Rum Raisin Oatmeal Cookies

“It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on earth has ever produced the expression,
'As pretty as an airport.'” ― Douglas Adams

In my many travels, airports stand to be the most polarizing form of moving from one place to another. On one hand, I find airports to be indispensable—there is no way I could have traveled as far and wide as I have without them (and for that alone I feel as if I am indebted). On the other hand, I find nothing enchanting about my time spent in an airport. People love to romanticize airports, waxing and waning over the anticipation of travel or adventure, meeting old friends or coming home to family members (and these are certainly a part of the experience), but those small moments are swept away in the 5:00 am trips through airport security and the long hours of waiting.

I'm quite certain I've never walked into an airport at a reasonable time of day. Early mornings are a common theme as I set my alarm for a cringe-inducing hour, waking several times throughout the night in a panic that I've forgotten to pack something important. Soon follow the quiet moments of hauling luggage, finding boarding passes, and removing shoes to walk through the metal detector, wondering why I specifically wore a belt on today of all days. While waiting for the airplane to begin boarding, I watch my fellow passengers find the gate, all of whom seem to be in a similar state of dry eyes and caffeine-induced disarray.

A moment spent in an airport is a moment spent in limbo. Time runs on its own accord, jumping forward and backward faster than you can keep pace. It's a place that's neither here nor there, a small plot of land unto itself. It's a place where people gather and disperse. A place no one can call home. Only on a westward flying airplane can you daydream about a cheeseburger and French fries, but arrive to Egg McMuffins and disappointment.

Airports can be romantic in fairy tales and homecoming events, but I'd argue the typical reality falls a little short. My true problem with airports is not being allowed to buy a hamburger at nine in the morning when your body is telling you it's noon.

There is a place in my heart for oatmeal and raisins. It was only a matter of time for rum to join the mix. These Rum Raisin Oatmeal Cookies have all the qualities of the classic oatmeal raisin cookie with a boozy twist. The cookie base has a dark depth of flavor (in part from the addition of molasses), but the rum-soaked raisins steal the show. The cookies bake up soft and stay tender long after their stay in the oven. These cookies are not for the kids, so please keep them out of the younger ones' hands.

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Hot Cross Buns

A few years ago I was visiting Prague with a friend. The Czech Republic was the second to the last leg of our month-long backpacking trip through Europe and, by the time we arrived, we were harried and overwrought. Early mornings and late nights for weeks on end had left us exhausted to tears, but there was a whole world to see so we couldn't justify waking up later than eight in the morning.

We saw castles and churches. We walked the city in every direction with a tour guide who would certainly win the gold medal in speed walking. Yet, I remember very little of what we learned and, without the photographs as proof where I'd been, I'm not sure I'd remember even that.

There is, however, one thing about Prague I will not ever forget.

It happened while my friend and I were walking back to the hostel the next night, after a wasted day of blissfully napping in public parks and eating sausage. Rounding a corner on a small, cobblestone street, I came across a sight I will certainly never see again. We passed a man.

Then, two. Then, three.

Looking ahead, we both stopped dead in our tracks, dumbfounded. It was as if every eligible bachelor within a few years of my age was walking down this particular street at precisely the same time. There were at least one hundred men. A quiet congregation, there was no clear message as to who they were or where they were going.

I stood, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, in the center of the street. One hundred men were there, it seemed, just for me.

It took quite some time after the last of the men had rounded the corner before my friend and I could regain control over ourselves. We looked at each other in disbelief. I wondered aloud if that had really just happened, wanting to pinch myself as if I were in a dream. I wanted to follow them back around the corner to verify they were real and not a fantastic hallucination. Though we hadn't been searching, we had unwittingly found all of the men.

To this day, their presence and purpose remains a mystery. A truly unusual life moment, I can't help but want to dig deeper, to find meaning (though there certainly will never be one). It was Prague's beautiful gift to me, as if it knew that I needed a reason to remember the city outside of my photographs.

Though these hot cross buns may not be as unforgettable as a parade of men, they surprised me. I knew of hot cross buns for as long as I can remember—from nursery rhymes and grocery store shelves—but I never foresaw they would taste this good. As a baker, I love to get caught off guard by something unexpected and these did just the trick.

These Hot Cross Buns are soft and sweet. I used the base from my honey rolls, opting for milk instead of water to create a more tender bread. Sweetened with honey, a hint of orange, and a handful of raisins, these buns are surprisingly remarkable. Though sacrilege in some circles, I used a cream cheese icing to make the traditional crosses simply because I think the tartness of the cheese complements the sweetness of the bread better. Make these rolls for those you love—it's far too easy to eat more than your fair share in one sitting.

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Rum Raisin Ice Cream

The first time I encountered rum raisin ice cream was on the coast. It was a warm afternoon and a small vendor nearby was selling creamy, homemade ice cream. From the sheer amount of people vying for a scoop, it seemed only appropriate to do just the same. Scattered among the classic flavors were more unique tastes, including a caramel swirled rum raisin ice cream that looked so divine I didn't look twice elsewhere. As I approached the counter with wide eyes, a wad of dollar bills scrunched in my hand, I told the man exactly what I wanted. However, because it was made with real rum and I was still underage, the rum raisin stayed out of my twenty year old reach.

Sigh.

I walked away, dragging my feet on the sidewalk, with a simple waffle cone in tow—my consolation prize. Nevertheless, my rum raisin woes were quickly assuaged by the melting, chocolate ice cream in my hand. Ice cream often cures all sadness and woes; even those caused by ice cream itself. I've never met a situation that ice cream couldn't improve.

Still, I find it fitting that the very first time I would be carded would be for something so innocent as an ice cream cone.

This Rum Raisin Ice Cream is to make up for that doleful moment of my youth. This is for all of the underage, twenty year olds who have been turned away from ice cream cones. This is for those who need a little extra cheer. This is for those who need a reward after a long, hard day's work. This is for those who deserve a sweet treat for absolutely no reason at all.

This is for you.

This Rum Raisin Ice Cream is everything I have dreamed (and more). Rum soaked raisins are diffused through a creamy, smooth ice cream (which has just a hint of rum itself). While it does taste delicious plain, I love to drizzle this ice cream with a warm, rich caramel sauce. I highly suggest you do the same. Rum, raisins, and caramel are a trio of flavors that, when combined, may leave you obsessing over them days (or weeks) later.

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