Cocoa Molasses Chews

How do we live when it feels like everything is burning? We just do. And we be kind, and we bake.

“How do I just live my life?”

“I don’t think of all the misery, but of the beauty that still remains.”—Anne Frank

I finally got to meet a longtime social media acquaintance last week when she came to spend a few days at the hotel. We hit it off right away—she was smart, witty, funny, and just the right amount of sassy. We spent hours talking about everything, as if we were old friends catching up after years apart. Which, in a way, I suppose we were.

And, of course, eventually we got around to politics.

It’s impossible not to, these days. No matter where a conversation starts—food, family, travel, the weather—it always circles back to politics, as did ours, and the same uneasy question: How do we just live our lives when everything feels like it’s burning? When every headline hits like a punch in the gut, when so much of what this administration -- correction: regime -- does is deadly. Often literally deadly. When the echoes of authoritarianism and fascism ring in our ears?

How do we raise our children and grandchildren, play with them, take them to school, throw them birthday parties? How do we find peace in gardening, cooking, knitting, playing the piano? How do we sit with friends over coffee, gossip and talk of trivial nonsense, laugh at a silly meme, plan a vacation? How do we take pleasure in a tv show or a good novel? How do we keep living as if things are normal, when everything is now so abnormal, when life feels like it’s unraveling?

“How do I just live my life?” My friend’s question, that insistent urgency in her voice, burned into my head and made my heart skip a beat or three. It’s so deeply human to feel torn between the critical need to act, the compulsion to help others, the exhaustion of this constant movement of both mind and body, and the desire to stop for a while and turn to something beautiful or fun, something ordinary. We all do still have lives to lead, maybe families to take care of, jobs to go to every day, meals to cook, chores to finish, daily routines. We have hobbies or play sports, a stack of novels next to our bed, a favorite playlist we sing along to when we bake or vacuum. And pets and small children who couldn’t care less about the news, the chaos, or the endless worries playing havoc with our minds. Spouses, lovers, friends who crave our attention, our laughter, our presence.

I used to start and end every day posting a photo of something beautiful on my social media accounts (maybe it’s time I pick up this habit again) with a quote or two. And I always ended it with “Be Kind. Make someone smile. Bake.”

We need to give ourselves permission to continue to enjoy life. I wrote a piece for this publication about being a food writer in these heavy, turbulent, dangerous times. These things we do, these things we love doing, aren’t just therapeutic or self-care, even though they are. These real things we do are what keep us alive. We win a small battle every time we laugh, and every time we make someone else laugh. We triumph whenever we bring joy to ourselves or to those around us.

Love and joy trump hate and cruelty. Togetherness trumps division.

And yet, why do we feel the need to ask permission to enjoy our lives, to justify—even apologize for—doing the things that bring us happiness? As if indulging in joy somehow diminishes our seriousness, our commitment to The Fight. Maybe we worry that others will judge us, or that pausing for pleasure is frivolous. But the truth is, these small acts of pleasure, of delight, of normalcy are exactly the things that keep us resilient, grounded, and healthy. It is what keeps us human. And that is itself a victory. It is how we win.

Elie Wiesel and Primo Levi, remarkable witnesses to history’s darkest hours and foremost chroniclers of human endurance and survival, each, like young Anne Frank, urged us to preserve and be mindful of our humanity: Wiesel reminded us that “even in darkness it is possible to create light,” while Levi observed that “the aims of life are the best defense against death.”

I just really wanted this post to be about autumn desserts, and these cookies, which I find to be the perfect embodiment of the season. But I knew as soon as my friend’s words were out of her mouth that I wanted to answer that question here. I think most of us have asked ourselves this same question many times since this all started.

So. Be Kind. Make someone smile. Bake.

Cocoa Molasses Chews

I love these cookies. That’s all. Oh, find people to share them with.

12 tablespoons (175 grams) unsalted butter

1 cup (200 grams) granulated sugar

¼ cup (95 grams) molasses or treacle

1 ½ cups (210 grams) flour

¼ cup (25 grams) unsweetened cocoa powder

¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg

Gently rounded ½ teaspoon ground cinnamon

½ teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon baking soda

1 large egg

(*NOTE: to make traditional Molasses Chews, simply eliminate the ¼ cup (25 grams) unsweetened cocoa powder and replace it with flour, for a total of 1 ¾ cups (245 grams) flour. To measure, stir up the flour in the sack or container to lighten, lightly spoon the flour into the measuring cups until rounded over the rim, then level the rim with a flat blade.)

Heat the butter, sugar, and molasses in a small saucepan over low heat until melted and smooth, stirring to keep the sugar from burning and the whole mixture homogeneous. Remove from the heat and allow to cool slightly.

Stir the flour, cocoa powder, spices, salt, and baking soda together.

In a large mixing bowl, lightly beat the egg, then continuing to beat with a wooden spoon or whisk, gradually add the warm butter/sugar/molasses mixture in a slow, steady stream, whisking until smooth.

Add the flour/spice mixture to the liquid mixture and stir together until blended and smooth. The batter will be wet (see photo below).

Allow the batter to sit for about half an hour or so to thicken a bit.

Preheat the oven to 350° F (180° C).

Drop tablespoons of the batter onto a baking sheet, leaving 1-2 inches (3-5 cm) between each mound to allow for spreading.

Bake each batch for 10-12 minutes until puffed and beginning to darken; they will appear set but will still be soft.

Remove from the oven and allow to rest on the cookie sheets for about 30 seconds to 1 minute to firm up slightly before carefully sliding a metal spatula under each cookie and lifting off.

Allow to cool completely on cooling racks.

Jamie Schler is an American food and culture writer - immersed in French culinary history - living in France where she owns a hotel, makes jam, and writes the Substack Life’s a Feast.

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