Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough – Lick the Spoon

Kathy Mattoon
Jun 25, 2025
3 min read

Updated: Jul 3, 2025

My mom was an incredible cook and baker. Her food wasn’t just nourishment – it was comfort. Not just for our family, but for friends, neighbors, and anyone lucky enough to taste something from her kitchen. People would request her baked goods for events, special occasions, or simply because they craved the warmth her food brought. What I didn’t realize when I was younger was that her cooking was more than a skill – it was her therapy

My mom’s kitchen was her sanctuary – a place where she found a brief reprieve from the weight on her shoulders. She was particular about that space, rarely allowing me to help. I was mostly the observer, watching her hands work their magic, measuring, mixing, and creating. She let me sit nearby and witness the artistry that so many people craved. But every now and then, she would let me in – just a little.

It was over something as simple as chocolate chip cookies that we truly bonded. And let me tell you, my mom made the best chocolate chip cookies. Crispy on the edges, gooey in the center – pure perfection. But the real magic was in the dough. She always saved me a spoonful, even after the eggs were mixed in. We knew the warnings about raw cookie dough, but we didn’t care. With each sweet, forbidden bite, we shared something more than a treat – we shared a moment. A rare, unguarded moment of joy.

When my daughter came along, she became the light in my mom’s life. The two of them formed a bond unlike any other. My daughter gave my mom a new spark – a reason to fight a little harder on the tough days. The depression didn’t disappear, but the love of her granddaughter gave her more reasons to push through. And in a twist of irony, my mom allowed my daughter to do the very thing she rarely let me do – bake by her side. She handed over the measuring cups and the spoon, guiding my daughter in ways she never allowed herself to with me. I watched from a distance, seeing the joy in both their eyes. It stung a little, knowing I didn’t get that same freedom, but I was grateful. Grateful that my daughter brought her happiness. Grateful that they had each other.

My mom and I didn’t always see eye to eye. We each carried our own unspoken pain – hers from the battles I couldn’t see, and mine from the abuse she did not know about until later in life. We both learned to suffer silently, unaware that the other was doing the same. But in that kitchen, the walls came down over that cookie dough bowl. Even if just for a little while.

So, when life gets heavy, when the world feels too much – make the cookie dough. Lick the spoon. Let yourself have that moment of sweetness. Because sometimes, it’s the smallest, simplest things that hold the most healing. And sometimes, a spoonful of cookie dough is more than just a taste – It’s a memory, a bond, and a reminder that even in the hardest times, sweetness still exists.

So, go ahead – lick the spoon. Savor the sweet, messy, imperfect moments. Like cookie dough, it isn't always polished or baked to perfection. Sometimes, the best parts are the ones we're told to skip – the raw, unfiltered bites that remind us we're still allowed to enjoy the simple things. Whether you're baking cookies or just trying to hold life together, remember this: Joy can be found in the smallest scoops. And sometimes, healing starts with a spoonful of sweetness.

What are some of your favorite baking or kitchen memories with the people you love? I'd be honored if you shared them below.