When I was in college, there was a health food store in the little town adjacent to the university. It was a ten-minute walk from campus. To get there, you’d wander down the wide tree-lined boulevard outside the stately, formidable university library: a silvery-gray fortress of limestone and schist. You’d come upon town’s main street and turn right, passing a jumble of small shops and restaurants: the tucked-away sushi spot frequented by crowds of college students before formal parties, a rambling Catholic Church and the crumbling-looking thrift shop next door, and the second-best ice cream store in town (it loses out to the number one spot in terms of flavors, but wins over the student body for diversity of toppings guaranteed to give you a sugar high for studying, from a warm drizzle of Nutella to crumbled Butterfinger candy).
Then the stores begin to thin out, the town becoming more residential, giving way on the left and right to leafy streets that would beckon invitingly in the springtime, whispering to me to explore in the sunshine instead of hunkering down at a table in the student center with my pen and a geology textbook.
You’d carry on, past the funky coffee shop with the good, cluster-y granola and jet fuel-esque espresso, and then the seafood market. On your right is a bike shop and just beyond that the parking lot of the health food store.
Enter in the sliding doors and immediately you’re greeted by that distinctive health food store smell. You know the one. Equal parts freshly juiced ginger and wheatgrass and something else you can’t quite put your finger on. Is it the smell of Birkenstocks and Tevas, worn with socks on? The aroma of a canvas bag full of ruled notebooks, Immanual Kant, and Betty Friedan? Who can say?
When I’d get there, I’d waltz past the produce aisle, possibly pausing to pluck a Pink Lady apple from the top of the pyramid, but likely not being distracted by things such as fruit.
Straight to the back I’d go, reaching the bakery counter, which was crammed full of crusty sourdough loaves and seedy buns. And next to the counter was a glass case filled with cookies. There was a cranberry oatmeal and a peanut butter and some other questionably wholesome looking choices. But then, at the bottom, was an entire tray of chocolate chip cookies.
These were not your average chocolate chip cookies. They are soft and pliable and thick and chewy in the center, but crinkly and crisp at the edges. They were huge and saucer-like. I’d slip a few in a waxed bag and eat one, bite by tiny bite, on my walk home. I’d keep the others for as long as I could make them last.
My friends and I all loved these cookies (in fact, I can’t remember who can take credit for the bizarre discovery of their existence) and they rivaled any other sweet indulgence of college: They were better than the yogurt-covered pretzels in the student center store and better than cupfuls of dry Cap’n Crunch and Cinnamon Toast Crunch we’d eat while studying and even better than the (revolting-sounding but addictive) combination we invented in the dining hall: vanilla soft serve topped with a slice of cake, all mashed together.
The health food store closed abruptly partway through our junior year, while I was away studying in South Africa. I returned to campus desperate for the familiar taste, and no cookie—at a health food store or co-op or otherwise—has ever quite lived up to that cookie.
Probably I’ve made them too perfect in my mind: Chewy and crisp and packed with chocolate. Golden on the edges with a bendy center. Sweet but not at all too sweet.
Today’s recipe comes the closest so far to replicating that cookie. The original also featured nubby oats and shredded coconut, so I’m going to adapt it with those ingredients and see what happens.
But in the meantime, I highly recommend giving the recipe as written a try. While they happen to be vegan (more on my recent vegan kitchen adventures soon), they don’t use any strange or esoteric ingredients. Rather, I use coconut oil for the fat, and I skip the egg altogether.
This has the effect of creating cookies with serious spread. Be forewarned and leave plenty of space between them on the cookie sheet!
I like to use chocolate chunks or wafers instead of chips, because I adore how they end up in pools of melted chocolate (unlike many chocolate chip brands which are crafted with soy lecithin to melt less). I also often toss in some cacao nibs if I have some on hand for extra crunch and a bitter, intense chocolate edge.
Ground coffee is also delicious here, if you want a little buzz to your dessert.
Chewy-Crinkly Vegan Chocolate Chunk Cookies
1/2 cup coconut oil, room temperature or cold (not melted)
1 1/4 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 cup unsweetened almond or coconut milk
3/4 cup chocolate chunks
1/2 cup cacao nibs
1/4 cup ground coffee (optional)
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.
Cream together the coconut oil and sugar. Add the salt and vanilla and mix.
Add the flour and baking soda and mix to combine. The mixture will look sandy.
Add the milk and beat until the dough comes together, scraping down the bowl as needed.
Add the chocolate chunks, cacao nibs, and ground coffee (if using).
Scoop the dough by the 1/4-cup onto a parchment-lined baking sheet. Leave PLENTY of room as they will spread quite a bit. Bake for about 12-15 minutes; keep a close eye on them and take them out when the edges are nicely deep golden brown.
Let cool fully.
You can also chill the dough for up to 2 days, or freeze it (scooped in balls) up to 2 months.