TARDIS Pie, in brief, because holyhellthanksgivingisthursday

For starters, let me say that although the title of this post is "TARDIS Pie" it is no longer called that. As my brilliant beyond brilliant cousin Tom pointed out when I sent him a picture of this on Saturday night, it is, clearly, a TARTIS.

Get it? It's a TART. BUT ALSO A TARDIS.

TARTIS.

Seriously. Brilliant. I told him that I would patent it and give him a cut of the profits. It only seems fair.

AND SO. I PRESENT. FROM THE FARTHEST REACHES OF THE UNIVERSE.

TARTIS.

It's bigger on the inside. 

Now, because of time constraints (HOW many things have I got going on the stove right now? I've lost count. On the other hand, have I burnt myself yet today? No. Progress.)

TARTIS

FOR THE DOUGH

• 2 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
• 1/3 cup olive oil
• 1/2 cup water
• 1 tsp salt

FOR THE PIE/TART/TIME MACHINE CONTENTS

• 1 cup black olives, pitted
• 1/2 head of cauliflower, floret-ed
• 1 lb spinach 
• 1 small onion, chopped
• olive oil
• salt and pepper
• fresh rosemary

Make the dough first. Combine the ingredients in a small bowl and stir with a fork until it's starting to come together. Dump it out onto a floured surface and knead it until it's doughlike. 

THIS IS WHERE I HAVE A NOTE. 

My dough did not "come together" as they say. Or rather. It did. But it liked itself too much. What I'm trying to say here, dear reader, is that it became GLUE. I don't know if it was the olive oil or what, but I ended up adding about 2 more cups of whole wheat flour before I had something even remotely workable. I had envisioned a Tardis Pie much like the Witch Pie of Halloween, with the silhouette cut out of the crust and the crust stretching, golden and beautiful, from edge to edge. It became clear very rapidly that this was in no way going to happen. Not even close. Not only was it glue, it was FRAGILE GLUE. So when I finally got a relatively OK-sized circular piece and went to pick it up, it simply shredded in my fingers. 

I was sort of (read: fully) panicking at that point. The entire weekend hinged on Doctor Who and Tardis Pie, and if I didn't make this work I was going to end up in self-imposed culinary exile in the barn overnight. And it is SO COLD OUTSIDE. 

So. 

The bottom crust doesn't have to be pretty, bless it. It was fairly easy, though disheartening, to smash the dough into a roughly circular shape and then (literally) manhandle it into the pie dish and squish it around until it covered the bottom and edges. 

Not my best work. 

The TOP on the other hand. 

I approached the top crust with trepidation, and I had every reason to. It proved to be recalcitrant, intractable, and totally insane. A top crust just wasn't happening. At all. Ever. 

Desperate, now a full hour past my agenda-imposed time, and noticing that the Doctor Who reruns on in the background had taken a slightly mocking and hectoring tone, I realised the only possibility was a reverse crust pie. That is, not really a pie at all. An Open-Faced Pie. 

(I hadn't had the TARTIS conversation yet, so rather than revelatory this was just depressing.)

I forced the top crust into the largest disk I could without it self-destructing, then traced around the Tardis image with a knife. Then saying a prayer to ALL ELEVEN DOCTORS I slipped a spatula underneath it and, without breathing for I think was two full minutes, I transferred it to the top of the vegetable filling. 

It was desperate, scrappy, terrifying, and might have blown up in my face. But I went for it. And you know what? I'd like to think that's exactly what the Doctor would have done.

The filling is, by comparison, deliriuously, hysterically, wet-your-pants laughing easy. 

Heat the oil in the bottom of a dutch oven and add the onions, rosemary, salt and pepper. Cook, stirring, until the onion is soft and fragrant, about 10 minutes. Add the cauliflower and the olives and cook for about 5 minutes more until the cauliflower is beginning to turn tender. Add more olive oil if the pan becomes too dry. 

Add the spinach in handfuls, stirring well after each one and letting it cook down before you add the next batch. Spinach has the most remarkable ability reduce to a nano-fraction of its size, so no matter how much you are thinking "you want HOW MUCH in there????" it will happen. 

