ‘em last night.”

~

Meg stayed late to clean up. The mass of swept-up crumbs told her the cookies weren’t that popular.

“Some people vote with their feet. Others with their pocketbooks. Kids vote with their mouths.”

She tallied the ballots. Warren’s oatmeal raisin, Molly’s ginger cookies, and Wally’s chocolate chips were the hits.

She wracked her brain for the forgotten ingredient.

At home, she set out everything she could remember, flour, butter, chopped nuts, molasses, chocolate chips, cinnamon... She baked a batch. Acceptable, yet lacking a certain something.

She flipped through her mother’s recipe book. Hand-written cooking hints strained the binding ‘til it cracked. There, Meg found a childhood photo of herself. In her mother’s distinctive hand, the inscription on the back read, ‘My Meggie, the world’s best secret ingredient.’

Meg wondered, ‘Meggie? Secret ingredient? What…?’

She started a batch. Rummaging in the cupboard led to her mother’s old pepper mill. ‘Nutmeg. A pinch to enhance the flavors. But not enough to betray its presence…’ Her mother’s voice returned with the secret.

~

Meg arrived at school early to prep the party. She wanted perfection. She laid out the most popular cookies and an extra batch of her mother’s. There was no doubt they would take the day.

She placed ballots for the final vote.

Students trickled in, some accompanied by parents who introduced themselves. They were pleased to contribute to the bake-off.

Wally’s father, Chip, surprised Meg. Dressed in a suit and tie, he seemed the antithesis of his rambunctious son.

Chip spoke to her confidentially. “Wally said you have a… ah, complaint?”

“Not at all. They’re popular, and delicious.” He waited. “In fact, the dispute arose over concern a student took more than their share.”

“That’s it?”

“That… and I wondered, being so popular, if they weren’t… a brand named cookie?”

He paused. “You must have a very discerning palette… Ms…?”

“Call me Meg.”

“I confess that between work and my non-existent cooking skills… I’m busted. I bought packaged cookies so Wally could fulfill his assignment.”

“That makes sense, Chip. Thanks for your honesty. But the rules of the bake-off…”

“Wait. You make it sound like… Wally didn’t cheat, Meg.”

“Of course. I didn’t say that. But the contest is for home-baked cookies. No one can compete against…”

“But…”

“If everyone brought store bought cookies… what fun would…?”

“Wally didn’t… and I certainly don’t expect to win… I couldn’t care less if you disqualify the cookies…” Meg tried to stop him. “But could we avoid embarrassing Wally?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t. That is the last thing…” They both relaxed somewhat. “…And please don’t misunderstand. They’re delicious. They made the final round. But I need to be fair…”

“Obviously…”

“Tell you what. Let’s carry on as planned and pit Wally’s entry against my ‘award winning’ home-baked cookies.”

“Wow…”

“Family recipe… Let the kids decide the winner.”

“I can’t argue with that…”

Meg excused herself and got the party going. There were games. And the children sang for the parents. As before, the children took a single sample from each cookie sheet. But now they had only one vote to cast.

Parents tried cookies too. But they didn’t vote. Several of them asked Meg for the recipe though.

Chip endorsed her cookies without qualification. “I’m not trying to schmooze you, Meg. These are amazing! I’m inspired to start baking myself.” He grabbed another. “May I sample another?”

Some parents gave him a look.

Cindy and Aggie tallied the ballots. Wally stood aside his father. “I voted for our cookies, Dad.”

Meg’s cookies won by a landslide. Everyone applauded and toasted her with a raised a glass of milk.