i finally got around to watching stephen king’s “it” (the sequel) last weekend. it was a long two years’ wait for me, and as if 2 years wasn’t long enough, it happened to come out when I was out of the country for two months. “it” has become one of my favorite novels, and not because of any particular inherent affinity towards morbidity. and i say this because truly “it” is only at its surface a story about an evil carnivorous, shape-shifting clown that has a particular palate for children, and even more so if the children are terrified out of their minds. beneath the surface is the real story that begs us to introspect and find that child we’ve always been – the child that was stifled but never fully silenced. who we were when we were children is who we are now. and we were made of some pretty tough stuff – malleable, sure. but tough stuff nonetheless.

watching the seven members of the losers’ club process trauma, and grow up to be adults was remarkable. there’s a sort of thoughtful voyeurism you feel seeing them through their lives. and although it is obvious to you (the reader) that everything these characters think, feel, and do has some tie to their childhoods, the characters themselves are too wrapped up in the moment to see it, and too scared to care. which made me wonder – seeing as there’s there’s no man-eating clown chasing me to distract me from valuable introspection – is this the case with me?

childhood for me was awkward at its best, turbulent at its worst. anti-social, nerdy (the obsessive variety of nerdy), with a tinge of artistry, and in spite of it all, i was oddly discontent with what made me happy. with all the pressures that come along with different, i hated being me. i hated that i loved hiding in my closet, away from the crazy world, devouring books, traveling in my head to far-away lands i never thought i would ever see. i hated the way my dad’s face would light up when he would meet a young boy my age that was… well… normal. i hated feeling like i lived in a different world. but even so, i loved this world, and i could never part with it. i loved knowing everything there was about any given subject – dinosaurs and astronomy being the first victim subjects. in this world i was safe at 7 years old to learn the thrilling ambiguity found only in science, the passion of scholastic debate, and the importance of loosely holding on to strong opinions (for example, back then scientists had no idea the tyrannosaurus rex had feathers). music became another obsession, and i resolved to not only know everything, but to be able to play everything. that was one of the first times i learned that the synergy between body and mind was a delicate balance that few people achieved. but i was determined to one day become my own version of leonardo davinci.

sure, i could do so much more than what was expected of me academically and artistically, but why couldn’t i make everyone happy and kick around a soccer ball? or better yet, why couldn’t i want to kick around a soccer ball? why couldn’t i just walk up to kids i didn’t know and become friends? and again, why couldn’t i just want to?

at the heart of my discontent with identity, people were my achilles’ heel. i was a loner (by choice), somewhat rude, very obtuse to social structures/hierarchies. a disappointment to some, as my connection to the physical world would sooner be found onstage behind a piano rather than in a soccer field. cultural values after all, run deep.

as much as i now love this little guy, i don’t know exactly when i tucked him far away from sight. somewhere along the line, academics became more about insipid duty rather than exciting discovery, and i don’t know when i became all too happy to oblige. i became enamored with the thrill of achievement, and the corporate world was all too happy to provide thrill after thrill in my fast paced financial career. it took 12 years for that little guy to claw his way out of the adulthood rubble I buried him under, just to convince me that this career was never me. i just never knew it was him who compelled me. i just remember one day after finishing a particularly stimulating chapter of “it,” that i saw my mother shared a picture of me as a child on facebook. i had seen it before, but i didn’t know or realize that at some point i had learned to like this little kid. i learned to love him, no buts or ifs. i resolved to believe that the fact that the world didn’t understand him was not his problem. the fact that he was different was not his problem. the fact that the world was not grateful for him was also not his problem. and I learned that thankfully, he never left me. he was with me when i kept my promise to him that we would one day go to the american museum of natural history in nyc and behold the t-rex in all his glory. he’s the one that quietly giggles every time i win at chess. he was the one who told me run not walk from the corporate greed i had entangled myself in. and he’s the one to whom i must still solemnly (and regularly) promise that everything is going be ok.

the curly hair i would learn to like one day

i hadn’t noticed the tear down my cheek until it confronted me by falling onto my phone screen. so i wiped it off, took a good look at little kid carlos, and wrote him a toast:

here’s to you little guy
to dinosaurs and library books,
to demons under your bed.
to esl and rsp,
and the things they said you’d never be.
here’s to curly hair you’ll learn to like one day,
and the place you’ll find one day... you'll see.