Pour the filling into your bottom crust (however ugly it may be) and spread it out.

Once you've painstakingly spatula-ed your dough Tardis on to the top, brush the exposed crust with olive oil  and bake at 450 degrees for about half an hour. The crust should be brown bordering on crusty brown when it's done. 

This was eaten, as planned, watching the 50th Anniversary Episode, and I must say that neither the television NOR the Tartis disappointed. What happened with the crust I don't know, but it ended up being like an olive oil biscuit. It was very crumbly and flaky, and had absorbed the flavours of the pie filling, so it was sort of like a spinachy, oniony, olivey biscuity-y thing. Which. 

So TARTIS may not have been as I envisioned, but it was not an unmitigated disaster, and the weekend was saved. Kind of like the Doctor saved . . . you know. . . everyone. Again. Because he's awesome. 

Sigh. 

Now dear reader, there are blue cheese thumbprints to be taken out of the oven, beans to check on, and shopping lists to update. But I will say that I'm on schedule at the moment, and have completed the Monday (blue) tasks and the Tuesday (purple) kitchen tasks, so I'm on schedule. 

For the record, tomorrow (Wednesday) is bright green. Thursday, natch, is gold. 

There's a lot of gold. 

Oh god there's so much gold. 

Another Friday, Another Cookie

This is officially one of the best times of the year to be cooking if your kitchen contains a television. There is ALWAYS something comforting on, be it an episode of House you've seen a million times before, an episode of Bones you've seen a million times before, the new season of Doomsday Preppers, or . . . obviously . . . FAMILY HOLIDAY MOVIE PREVIEW.

Now. Let me make something clear. The Hallmark Channel might have decided that it's Christmas. The same goes for the Lifetime Channel. As far as I can tell, they decided it was Christmas the second Halloween was over. When we were in Maine I was doing the "toothbrush in one hand, remote in the other" thing and came upon one of those oh so originally named films . . .  A Wish for Christmas, A Puppy for Christmas, A Bride for Christmas, A Tree for Christmas, A Family for Christmas, A Snorkel for Christmas, A Platypus for Christmas, A Dump Truck for Christmas, A Shoe for Christmas, A Pile of Much for Christmas . . . it goes on. Point is, they were already showing movies.

THIS DOES NOT MEANT IT'S OK TO WATCH THEM.

It's ok to watch Christmas movies WHEN IT'S CHRISTMAS. As in AFTER THANKSGIVING. This is a fundamental rule. If you want to know the exact moment when it becomes ok, I'll tell you. The exact moment is when Santa appears at the end of the Macy's Day Parade. THEN, AND ONLY THEN, can you commence your saccharine overload.

Btw, please don't think I'm being disparaging. Those films are AMAZING. I watched so many last year due to stress of imminent-life-uprooting-and-omg-what-am-I-doing that I think I actually sneezed tinsel at one point. Particular favourite was Help for the Holidays mostly because I kept waiting for Moon Bloodgood (playing an elf sent down from the North Pole, natch) to reprise her role from Firefly and start killing people with her bare hands. That never happened, incidentally. Shame.

So. When I baked cookies last weekend, I'm sure I don't need to tell you that I was NOT watching a Christmas movie. What I WAS watching was the never-ending Harry Potter Movie Marathon that, honestly, if you turn on Starz right now, there's never anything else playing. It's just All Harry Potter, All the Time.

If you can think of a better thing to do whilst making Chunky Peanut Cookies than watching Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, then by all means . . .

CHUNKY PEANUT BUTTER COOKIES MADE WATCHING HARRY POTTER FOR THE BILLIONTH AND ONE TIME

This is a tweak on my own Peanut Butter Cookie recipe to include a few generous handfuls of dry roasted peanuts. Basically, I took what is essentially Peanut Butter Shortbread and made it even crunchier and peanutier.

Exactly.

