Peanut Butter Cookies
Inspired by Tempranillo and an older man missing his wife, this recipe found its way into my collection during my time at the wine bar.
Once upon a time, in a wine bar in Kalamazoo, a girl was waiting on tables on a busy Saturday night when an older gentleman sat in her section.
He broke away from the group he had arrived with, choosing a quiet table by the windows, where he settled in to watch the passersby. His group opted for a table in the center of the room, and as they removed their jackets, the gentlemen gathered them and took them to the coat check at the front. They awkwardly maneuvered into their seats, scraping them back with a loud clatter, shuffling around, and eagerly flipping through the menus while chatting about which bottle to choose.
I approached the man, who smiled at a group of college students outside, decked out in black and gold—the school colors—as they sang the fight song, leaning on each other for support during their bar hop. I greeted him warmly and asked if there was anything I could get for him. Without making eye contact, he replied, “A Tempranillo, whichever is your favorite and has notes of chocolate.”
I nodded, brought him his glass, and made sure he was all right for the moment before shifting my attention back to the group. One woman, seated at the end of the large table, glanced over to check on the man seated alone, a gesture that reminded me so much of my mother when she would pop her head under the boat to see if I was okay with my nose stuck in a book. A wave of nostalgia and homesickness washed over me as she placed an order for higher-end bottles and appetizers for the entire group. As I started to make my way back to the bar, she gently grabbed my wrist. I knelt beside her as she whispered her thanks for taking care of their friend first. It was his first outing since the passing of his wife, and she was just relieved he had agreed to join them, even if it was in his own way.
As service continued, I fell into a methodical routine of opening fresh bottles, polishing glassware, folding discarded napkins when guests stepped away from the table, and checking on the bar and servers to ensure their sections remained surprisingly tame for a weekend service. Eventually, the group wrapped up their outing, and the woman at the end of the table signaled for the check. She pointed to the man in the corner, and I nodded as I made my way over to him to see if he needed anything else before I dropped her the check.
He stared into the bottom of his glass, swirling his last sip, before finally looking up at me. 'You know, this used to be my wife’s favorite type of wine.' My heart surged at his words, and I perched on one of the small stools close enough to his table to engage with him while still keeping an eye on the rest of my section.
He shared how his wife had loved sweet things and always carried a scent of chocolate from all the baking she did, which was why he had come to appreciate this wine so much. For decades, she had tried to get him to switch from white to red, but that change didn't come until after her passing. Without skipping a beat or waiting for my response, he spoke of her incredible cooking and how, without her, his meals had become subpar. But there was one of her recipes that stood out: her beloved peanut butter cookies. He mentioned it was he who had really perfected them by adding Reese's and Hershey's triangles in the middle and chuckled as though he was listening to a memory of his wife agreeing, or I imagined playfully batting him for taking credit for adding her favorite things to a recipe she had baked for him dozens of times. Grasping my hands in thanks as he rose, he relayed the recipe quickly, and I wiped at the tears streaming down my cheeks. Then, he insisted I try making the cookies and enjoy them with a glass of this wine, which I had chosen for him because it happened to be my favorite on the menu. He said it would make an old man so happy to know others were baking his wife’s recipes in their home.
He ushered my attention back to my section, and the woman at the end of the table smiled at me with tear-filled eyes, as if we were sharing a little secret that no one else in the wine bar knew. I dropped off the check, and she thanked me repeatedly as the group made a loud exit, welcoming the man back without pause or hesitation. A few of the men clapped him on the shoulder while waiting for their coats at the coat check, then helped their wives into theirs. As they exited onto the busy street, I watched them go, and my bartender reached over the bar, tapping me on the back to get my attention and asking what the hell had just happened.
Mix together 1 cup of peanut butter, 1 cup of sugar, and 1 egg until well combined. Shape the mixture into dough balls and place them on a cookie sheet. Use a fork to press down on each ball twice, creating a crosshatch pattern. Bake at 350 until the moment just before the toothpick comes out clean. Let cool and enjoy.
When I got home, late into the night—or early morning by many standards—I preheated the oven and put my boyfriend on speakerphone while I mixed the ingredients together, following his instructions to a tee. I poured a glass of the Atecca Tempranillo, and we chatted until sleep began to lace his voice, signaling that I was losing him. Still, I made him wait on the line until I pulled the cookies out of the oven, letting them cool just enough for a first bite without them falling apart. They’ve remained one of my now-husband's favorite cookies—or at least I like to think so—but he’s definitely perfected the recipe. When he makes them, he adds chunks of dark chocolate or whips up homemade whipped cream to really take it over the top.
Happy anniversary to my better half, who always makes life taste sweeter. 🖤
Awwww...so cool!! Ty for sharing the recipe 🙂