At my first real job just out of college, I’d pass the time between meetings looking at lifestyle and design blogs, which I’d never encountered until then. My desk was a nondescript study in beige with a utilitarian wheeled chair, a double-screen PC, and a putty-colored faux wall divider—there I’d sit, scrolling through the pages.
The office was in a 40-story high-rise right in the middle of Times Square. The closest you could get to nature was snagging a metal bistro chair on the rectangular lawn of Bryant Park, which on a nice day would be mobbed with New Yorkers. Walking outside on a coffee break meant encountering a sea of concrete and pigeons and so many tourists lining up in front of the M&M store that you’d have to step off the sidewalks and navigate the steam grates in heels. Lunch was usually leftovers from last night’s dinner, stashed in a Tupperware in the office mini fridge. The coffee was lukewarm and the entire building felt like one long trip to Office Depot: fluorescent lighting and piles of ballpoint pens that never wrote smoothly and stacks of thin computer paper and clunky phones with tightly coiled plastic cords.
There wasn’t, to put it lightly, a lot of beauty.
One day my sister sent me a link at work—I clicked on it to find a picture of pastel pink hydrangeas, clustered together in the foreground, and in soft focus beyond the flowers, a pretty cobblestone street lined with whitewashed houses. It could have been London, or Charleston, or Nantucket. I exhaled a deep breath that I didn’t realize I’d been holding in.
I felt, all of the sudden, like I was somewhere else. (Obviously it was a rude awakening to look up when someone tapped on the top of my computer and reminded me that we had a status call in 10 downstairs, please bring print-outs and realize that I was still here. Still in uncomfortable Michael Kors heels and a cardigan over a Banana Republic knee-length dress. Still staring at an inbox full of unread meeting invites. Still only halfway through my endless Excel spreadsheet work: cutting, pasting, v-look-up-ing. Highlighting in yellow. Highlighting in green. Clicking attach and then send on identical-looking reports comparing hotel bookings and advertising spend.)
The picture came from a Tumblr account: No words, no captions, just page after page of single, perfect images. I’d look at a few each day, savoring them the way you’d eat a chocolate truffle: slowly, letting the outside dissolve on your tongue.
I wanted to inhabit each one—and not just the obvious escapist photos that looked like pages from a travel magazine: wide sandy beaches or perfect clapboard Hamptons cottages or the sidewalks in Provence.
I also wanted to be part of the ones that narrowed in on one tiny, precise, exquisite detail. I wanted to be surrounded by that kind of loveliness: a single pale pink door set into a gray brick wall. The bow of a weathered sailboat painted turquoise blue. A woman’s tousled blond hair pulled back with a tortoiseshell clip.
A set of stairs painted wide vertical stripes of hunter green and bright white. A close-up of a man’s hands shucking an oyster over a pile of open shells resting on ice. A delicate green umbrella propped against a wrought-iron fence that looked like it belonged outside a stately Notting Hill townhouse. A woman’s ankles showing perfectly worn Levi’s cuffed above a pair of black satin ballet flats tied with a thick ribboned bow. A picnic blanket in a grassy clearing: a book open, its pages fluttering in the breeze, a basket with a baguette and a jar of jam and an unwrapped wedge of cheese next to it.
A worn surfboard propped against a wooden fence. A table setting of pale blue china rimmed in gold with a tangerine-colored peony tucked into the folded linen napkin, heavy silver flatware flanking the plates like sentinels.
Doesn’t it thrill you that the world is full of that kind of beauty? Quiet beauty. Small, ordinary beauty. I do want to be surrounded by it, but not just by the aesthetics. Every photo felt like miniature door into the possibility of an existence elsewhere: One would make me imagine calm and peaceful days on a lake house made of glass and blond wood perched in the pine forests of New Hampshire, the rooms all made of polished floors and slouchy linen furniture and a kitchen all done in peacock blue and gleaming brass.