CHUNKY PEANUT BUTTER COOKIES

INGREDIENTS

• 1 3/4 cup all-purpose flour
• 1/2 tsp baking soda
• 1 stick butter
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1/2 cup dark brown sugar
• 1 egg
• 1 16 oz. jar of creamy, all natural, peanut butter
• 1/2 tsp vanilla
• 1 - 1 1/2 cups dry roasted, unsalted peanuts

Beat the butter and both sugars together until pale and fluffy. Beat in the egg, the peanut butter, and the vanilla. Slowly beat in the flour and baking soda until completely combined. Stir in your peanuts until they're evenly distributed.

Shape the dough into balls with your hands and place on baking sheets (they don't really spread out so you can put a lot on one sheet) and flatten them with a fork to create that essentially hatch. We all know it's not a peanut butter cookie unless it has hatching on the top.

Note that I went slightly avant-garde this time and opted for the SINGLE crosshatch. 

It was a bold move, but I think it was worth the risk. 

Bake them at 375 for about 10 minutes. If you like your cookies extra crunchy, as Mum does, you can leave them in a few minutes longer. They'll be nice and golden brown on the tops when they're done.

BEETLE NOTES

When you use peanut butter that doesn't have partially hydrogenated industrial waste in it, your cookies turn out super crumbly. Fact of life.

Under normal circumstances I use crunchy peanut butter because I want the cookies to have a nice texture. But this time, because I was adding actual whole peanuts, I opted for creamy. It definitely made the dough a bit stickier, and that helped when it came time to shape the dough balls. They flattened pretty well with a fork too, and didn't really become their crumbly crunchy selves until the baking was done. In the past just the act of hatching them has made them disintegrate on the baking sheet, which, although they still taste nice, they do actually just resemble peanut butter crumbs.

Holding up nicely. 

The salty sweet combo is one of the best combos on earth. Lord knows in the good old Pre-Beetle days I ate my weight several times over in chocolate covered pretzels. That being said, this would be a perfect opportunity to use salted peanuts. I can't imagine a universe where it would make them taste anything less than amazing.

When you add the flour, be prepared to stop a little bit before it's all used up. This is where you can control the consistency of the cookies, and where you can make them stickier or drier to your liking. I aimed for a dough wetness-quotient that allowed it to stick together completely in the mixing bowl, but that had very little give.

A solid mass of sticky peanut butter deliciousness if you will.

Like so. 

By the time Harry had competed in his first Quidditch match and had escaped Argus Filch in the restricted section of the library, these were done. Fast, easy, nutty, and comforting. Just what you need if it's raining outside and you can't think of anything better than moving directly without stopping onto Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. 

I will only add here that it was announced by some scientific journal or other that eating a handful of nuts every day decreases your chances of dying by 20%.

Seriously.

To quote Albus Dumbledore from The Order of the Pheonix: "There is a time for speech-making, and this is not it. Tuck in!"

Final Beetle Note: 
Two INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT dates are coming this week.

1. Tomorrow (!!!!!) is the 50th Anniversary episode of DOCTOR WHO. I am making a TARDIS PIE. I will hopefully be able to post that sucker on Monday. It's going to be . . . hahah . . . AN ADVENTURE IN TIME AND SPACE oh god I'm so funny.

2. Duh. THANKSGIVING. As I'm sure you can imagine, the menus are colour-coded for course and day of prep, the first wave of shopping was completed this morning, and things are gearing up as only an OCD cook can make them. But if you don't hear from me until after it's over, don't be surprised. I'm either up to my ears in Wild Rice Stuffing (which wouldn't be a bad way to go, honestly) or (see above) I've been sucked into a space-time vortex. Either way, I'll get back to you as soon as I can.

Happy Friday, dear reader!

The Ultimate Almost-Winter Comfort Supper

Hear that sound?

That's the sound of me throwing down the Comfort Supper gauntlet really damn hard. 

It's on. I welcome challengers, but I think this one might just take the proverbial cake.

Or actually, take the hash. Because that's what it is. Hash.

Specifically. Apple Pumpkin Bacon Onion Hash.

