high-bar baking

The regular sugar cookie is humble. I had an ex who didn’t get it. “Why’s it called a sugar cookie? All cookies have sugar, it’s a ridiculous name!” 

Sugar’s the feature, of course, the reason we all came calling. Unlike all the other cookies, the sugar cookie doesn’t have anything else to its name. It isn’t sexy, it doesn’t have chocolate or browned butter or lemon zest. It doesn’t crumble like shortbread or snap like brittle. On a plate, the sugar cookie gets taken last. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.

But I finally figured out what makes the sugar cookie perfect, and it isn’t the sugar (or the frosting; that’s a different kind of sugar cookie, folks!). It took me too long, but after journeying through the valley of the shadow of Red Velvet, I know what it is. It’s acid. 

Sarah’s Sugar Cookies look normal, but they are not. She sneaks some cream of tartar into them, and that’s what I’ve always been looking for. The sugar cookie of my childhood did it with salt, and this one does it with acid — contrast. We all know what too much sugar is like, and unless you’re seven and it’s October 31st, we don’t want it. We crave balance. We want our sugar tamed. Lemonade isn’t popular because it’s cold. It’s sour and it’s sweet, and we can’t stop coming back for more. 

So I won’t make the mistake of serving this cookie next to anything chocolate again (we can’t help ourselves), but I won’t quit making it.

Here’s to balance. 

I wonder if it’s real.