Chocolate Chunk Pecan Cookies

and a personal story

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If I ever write a memoir, I think it might be titled, “My Life, in Cookies”. Somehow, it seems like some big moments in my life have been punctuated by cookies. (“Turkeys in August” is another one I’ve considered, but that’s a different story.)

The very first recipe I ever wanted to make was a cookie recipe that came from the Weekly Reader, which was a little newspaper you got in kindergarten. I could barely read, but I really wanted to make these cookies, and I am pretty sure that my mother complied. That was just the beginning.

There’s a reason that cookies are usually most kids’ first recipes to cook themselves— they’re easy and accessible and offer instant gratification, as well as being forgiving when it comes to rudimentary baking skills. It’s also instantly obvious to a kid that you can make people happy by giving them warm cookies. I learned this early on, and baked cookies often, mostly trying to improve on the Toll House recipe on the back of the bag. I loved eating cookies myself of course, and still do, whenever possible.

One of my biggest warm cookie fans was my sister, Nancy. 

Let me pause a moment to tell you that my heart is racing as I prepare to write these next sentences, because this part of my life is not really something I have discussed publicly, yet many people know my story. When I began writing this newsletter, I knew I wanted to write more personal stories, because somehow this just seemed like the right place and time to do it. The past year has me feeling very nostalgic about life in general, because it seems pretty clear that our existence will be different than it was before the pandemic. It has me looking back a lot, rather than looking forward.

When people figure out, as they often do, that my sister grew up to be the notorious Nancy Spungen, the first question they ask me is, “Were you close?”. This is a hard question to answer, and I am never sure what people seek to learn from the answer. For me, the word “sister” is loaded. The only one I ever had was a terrible role model for sisters in general and for me in particular. I desperately wanted a big sister that I could look up to, but I never really got one. I’m always a bit jealous of people with “normal” sisters, and I look for true sisterhood wherever I can find it. I still don’t know how to answer that perplexing question. So I won’t. But maybe the answer can be found in the little story I’m about to tell you.

Nancy already had an attitude at 9 years old. A glimpse of suburbia before the green lawns were planted.

When my sister still lived at home, which was until I was in fifth grade and she in seventh, she was a happy recipient of my baking experiments, though she was not happy in general. To say she was a problem child would be an understatement. She eventually went away to a boarding school for “emotionally disturbed” kids, which was not only intended to help her, but also to shield my brother and me from her, so we could have a more “normal” childhood, which, miraculously, we kind of did. 

Once she lived away from us, I remember making cookies for her at least once. I packed them in a tin, and then packed the tin in a larger box using popcorn as cushioning and then shipped them to her at school.  I think this was the only way or best way I knew to try to connect with her.

Fast forward a few years. (I’m skipping over a lot here, but those are other stories for other days.) It’s my last summer living at home before starting art school in the fall. Nancy was coming home to pay a visit on her way home from London and on her way to New York. I was nervous to see her. I was nervous because I knew she had changed. I knew from reading about her in occasional newspaper articles out of London, where she had been living and wreaking havoc in the burgeoning punk rock scene. But mostly because she was bringing her boyfriend Sid home to meet us on that humid August day. They weren’t yet known as “Sid & Nancy”. Not until their demented Romeo and Juliet romance played out just a few months later did that name start to take hold. Then they were just a hapless almost-famous couple known for their drug-taking and also for their devotion to each other. Inexplicable to me was his growing fame as a bassist when he could hardly stand up.

You didn’t see people that looked like them in our suburban neighborhood of manicured lawns and perfectly asphalted driveways, so the neighbors definitely took notice when my father escorted them into our house, having picked them up from the train or the airport (or wherever they were coming from). This neighborhood spying adding to my discomfort and embarrassment.

So, what had I done to prepare for this visit? I made cookies, of course! I guess I did it as much to soothe myself as to give Nancy something to show that I loved her. But when the two of them showed up in our typical suburban home, my offering seemed absurd. We tried to have a “normal’ visit with them, mostly to appease my sister, who seemed to think this was a perfectly ordinary thing to do. We pretended not to notice as Sid nodded off (presumably from his last dose of methadone), his lit cigarette precariously close to the white couch they were sitting on. She did most of the talking — no, wait, all of the talking. When they left the next day, they took the cookies with them, which I’m sure they enjoyed in their room at the Chelsea Hotel. Who knows?

