I grew up on a 160-acre farm ten miles southeast of Brainerd (Minnesota). Our life was in the country, so trips to town on Saturday mornings were an adventure. We bought groceries that couldn't be grown in our vast gardens or provided by our livestock. If there were no shoes to pass down, an occasional pair was purchased at S&L Department Store. Mine were purchased from Paul's Shoe Store because they stocked narrow AA width. From fabric we had ordered from the Sears mail order catalog, my mother sewed dresses for my sisters and I and plaid shirts for my brothers, so a spool of thread was occasionally needed. Often, my dad would give my younger siblings and I each a quarter to spend however we chose. Having entrances on both Laurel and Seventh Streets, we headed straight for the downtown 5 and 10¢ Scott Store, which was similar to Woolworth's (aka F.W. Woolworth Company). We pored long and hard over the wide array of candy choices... Bit·O·Honey, Slow-Poke Suckers, Sugar Babies, Milk Duds, rolls of Life Savers, and plump red Wax Lips, then considered more practical items like pocket-size Kleenex, ChapStick, and travel-size almond-scented Jergen's Lotion.
During the week of June 16-22, 2014, which was designated "Brainerd History Week," I reconnected with my past. Each day, activities were planned that highlighted and celebrated the people, buildings, events, and businesses that formed our community. I selected at least one activity from the "Schedule of Events" to participate in each day. On Monday morning, the court house bells (carillons), ringing simultaneously with city-wide church bells, announced the commencement of the special week. I participated in a guided downtown Brainerd history walk then purchased a book, Images of America Brainerd copyright 2013 by Crow Wing County Historical Society. It was in this book on p. 63 that I saw the photo of the downtown 5 and 10¢ Scott Store that is so vividly embedded in my memory... and the recipe for their trademark oatmeal raisin cookies. Today, I baked a batch. Very seldom do I follow a recipe as is. I slash its sugar and fat content, sub whole sprouted or soaked grains, and add veggies and soaked and dehydrated nuts and seeds. I could have subbed prunes, pureed black beans, applesauce, mashed bananas, or avocado. I was tempted. But, I didn't. I was baking a memory, so I followed the recipe as it was written. Well, except... I subbed lard for shortening. Not just any lard. Lard from Fox Farm Pork in Browerville, Minnesota where animals are "raised the old-fashioned way."
Secondly, I wasn't sure what kind of sugar was intended, so I used equal parts white and brown. Brown sugar would provide the chewiness that I remember. Lastly, I omitted the walnuts because the cookie of my memory had no crunch. For the skeptics thinking, "How can anyone possibly remember from childhood a cookie's chewiness that lacked crunch?" Granted, the memory I have been recollecting occurred in the early 1960s, however the cookie recipe was shared with me when I married and began life anew ten miles from where I grew up. Adjacent to the property I have shared with Dick since 1974, there lived Bob and Barb Johnson, who would become friends that lasted a lifetime. Barb managed the downtown Scott Store lunch counter for four years. I know, right? Upon telling her of my special memory of the store, she shared the oatmeal raisin cookie recipe that she had imprinted into her memory after having made it so may times. Over the years, that recipe, which I carefully wrote on a recipe card and slipped into a clear plastic sheet to protect it from spills, made many batches of cookies. Then...
Last September, Barb gave me the most special gift of all. In her handwriting, on a yellowed index card, was the oatmeal raisin cookie recipe from the downtown Scott Store. She explained that the from-scratch cookies were a lunch counter offering long before she was hired as manager. I was holding a piece of history in my hands. And were there walnuts in Barb's recipe? There were not. Just an amazingly chewy moistness accented by the sweetness of plumped raisins.