Any challengers? Nope. Didn't think so.

I'm forcing myself lately to turn to actual physical cookbooks instead of the interwebs, and as a result I've found a couple of good ones that my Dad stashed away, or that Mum bought for the pictures and hasn't gotten around to exacto-knifing them up yet.

It's also incredibly satisfying and incredibly soothing to tear up index cards and stick them in as placeholders, colour-coded (obviously) by Holiday, Course, Special Occasion (noted on card), Seasonal vs Year Round Ingredients, and Priority Level of Making.

Yes, there is a priority level (honestly, are you really that surprised?) and it's 1 through 5 if you're curious. 1 being "get in the kitchen right now" and 5 being "sounds delicious when you've cooked through the others please do give it a try."

THIS one, the Hash, is from a beautiful book called roast figs sugar snow: winter food to warm the soul by Diana Henry (and yes, the lack of capitals is from the jacket). The flap copy continues the theme, saying that it's a collection of recipes from the cold bits of North America and Europe. So New England, Scandinavia, Russia, etc. Basically the countries that invented comfort food. Because when you live in a wooden farmhouse on a snow covered hill and you've spent all day in a cow barn (or, you know, watching Hulu) you need something hot and delicious and incredibly filling.

I mean, you need SOME incentive for mucking out stalls. Or herding reindeer.

Or for watching half a season of The Wrong Mans in one sitting with a cat on your lap.

I will only add that this recipe is from Holland, and that the Dutch name for it is hete bliksem which, and I am not making this up, translates as "hot lightning."

LITERALLY. HOT LIGHTNING. YOUR HONOUR, THE DEFENSE RESTS.

I did tweak this, although the concept remains the same, and I'd like to think that Hash is a particularly forgiving dish, since it's entire existence is based on leftovers fried with bacon.

I'll give you the verbatim recipe from the book and explain substitutions in the Beetle Notes.

HOT LIGHTNING (hete bliksem)
APPLE, PUMPKIN, AND BACON HASH WITH ONIONS

INGREDIENTS

• 2lbs small new potatoes, scrubbed
• 9 oz tart apples (eg Granny Smith) 
• 9 oz pears
• 1/4 cup butter
• 14 oz bacon, cut into chunks about 3/4 inch square
• salt and pepper
• light brown sugar
• leaves from 2 sprigs of fresh thyme

Halve the potatoes or cut them into chunks about 1 1/4 inches square. Core and quarter the apples and pears and cut into slices lengthways; they should be about 1/4 inch thick at the thickest part. Melt the butter in a heavy-bottomed casserole dish and saute the bacon and potatoes until golden all over. Add the fruit and turn it over in the buttery juices. Season and add sugar and thyme to taste. 

Cover the casserole dish with a lid and cook over a very low heat on top of the stove, or in an oven preheated to 325 degrees, for 30 minutes or so, or until everything is tender. You need to shake the dish every so often to prevent everything from sticking. Add a splash of water to the mixture if it is becoming too dry. 

Check the seasoning and serve just as is (wilted Savoy cabbage is delicious with it), or with sausages or pork chops. 

BEETLE NOTES

For the sake of keeping everything organised, I'm going to bullet these. Otherwise it's going to be a sh*tshow. 

• I substituted Pumpkin for Potatoes. I wanted to use up the Pumpkins we'd had as decorations for Halloween, so I cut and peeled those instead. 
• I took out the pears because Mum hates pears. I know.
• I took out the sugar because I don't know how it's done in Holland, but over here hash doesn't need sugar. 
• I added onions because, (see above re: Holland) over here, hash needs onions
• I used veggie bacon.

It still turned out pretty well. 

Ohhhhh so warm. Ohhhh so comforting. It wasn't even that cold this weekend, and yet we inhaled this like it was 35 below and sleeting outside. I will absolutely use potatoes next time (mostly because potatoes are awesome) but the pumpkin worked, and the onions balanced out the resulting increase in sweetness.