Or it would conjure up a breakfast table in a cottage in Cornwall, the doors flung open to let in the salty sea air. A shallow bowl of berries and an omelet oozing with melted cheese and minced herbs and a tiny butter dish—all set out on pretty floral dishes. A newspaper folded open to the crossword, a pen uncapped nearby. The sound of a baby laughing outside in the garden; the deep answering chuckle of a man; nothing ahead but beach walks and card games and a cold gin & tonic with mint and crisp cotton sheets and someone holding your hand.
Anyway—I myself find these little details so comfortingly, reliably delightful. A reminder that even if your day is full of oil changes and half-open bills and mediocre turkey sandwiches and checking the news on your iPhone and plastic trash cans and linoleum flooring, you can just imagine what else is out there.
And, you can always summon graceful and exquisite things into your day with your own two hands: Baking, for example, does the trick. Doesn’t matter where you are, because a stack of warm pita bread cooling on the countertop or a cake iced in a glossy chocolate ganache or a spoonful of cookie dough ribboned with brown sugar frosting (try this!) is a moment worth pausing for. A moment that if I were a photographer, I’d stop to snap, freezing the frame around it.
Ready to try it? Okay, start with these very elegant and very giftable cookies (I tied stacks up in parchment paper and pretty string and dropped them off with a few neighbors). They’re sturdy and hold up well to transport, and you can also make the dough up to a few months ahead and freeze the logs. When you’re ready to bake, bring them to room temperature and slice, then bake. When they’re baked, pile a few on small pretty plate next to a cup of tea, and freeze that frame.
**A note about the chocolate here: I like to chop the chocolate pretty finely in this recipe. I find it’s very difficult to cut the logs into clean slices if there are chunks or larger bits of chocolate in the dough, because it rips the slices. You certainly can leave the chocolate in slightly larger pieces, just know the slicing will be a little more challenging. I also like the way the chocolate gets incorporated more into the dough when it’s chopped more finely.
Tahini Chocolate Shortbread Cookies
Makes about 2 dozen cookies
1 cup (226g) unsalted butter, at cool room temperature (not starting to soften but not cold)
½ cup (99g) granulated sugar
¼ cup (53g) brown sugar
1/4 cup (64g) tahini
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 1/2 cups (300g) all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup (170g) dark chocolate, chopped*
1 egg, beaten
1 cup (180g) raw/turbinado sugar
In the bowl of a stand mixer, cream together the butter with the granulated sugar and brown sugar. Beat until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes on medium-high speed. Add the tahini and vanilla and beat for another 2 minutes.
Add the flour, salt, and chopped chocolate. Mix until just combined.
Divide the dough in half and shape into long logs about 2 1/2” in diameter, wrapping them tightly in plastic wrap or parchment and then plastic wrap. You can chill the dough briefly before shaping the logs if that helps.
**I like to shape my logs into rectangles by flattening the edges once they’re wrapping in plastic—I find the rectangular cookies so pretty! But do whatever shape you like. If you’re trying to get really precise, perfect shapes, I recommend shaping the logs to the same diameter as the wells of a standard muffin tin. When you bake later, grease the wells and put one cookie slice into each, and bake that way. They’ll keep a pristine circular shape while baking.
Freeze the logs for at least 2 hours (or they’ll keep for up to 3 months).
When you’re ready to bake, remove the logs from the freezer and preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.
If your dough is fully frozen, it’ll take a bit longer to come to a sliceable temperature—you don’t want it to warm up too much as it’s easier to slice when still very cold.
Place the raw sugar on a plate or wide shallow bowl. Brush the logs with beaten egg and roll in the raw sugar.
Slice the logs into thin slices—don’t worry about the exact width but just try to keep them consistent so they’ll bake at an even rate.
Place the cookies on a parchment-lined baking sheet and bake for about 12 minutes, or until starting to turn golden brown on the edges.
Remove from the oven; let cool slightly then transfer to a wire rack to finish cooling.