Despite feeling foolish about this misplaced gesture, I continued making cookies for people. A few years after my sister’s lurid demise (and Sid’s too), I dropped out of college and eventually moved to New York. That’s when I started making elaborate cookie boxes every year around the holidays, as much to improve my baking skills as to give a gift that I could not only afford, but that had real meaning both for me and for the recipient. Because this seemed to work— people always appreciated them, and remembered them, and me— I never ended my love affair with cookies.

A couple of years ago, I started off my YouTube cookie video for NYT Cooking (if you’ve never seen it, please watch) by saying that a box of cookies is the very, very, very, very best gift you can give someone. All true! I do still believe this — despite my awkward attempt to connect to a sister I really didn’t know very well.

The recipe I am sharing with you today is an adaptation of the ubiquitous Toll House cookie, which was published in my first book, Recipes: A Collection for the Modern Cook. This particular rendition was adapted from my friend Carolynn Carreño for that book, but of course I have adapted it yet again for you (I can never leave well enough alone). I’ve halved the batch, since small-batch baking seems like the way to go in these days of smaller gatherings or none at all. Baking smaller batches is also as a way to try to rein in those pandemic pounds but still indulge a little: everything in moderation, including moderation, right? (Thank you, Oscar Wilde.) I’ve also changed chocolate chips to chopped chocolate (but either works) and added a little flaky salt to the top, because why not? The method of melting the butter rather than creaming it makes for a denser and chewier cookie, and the warmth of the batter when you fold in the chocolate streaks the dough with chocolate, making it a double-chocolate cookie. It is also extremely easy to whip together, since a mixer is unnecessary. 

Make them — now! — for someone you love. I’m pretty sure they’ll appreciate it.

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Chocolate Chunk Pecan Cookies

click here for a printable version

Makes 16 large cookies (about 12 without nuts)

This cookie dough is incredibly fast and easy to put together, and no mixer is necessary. Fold the chocolate in when the butter mixture is warm, but not too hot, so that some of it melts into the dough streaking it with chocolate, but not melting the chunks completely. 

½ cup/55 g pecan halves, optional
1 cup plus 1 tablespoon/137 g all-purpose flour
¼ teaspoon kosher salt
¼ teaspoon baking soda
½ cup/113 g unsalted butter (1 stick), cut up
1/2 cup plus 1 tablespoon/120g dark brown sugar
1/4 cup/50 g granulated sugar
2 large egg yolks
1 teaspoon vanilla paste or extract
1 heaping cup/150 g chopped bittersweet chocolate 
Flaky salt, optional

1. If using the pecans, heat the oven to 350°F. Spread nuts on a small baking sheet and toast, shaking the pan once or twice until fragrant and slightly darker, 8 to 10 minutes. Transfer to a small bowl to cool.

2. In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, salt, and baking soda and set aside. In a small saucepan, melt the butter. Whisk in both sugars until smooth.

3. Add the egg yolks and vanilla and whisk in quickly until well-combined. Pour into the flour mixture and stir until just combined and no dry spots remain. While the mixture is still warm (but not too hot), fold in the chocolate and the nuts. Let sit 30 seconds to soften the chocolate, and fold once or twice more to streak the dough with chocolate. The dough will be very loose. Transfer to a sheet of plastic wrap or an airtight container and chill until firm, several hours or overnight.

4. Heat oven to 325°F and position a rack in the center of the oven. Let dough soften while oven is heating, until malleable. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper. Break or cut off dough into golf-ball size chunks, and using your hands, shape into rough mounds. Place 3 inches apart on the baking sheet and bake 10 minutes. Remove from oven, sprinkle sparingly with flaky salt, if using, and bake 2 to 3 minutes longer until set and dry looking on the surface, but still soft. Cool on the baking sheets for 2 to 3 minutes, and transfer to a wire rack. Serve warm if possible!