I did it with straight olive oil instead of butter, which worked just fine. I did add a bit of water, maybe 1/2 cup, before I stuck it in the oven to prevent bottom-stickage.

After half an hour there was a fair amount of liquid at the bottom from the apples and pumpkins, which I just spooned off. It's hash, people, not soup.

Apologies to those who are offended by fake meat.

Obviously veggie bacon is not the same thing as regular bacon. It doesn't smell as good (IS there a better smell than frying bacon? I don't think so, even after 10 years of no meat it still makes my mouth water), and the cooking time is . . . not really an issue since it's flavoured soy protein. However, the saltiness of it (and "bacon like spices" that were used did provide a nice, almost pork-like contrast to the apples and onions.

Pork and Apples. It's a classic combo for a reason. It's DELICIOUS.

So. If you can think of something MORE comforting, soul-replenishing, or welcome after a day sorting recycling in the barn, scrubbing the kitchen floor, and chasing the bastard cat next door out of the yard, I hereby welcome challengers. But I think that something called HOT LIGHTNING is going to remain there for a while.

Incidentally, it's on the "Special Requests" page on the fridge. Priority Level 1 (asterix *potatoes*).

Maple on the Brain

I am overdue in posting! I know I know I know. The four of you who read this must have been absolutely FRANTIC for the next installment. To you, my dedicated followers, I apologise. I can only say that MAINE HAPPENED and we all know what happens in Maine . . . no, not that . . . 

What happens in Maine tends to be that you float off into a pine-scented wonderland, eat yourself into a fish coma, and spend your days freezing, damp-bordering-on-wet, and blowing your nose every three seconds. 

In other words. IDEAL UNIVERSE. 

Who cares if you can't feel your feet? IT'S TOO AWESOME FOR FEET. 

So I had to come down from my balsam cloud. And when I did I realised I had maple syrup on the brain. Obviously, this is a direct result of MAINE, source of all that is good and sweet and delicious in this world (although it should be noted that neither of us ate blueberry pancakes the ENTIRE TIME so the maple-on-the-brain-thing is more by osmosis than anything else . . . I can't eat them because they are not Beetle Friendly and Mum doesn't because . . . she thinks pancakes that aren't Swedish pancakes are tasteless and sucky.) 

le sigh. Lactose tolerance is so wasted on some people. 

So. Maple Syrup. Or more specifically. Maple Ginger Tea Cake. 

MAPLE GINGER TEA CAKE 

or 

MAPLE GINGER COFFEE CAKE

or 

MAPLE GINGER CAKE THAT CAN BE ENJOYED WITH EITHER TEA OR COFFEE

You can tell if a home is a proper Yankee one in a very simple test. Open the cupboard. Is there a jug of maple syrup in there? If so, you're in good hands. If not, leave immediately. Obviously I didn't have to check our cupboards before I started baking. What I did have to do was decide which jug of maple syrup to use. 

RepreSENT. 

I smashed a few recipes together here because I wanted to add crystallised ginger (I mean, why NOT add ginger, and also, it pairs very nicely with maple, being warming and spicy and generally a delightful thing.) and I wanted to make an afternoon cake rather than a cake cake (hence the loaf pans). And I only iced it very thinly with a Maple Confectioner's Icing because covering it with Maple Buttercream or Maple Cream Cheese frosting would have completely defeated the purpose of making a maple syrup cake and studding it with bits of ginger. You'd just get a mouthful of frosting and the entirety of the cake would be rendered "additional". There's a time and a place, dear reader, don't get me wrong. But a good Yankee, above all else, understands the vital power of restraint. 

Have you been to Plymouth Plantation? We invented restraint. 

Ginger makes everything better.

MAPLE GINGER CAKE

• 1 stick butter
• 3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• 2 cups maple syrup
• 3 eggs
• 1 tbs (yes, a tablespoon) baking powder
• 1/4 tsp salt
• 2 tsp ground ginger
• 1 cup milk
• 1 tsp vanilla 
• 2 cups (roughly) chopped crystallised ginger

Beat the butter, maple syrup, and eggs together until creamy. Beat in the milk and the vanilla. 

In bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, salt, and ginger. Add in batches to the wet ingredients, mixing well after each one. 

Stir in the chopped ginger until it's all evenly distributed. That being said, if someone happens to get a mouthful of crystallised ginger . . . not really the end of the world. 

Bake at 350 degrees for about an hour, maybe a bit longer depending on how big your loaf pans are. (Mine are 9 x 5 incidentally.) The tops should be nice and brown and pulling away from the pan, etc. You know the drill. 

After about minutes turn them out onto a rack and let cool completely. 

FOR THE MAPLE ICING

Mix 1 cup of confectioner's sugar with 2 tbs of maple syrup and whisk it all together. Add more syrup or more sugar until it's at the right consistency, but aim for the very scientific measure of viscosity known as "nice and thick." 

When the cakes are cool go ahead and spread it on the tops. Then feel free to consume the rest before washing out the bowl. I did. 

Waste Not. Want Not.

I can report that the Lovely Librarians sampled it with both tea AND coffee and reported back that either hot beverage is acceptable. Thanks, guys! You always have my back.

I also gave half the second loaf to our all-purpose and all-amazing handyman, dropping it off inside his front porch like a little Maple Elf and driving quickly away. He called to say thanks and that it was good, so at least now I don't feel so bad about asking him to fix the wonky lamp on the dining room table. 

I was experimenting with the the cooking time here, so I was a bit apprehensive when I sliced into it and did say a quick prayer to the gods of New England that it wouldn't be a) gooey and raw or b) rock hard. But it slices really well, rendering it even more appropriate for a tea/coffee break.

Note ease of slicing.

Of course a REAL Yankee would eat half a piece, then wrap the rest up in tinfoil.

The second half would be stuck in the bread bin. 

It would be consumed, stale and hard, approximately two weeks later. 

Wouldn't want to enjoy it too much. 

Cookies Fit for a Norse God

So I'm sure most of you are aware that I am dating Chris Hemsworth. And I'm sure you are also aware that this weekend was a big one for him, what with the premiere of Thor 2: The Dark World and all.

It was, to use a cat graphic (because if you can why not?):

So, as a good Girlfriend-of-a-Norse-God, I thought it would be a nice gesture if I made cookies to celebrate the occasion.

But these couldn't just be ANY cookies.

These cookies had to say "I'm the Norse God of Thunder but I'm also incredibly sensitive and caring, with great hair and a great smile. I like long walks along the balconies of Valhalla and spending time with my family and friends. I may be a bit headstrong at times, more prone to a hammer slam than rational discourse, but I'm loyal and true, and I always keep my promises. Oh and did I mention that I can bring lightning down from the sky? Because I can. And also I like pancakes."

These cookies had to be:

a) masculine. incredibly masculine
b) gooey and soft on the inside
c) capable of stopping your heart
d) make you feel like all was right in the world and that you would be safe forever
e) so delicious and amazing that all you really want to do is eat them for the rest of time

THOR COOKIES
(because nobody gets to be the Norse God of Thunder by eating Snickerdoodles)

This recipe is from Alice Medrich's Chewy Gooey Crispy Crunchy cookbook, about which I knew next to nothing when I began a recipe search. However, looking over her creds, and judging by how these went down, this lady CLEARLY knows her stuff, so I'm very happy to make her cookie acquaintance.

THOR COOKIES

INGREDIENTS

• 10 oz good quality unsweetened chocolate
• 1/4 cup butter
• 1/3 cup all-purpose flour
• 1/4 tsp baking powder
• 1/4 tsp salt
• 2 eggs
• 1 1/3 cups sugar
• 1 1/2 tsp instant espresso powder
• 1 tsp vanilla
• 1/2 whole coffee beans

You know what this is? It's a HELL of a lot of chocolate.

Melt 6 oz of the chocolate and the butter in a saucepan, stirring constantly. Remove from heat and let it cool whilst you do the rest of it. 

