German Chocolate Cookies
Imagine the most perfect slice of german chocolate cake, transformed into a cookie. Pure heaven. A slightly fudgy, super soft cookie topped with amazing coconut pecan frosting.
for the cookie - 1 1/4 cups AP flour
1/3 cups unsweetened cocoa powder
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp cornstarch
pinch of salt
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, softened
3/4 cups brown suagr
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 egg + 1 egg yolk
1 tsp vanilla extract
for the frosting - 1/2 cup evaporated or regular milk
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 egg yolk
1/2 stick (4 tbsp) butter
1 tsp vanila extract
pinch of salt
3/4 cups sweetened shredded coconut
1/2 - 3/4 cups chopped pecans (depends how much you want)
1. For the cookies - Preheat your oven to 350*. Line a large baking sheet with parchment paper and set aside.
2. In a medium sized bowl whisk together the flour, cocoa powder, baking powder, cornstarch, and salt. Mix everything well. Set aside. In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle, combine the butter and both sugars. Beat together on medium high speed for 1 minute, until light and fluffy. Scrape down the sides as needed and beat again for 30 seconds. Add the egg, egg yolk, and vanilla and beat on medium until combined. Scrape down the sides and bottom.
3. Turn the mixer onto low and add the dry ingredients into the batches. After each addition of dry ingredients, let everything mix for 15 seconds. Once all the dry has been added turn the speed up to medium and beat for 30 seconds. Scrape down the sides and beat for another 30 seconds.
4. Use a large cookie scoop to scoop the dough and place on the prepared cookie sheet. I got exactly 15 cookies when I made them. The dough will be a little sticky so try not to touch it too much. Place in the oven and bake for 10 minutes, the rotate the pan 180* and cook for 1 more minute. Remove the pan from the oven and place on a wire cooling rack. Let the cookies cool completely on the pan.
5. For the frosting - While the cookies are cooling, prepare the frosting. Add the milk, sugar, egg yolk, and butter to a small sauce pan over medium heat. Stir frequently with a rubber spatula until the butter has fully melted. Once the butter has melted cook the mixture for 10 minutes, whisking every 45 seconds - a minute to make sure everything combines well. After 10 minutes the mixture should be thickened up quite a bit. Add the vanilla and salt and whisk everything together well. Allow to cook for another 2 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat and add the coconut and pecans. Mix well. Allow the frosting to cool completely.
6. Once the cookies and frosting are cool, use an offset spatula to spread about 1 tbsp (or as much as you want) of the frosting on top of each cookie. Enjoy with a tall glass of milk.
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Unsolicited Prompt: #couple problems (i.e. ‘if they don’t clean the peanut butter off the knife before putting it in the sink again...’)
Okay so before I finally answer this MONTHS AND MONTHS LATE, required context.
One: I don’t write Ishgard as a one-to-one Fantasy France Equivalent because I just don’t find that to be fun to write, but I do draw on a lot of Quebecois-like nonsense for Ishgardian/Coerthan culture (which is what happens when half your FC is Canadian), amongst other Eastern Canadian foibles, for when I want to look at the real world for influences. All food is fair game, though.
Two: I envision Limsa Lominsa as a bastard mishmash of Boston and Halifax (primarily Boston since that’s where I lived most of my life).
Three: I once asked the FC which of the two would be more likely to have butter tarts as a regional dessert, Limsa Lominsa or Ishgard, and got the immediate reply, “Both, but Ishgardians add raisins,” which initiated Butter Tart Discourse.
Thus: this. I don’t normally do timeline notes, but this specifically is probably somewhere in the late 3.X range, if not the lull before Stormblood begins proper. (So fairly early in Aymeric and Synnove’s relationship, within the first six months minimum.) But it recurs. A lot. ;)
It was as Synnove was setting aside the now-empty bowl that had been full of the maple-butter-egg-sugar mix that she had used to fill her small cups of pastry that, from the corner of her eye, she spotted a hand slowly, deliberately ilm towards her baking tray, in a manner that would have succeeded had she not been mama to one of the most notorious sugar fiends in Eorzea. She tipped her head the tiniest fraction, giving her enough of a view of the hand in question to note that it contained small, dark objects that were banned from her kitchen when it came to this particular treat.
She immediately grabbed her tray and yanked it out of the way, clutching it aside protectively. “Do not,” she said with a growl, turning more fully to glare at the hand’s owner, “get those things anywhere near my butter tarts.”
Aymeric froze, eyes wide and startled at being caught in the act, before he pouted at her. “But you like raisins,” he said, a note short of a full-blown whine.
“Not in butter tarts, you heretic!”
“It’s butter tarts without raisins that are heresy!”
Her knight attempted to lean around her, using those damnably long elezen arms of his to try and fill the pastries with the offending dried fruit despite her objections. He had her nearly boxed into the corner, so with a scowl, she hurriedly hopped up onto the counter, sliding until her back hit the wall, and planted her foot in his chest to hold him off, pastry tray held over her head to finally get it out of his reach. Aymeric narrowed his eyes at her and surged forward, using all that muscle and strength she normally loved to force her knee to bend and bring himself closer and defile her tarts; in retaliation, she wedged her other foot up and used the leverage of both legs to shove him back.
He scowled up at the tray, finally thwarted, then dropped his head to rest it on her knees. The hand holding the raisins deposited said raisins in a pile on the counter, which then he used to wrap around her calves. “Your arms will get tired,” he said petulantly. “And then you’ll need to have those tarts the correct way.”
A loud clatter caused him to raise his head and turn, and Aymeric stared incredulously as Galette, concentration fierce on her face, carefully used a tightly controlled slipstream to finish placing the pastry tray into the oven. Once the tray was settled on the rack, she headbutted the door shut, and looked up at him in turn.
No raisins in butter tarts, Galette primly chittered. We are civilized in La Noscea. Perhaps next time if you ask nicely, we’ll add walnuts.
“Walnuts are vile.”
Mama, you picked an absolute barbarian. With a flick of her tails, Galette sashayed out of the kitchen--after using another curl of wind to flip the five minute hourglass timer next to the stove.
Synnove, arms crossed since Galette discretely relieved her of her burden, smirked triumphantly at her lover when he met her gaze again. “It’s not like you can’t have butter tarts with raisins whenever you’re in Ishgard,” she drawled.
“You make your tarts properly runny,” he grumbled. “And your crust is the perfect blend of flaky and buttery, I don’t know how you do it.”
A warm glow of smug pride settled in her chest, her smirk widening further to Aymeric’s exaggerated eye roll. (Hah, like she couldn’t see the smile tugging at his lips.) Score one for Aunt Angharad’s secret to proper pie dough: butter and lard.
“And you can’t ask Hersande to perhaps adjust her recipe because...?”
“Well. I quite enjoy living.”
Synnove paused, tilting her head thoughtfully, and then nodded in acquiescence. She certainly knew how her auntie would react to anyone telling her to change one of the recipes that had been handed down to her by her mother and grandmother.
Aymeric, still bent over her, rested his cheek against her knee, and his pale blue gaze was suddenly oddly bright, morose and pleading all at once. “Please may we have raisins the next time you make butter tarts?”
She smiled, half in exasperation, half in fondness, charmed despite herself. No adult man had any right being that adorable. She reached out and ran her fingers through his hair, enjoying the silky feel of those black locks as she brushed them from his eyes and said, lovingly, “No.”
He dropped the act and sighed in defeat, shoulders dropping. “Damn.”
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