here’s to father figures,
bloody noses, scar tissue,
medications and the things
you said you’d never do.
here’s to stars and planets,
and the novels that taught you to feel.
feel the things you’d never felt for real.

here’s to curiosities,
montrisities,
grandiosities you’ve only read about back then
but will live later.
here’s to hiding behind trees,
being alone but never lonely,
looking people in the heart,
and not their eyes.

here’s to sticking with me, tenacious little guy.
teaching me to gawk at dinosaur bones
connecting the dots in the night sky.
reminding me that god never left you
in those sleepless nights alone.

here’s to laughing and sometimes crying.
here’s to living, and never dying.
here’s to being strong while feeling fragile.
to watching everything unravel.
here’s to us, little guy.

here’s to us.

now as reward to those faithful enough to listen to my ramblings, i offer you a very real taste of my childhood – a developed version of my favorite childhood treat: chocolate chip cookies. and true to form, choc chip cookies remain one of my favorites today. truly, I think it’s providential that this be one of my first recipes. rose levy beranbaum puts it best in her book, the baking bible, “in france, the financier, or ingot, is the fingerprint of the pastry chef. in the united states, however, the cookie that can make a pastry chef’s reputation is indisputably the chocolate chip cookie.” disclaimer: i’m only a “pastry chef” according to very generous standards. but this I assure you, this cookie will forevermore raise your chocolate chip cookie standards. it is crisp on the outside, soft and chewy on the inside. it boasts of bold caramel flavors and complex vanilla flavors. so go on. make these, and feel like a kid again.

predatory clown rapaciously seeking to devour you and enslave your soul forever is optional.

tldr – recipe here

my choc chip cookies

ingredients

240g bleached all-purpose flour or unbleached pastry flour
90g bread flour
1 tsp baking soda
3/4 tsp fine sea salt
1/4 tsp double acting baking powder
245g light brown muscovado sugar (do not substitute with regular brown sugar)
100g granulated white sugar
227g high fat unsalted european style butter (i prefer plugra or president)
28g half & half (coconut milk works for a very subtle coconut flavor as well)
1 large egg + 1 large egg yolk
3 tsp tahitian vanilla bean paste
150g guittard 63% dark chocolate chips
150g guittard 46% semi-sweet chocolate chips (alternately, you may coarsely chop your favorite eating chocolate, 50%-61% cacao content)

optional:
maldon sea salt flakes
100 grams of toasted pecans, coarsely chopped

equipment
2 half sheet baking sheets, lined with parchment paper
#24 cookie scoop
10” or larger non-stick skillet
stand mixer (optional)
wide bottom mason gar or drinking glass

method:

combine sugars in the bowl of stand mixer.
on low heat, melt butter until completely liquid. increase heat to medium and heat past the bubbling stage until butter is golden brown and fragrant.
immediately pour into mixing bowl over sugar mixture and stir until loosely combined.
set aside to cool until cool or just barely warm, about an hour.
meanwhile, combine flours, baking powder/salt
whisk half and half, eggs, and vanilla in a small bowl and add to sugar/butter mixture once cooled.
add dry ingredients and stir on lowest speed until just combined. add chocolate chips and stir until just combined. this will result in a thick, buttery dough that requires no scraping (if using a stand mixer).
using a #24 cookie scoop, scoop out level portions of cookie dough and arrange in a sheet pan lined with parchment paper. leave no space between each cookie dough ball.
cover well with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 24 hours.
next day, preheat your oven to 375ºf (190ºc) at least 30 minutes before baking.
arrange cookie dough balls leaving at least 2 inches space in between. this should allow for 12 cookies per baking sheet.
bake for 13-15 minutes, rotating once through. cookies will have spread to about 2.5-3 inch diameter, light golden brown, and be puffed up.
remove from oven and lightly grease bottom of mason jar/drinking glass, and gently press down puffed up cookies. cookies will be just under 1.5 cm in height (about 1/2 inch). sprinkle a pint of optional sea salt flakes. allow to cool for 5 minutes in the pan, and then transfer to a cooling rack.
pour a glass of milk )or milk alternative) and heartily enjoy.