Cowboy Cookies -- Made for the Boy Who Is Becoming a Soldier

Sofia turns thirteen on July 2. Thirteen. A teenager. My bakery girl, my dough whisperer, my tiny CEO in a flour-dusted apron, is becoming a teenager, and the transition is visible — not in the baking (the baking is ageless; Sofia has been baking like a forty-year-old since she was eleven) but in the other things, the human things: the opinions about clothing, the awareness of boys (which she dismisses with the efficiency of a woman who has no time for anything that doesn't involve yeast), the phone that is suddenly always in her hand, the Instagram that is suddenly about more than bakery photographs.

I gave her the birthday gift early — again, because I cannot wait — and this year it is not an apron but a key. A key to the bakery. An actual key that opens the actual door. She held it and looked at it and looked at me and didn't say anything for ten seconds, which is the longest Sofia has ever been silent in my presence. Then she said: "This means you trust me." I said: "This means you've earned it." She put the key on a chain. She wears it around her neck, next to the small cross that Carmen gave her for first communion. The cross and the key. God and the bakery. For Sofia, they might be the same thing.

Luis Jr. has two weeks. Fourteen days. He is packing — not physically, not yet, but mentally. He is organizing his room, throwing away things a boy keeps and a man doesn't: old homework, posters, the trophies from youth basketball that he won at twelve. He is curating. He is deciding what to take to basic (almost nothing — the Army provides) and what to leave behind (almost everything — the boy remains in the room while the man goes to the base). I watch him pack from the hallway and I don't enter because the packing is private, the way grieving is private, the way leaving is private. Some rooms you stand outside of. Some packing you witness from the door.

I made tamales. Not for an order. Not for a holiday. Just because. Just because Luis Jr. loves my tamales and in fourteen days he will eat mess hall food, and mess hall tamales are not my tamales, and my tamales are not Rosa's tamales but they are close, and close is what I have, and what I have is what I give. I made two hundred. He will take none to basic. But the memory of two hundred tamales made on a Tuesday in June by a mother who is losing her son to the Army — that memory will travel in his body, in the calories that built the muscles that will carry the rucksack, in the fat that will keep him warm at Fort Sill in July, and the memory is the tamale, and the tamale is the love.

Camila asked why Luis Jr. is throwing things away. I said: "He's getting ready." She said: "Ready for what?" I said: "The Army." She said: "Will the Army bring him back?" I said: "Yes. He'll be at Fort Bliss. Twenty minutes away." She said: "Twenty minutes is far." She is five. She is right. Twenty minutes is far when you are five and your big brother is the one leaving, and the leaving, even to twenty minutes, is a wound that no distance measurement can bandage.

I made the tamales for Luis Jr. because that is what my hands knew to do. But after two hundred tamales, my hands still weren’t finished — they needed one more thing, something he could hold in his palm and carry in his pocket if the Army let him, something that tasted like home and also like the wide, sturdy, going-somewhere kind of love a boy needs when he is becoming a man. Cowboy cookies. That is what I made next. Because a cowboy leaves, and a cowboy comes back, and in between there is something tough and sweet keeping him on his feet.

Cowboy Cookies

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 12 min | Total Time: 32 min | Servings: 36 cookies

Ingredients

• 2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 tsp baking soda
• 1/2 tsp baking powder
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1 tsp ground cinnamon
• 1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
• 1 cup granulated sugar
• 1 cup packed light brown sugar
• 2 large eggs
• 2 tsp pure vanilla extract
• 2 cups old-fashioned rolled oats
• 1 cup sweetened shredded coconut
• 1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
• 1 cup chopped pecans

Instructions

1. Preheat the oven. Heat your oven to 350°F. Line two large baking sheets with parchment paper and set aside.
2. Whisk the dry ingredients. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, and cinnamon until evenly combined. Set aside.
3. Cream the butter and sugars. In a large bowl using a hand mixer or stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the softened butter, granulated sugar, and brown sugar on medium speed for 3 to 4 minutes until light and fluffy.
4. Add eggs and vanilla. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Mix in the vanilla extract. Scrape down the sides of the bowl as needed.
5. Combine wet and dry. Reduce the mixer speed to low and gradually add the flour mixture, mixing just until no dry streaks remain. Do not overmix.
6. Fold in the mix-ins. Using a sturdy spatula or wooden spoon, fold in the oats, shredded coconut, chocolate chips, and pecans until evenly distributed throughout the dough.
7. Scoop and space. Drop rounded tablespoons of dough onto the prepared baking sheets, spacing them about 2 inches apart. For thicker cookies, chill the scooped dough for 20 minutes before baking.
8. Bake. Bake one sheet at a time on the center rack for 11 to 13 minutes, until the edges are set and lightly golden but the centers still look slightly underdone. They will firm up as they cool.
9. Cool completely. Let the cookies rest on the baking sheet for 5 minutes before transferring to a wire rack. Cool completely before storing in an airtight container at room temperature for up to one week.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 188 | Protein: 2g | Fat: 10g | Carbs: 24g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 88mg