The cookie

The recipe Bethany’s mother — everyone called her Honey — spent years getting exactly right for church potlucks in small-town Illinois. Big, thick, and unapologetically rich, with pools of chocolate and a little salt. Nothing modernized, nothing simplified. The kind of cookie people used to show up early for.

Sold by the dozen. Baked to order — nothing frozen, nothing sitting on a shelf. Larger batches for parties and events are welcome with a little notice.