by Ellen Irving


My mother was not a baker.  I don’t ever remember seeing her with a kitchen utensil other than a stir stick to mix a martini. My mother, however, was a great grocery shopper. She bought all the best Brand-named foods going;  Swanson TV dinners, Post cereals, Sara Lee cakes and Mr. Christie Oreo and chocolate chip cookies. 

There was one major problem to this processed food eater’s dream. I loved homemade cookies. My best friend, who lived around the corner, never got stor...


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