Cookie Counseling

First published March 15, 2009

I poured the last few drops of vanilla extract into the measuring spoon and carefully dribbled it into a bowl of ingredients. I paused for a moment and looked at the brown liquid saturate the little mound of flour. All gone. No more extract. It wasn't even name brand. It was the Wal-Mart brand. Still I found myself overly sad. It's gone. All gone.

I started to take inventory of my other pantry items that I brought with me from the US. Baking soda, baking powder, Hershey's cocoa, ground cinnamon. Each were about at the halfway mark. I hadn't really considered how much I'd want or need prior to our departure. Vanilla extract could potentially last me months so I didn't expect to run out so soon.

Then I understood. I cook a LOT more here than I ever did in Missouri. In fact, I make many things from scratch. I'm quite the little Laura Ingalls with the exception that Laura would have known to pack the Conestoga wagon better than I packed my Samsonite. Now I'm running low on all of the beautiful ingredients that I didn't know I should be cherishing and it made me blue.

It's not that I can't replace these items. I'm sure that somewhere in this city there's a store that sells vanilla extract. It just won't be MY vanilla extract from MY Missouri in MY Springfield from MY Wal-Mart. I'll find it in a random location that I have no history with and it may or may not taste like I expect.

With each following dish, I mourn a little more the disappearance of the pieces of home. Yes, I could find other ingredients, but that means that I take something that's familiar to me and replace it with something new. I don't know what the packaging should look like, I don't know the price and I don't know if it will taste or work the same way.

The vanilla is just a symbol for all that has been happening around me. I've been saying goodbye to pieces of my life bit by bit and each time it brings a bit of sadness. Friendships that were rich in years are now maintained long-distance. New friendships come in different packaging with a cost I'm not sure I'm able to pay. I'm not even sure how they'll work out. 

Even the ability to purchase the vanilla is now an unsure task. Where do I look? How will I find it? Will I recognize it? My abilities in general are also in question here. What does my role look like here? How will I find my place? Will I know it when I see it?

I never knew making cookies could bring on such a sense of introspection. But as I bite into this delicious little reminder of home, I'm also looking ahead to new ingredients, recipes and flavors in this area. As I step out to each new day, I anticipate new relationships, opportunities and experiences. 

All that from a little cookie. Good thing I wasn't making Thanksgiving turkey.