Chop the remaining 4 oz of chocolate (yes, the unsweetened chocolate) into chunks the size of big chocolate chips. You'll add these at the end with the coffee beans. 

In a small bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, and salt. 

In a mixmaster, beat the eggs and sugar until they are light and fluffy. Beat in the espresso powder and the vanilla. Beat the whole mixture on high for about 5 minutes until the batter is really thick. Slowly beat in the flour mixture. 

The contrast between white sugar/egg and the coffee is just . . . so pretty.

Fold in the chocolate chunks and the coffee beans and combine well. The batter will be essentially black at this point. 

Bake at 350 degrees for about 10 minutes. You will take them out when they are still gooey. They are supposed to be gooey, it's ok. I was worried they were still underdone but it's all good. 

It's allllll good. 

BEETLE NOTES

I doubled the recipe from the outset, because 10 oz of chocolate and 1/3 cup of flour was NOT going to make "about two dozen cookies", at least not in my kitchen. And I made a few changes, biggest of which was the omission of sea salt flakes on the top and the addition of whole coffee beans.

Because nothing says "masculine cookie" like "coffee beans instead of chocolate chips."

REAL men (and Norse Gods) scoff at normal chocolate chips. AS IF.

A note on the chocolate chips. IT REALLY IS UNSWEETENED CHOCOLATE. I know. I read the recipe over three times to make sure I wasn't doing something dreadful, but it's true. Unsweetened chocolate chips. Add coffee beans to that and you've got a cookie that sort of is the equivalent of getting hit in the chest by a magical hammer.

We don't have instant espresso powder (because we don't believe in instant coffee of any kind) so instead I used the coarse-ground dark roast we make French Presses of every morning, and I used double the measurement just to make sure they were good and caffeinated.

Therefore, I quadrupled the coffee measurement.

Exactly. 

The original recipe also indicated to chill for an hour or freeze for half an hour. I chilled them for an hour. This was not helpful. Instead of making the dough easier to work with, what it did was make it impossible to scoop out rounded spoonfuls. Even using an ice cream scoop, the dough balls were misshapen and awkward [see below]. Some, as a matter of fact, did not even resemble cookies. More just oddly shaped rocks. I mean, delicious oddly shaped rocks of chocolate coffee gooey goodness, but still. Rocks.

Rocks. 

Now, there is an argument to be made here that the uglier the cookies, the more masculine they are. Men do not bother with petty things like the aesthetic value of their baked goods. They just eat them, regardless of shape or content. Part of me feels that they fact that they DO actually look like rocks, yet pack in a gooey black-chocolate centre the heart-stopping power of Asgard, makes them ideally suited to their purpose as Thor Cookies. So there.

Still, next time I will move directly from the mixmaster to the cookie sheet, and perhaps get them slightly more uniform.

One male friend of mine suggested, in making the "perfect masculine cookie", that I eschew the word "cookie" completely and instead refer to them as "Power Biscuits." So I suppose that instead of "Thor Cookies" I should say "Power Biscuits" or . . . ooooh how about "Thunder Biscuits?" Maybe? Eh. I'll figure it out.

Hammer Slams? 

What I DO know is that Mum declared these in the Top 5 Best Cookies Ever Made By Beetle, and that the Lovely Librarians agreed.

These "cookies" fulfilled every single one of the aforementioned criteria. They are DARK (literally and figuratively) and deep and dense, yet when you bite into them you get a mouthful of gooey chocolate wonderfulness. They have chips of unsweetened chocolate and whole coffee beans that will, actually probably technically, stop your heart (but hey at least you'll die happy). And when you bite into one your brain goes into happy mocha overload land where everything is amazing and all you hear is the contented humming of your taste buds and, possibly, the actual vibration of your heart valves.

And speaking of vibrating heart valves . . .

Masculine? Check. Delicious? Check. Packs a handsome, soul-warming punch? Check and check. Thor Cookies, Power Biscuits, whatever they end up being called, I will have lots of opportunities to get the name right. For Mum, for the LLs, and, obvs, for my boyfriend too.