“It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on earth has ever produced the expression,
'As pretty as an airport.'” ― Douglas Adams
In my many travels, airports stand to be the most polarizing form of moving from one place to another. On one hand, I find airports to be indispensable—there is no way I could have traveled as far and wide as I have without them (and for that alone I feel as if I am indebted). On the other hand, I find nothing enchanting about my time spent in an airport. People love to romanticize airports, waxing and waning over the anticipation of travel or adventure, meeting old friends or coming home to family members (and these are certainly a part of the experience), but those small moments are swept away in the 5:00 am trips through airport security and the long hours of waiting.
I'm quite certain I've never walked into an airport at a reasonable time of day. Early mornings are a common theme as I set my alarm for a cringe-inducing hour, waking several times throughout the night in a panic that I've forgotten to pack something important. Soon follow the quiet moments of hauling luggage, finding boarding passes, and removing shoes to walk through the metal detector, wondering why I specifically wore a belt on today of all days. While waiting for the airplane to begin boarding, I watch my fellow passengers find the gate, all of whom seem to be in a similar state of dry eyes and caffeine-induced disarray.
A moment spent in an airport is a moment spent in limbo. Time runs on its own accord, jumping forward and backward faster than you can keep pace. It's a place that's neither here nor there, a small plot of land unto itself. It's a place where people gather and disperse. A place no one can call home. Only on a westward flying airplane can you daydream about a cheeseburger and French fries, but arrive to Egg McMuffins and disappointment.
Airports can be romantic in fairy tales and homecoming events, but I'd argue the typical reality falls a little short. My true problem with airports is not being allowed to buy a hamburger at nine in the morning when your body is telling you it's noon.
There is a place in my heart for oatmeal and raisins. It was only a matter of time for rum to join the mix. These Rum Raisin Oatmeal Cookies have all the qualities of the classic oatmeal raisin cookie with a boozy twist. The cookie base has a dark depth of flavor (in part from the addition of molasses), but the rum-soaked raisins steal the show. The cookies bake up soft and stay tender long after their stay in the oven. These cookies are not for the kids, so please keep them out of the younger ones' hands.
One Year Ago: Malted Chocolate Cupcakes with Toasted Marshmallow Filling
Two Years Ago: Monkey Tails
Rum Raisin Oatmeal Cookies
Yields 18 cookies
3/4 cup (113 grams) raisins
1/2 cup (118 ml) dark rum
1/2 cup (1 stick or 113 grams) butter
3/4 cup (150 grams) brown sugar, packed
1 large egg
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 tablespoons molasses
1/2 cup (63 grams) all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 3/4 cups (158 grams) old fashioned oats
In a small saucepan, heat raisins and rum to a boil over medium high heat, cover, and remove from heat. Allow to rest for 30-45 minutes for raisins to absorb the rum.
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (180 degrees C). Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.
In a large mixing bowl, cream together the butter and brown sugar until uniform. Beat in the egg, vanilla extract, and molasses. Gradually beat in the flour, baking soda, salt, and oats. Stir in the raisins (and any remaining rum that did not get absorbed).
Drop by tablespoon onto prepared baking sheet and bake for 12-15 minutes (the cookies may appear darker in color from the molasses—this does not necessarily mean that they have browned). Allow to rest for a few minutes on the baking sheet and remove to a cooling rack to cool completely.