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My pleasure. I'm pasting this in from a MS Word file. If it doesn't work, I'll retype it. Edna’s French Cookies 1 ½ cups butter or margarine 5 eggs 1 ½ cups sugar 1 ½ cups brown sugar 1 ½ tsp vanilla extract 3 ½ cups flour 1 shot of whiskey (or a little more. . .) Cream the butter and eggs; add the sugars and vanilla. Add flour slowly, and then the whiskey at the end. The dough will be very soft. You can refrigerate it to make it easier to work with. Drop by tablespoonfulls on a hot, greased waffle iron, close the lid, and bake as if you’re making waffles.. My iron is round and divided into quadrants, so I usually make four cookies at a time. They should be about 1 ½ inches across when finished. Remove them as best you can; I think it’s easiest to use 2 forks to gently pry them up and move them to a cooling rack. The first batch or two usually crashes, but you get to eat those right away and they don’t have any calories. Every now and then, Edna would dip one end of the cookies in a thin chocolate glaze. Sometimes she'd use leftover chocolate buttercream frosting on them. They're best on the 2nd or 3rd day.

A few years ago, a dear family friend, without hesitation, shared a special recipe with me. It was for what we'd always known as "Edna's Cookies"... wonderful things baked on a waffle iron. When I was growing up, we ate them either one row at a time, or by chomping the edges off, to form a square, and then by popping them, whole, into our mouths. She died eighteen months ago, and when I just have to be near her again, I make her cookies, and snatch spoonfuls of the whiskey-spiked dough with my finger, just as I did when I was four and sitting on her kitchen counter. The smell of the cookies baking brings back all of the wonderful memories of her... she was truly one of the most wonderful human beings ever to grace the earth, and her five highly-educated, extremely successful professional sons wept out loud at her funeral. Sometime later, my friend Greg reluctantly parted with his family's recipe for a special cake. Whenever I make it, I think about him, though I haven't seen him in years, and all of the insignts about food and about life I gained from being around him. I didn't realize I like parsnips until he served them at dinner one night. I could go on and on about recipes other friends have shared. Some of those friends remain part of my life; others I've lost track of. But their memories are vivid when I fix the recipes they shared with me. Want to become immortal? Share a recipe. Yes, I've had all of the crap happen to me, too. A co-worker and his wife recently fixed my White Chicken Chili recipe, and he was disappointed because it was so bland. "Didn't you use any of the condiments?" I asked. It's supposed to be served with salsa or sour cream or shredded Monterey Jack or chopped cilantro or diced avocado... or all of the above. No, just the chili, he said, complaining again about its blandness. What an idiot. All that money and all that effort into the recipe, but didn't serve it with the accompaniments it was designed to be served with. It's his loss. But my gain, since the recipe was given to me by Cliff and Steve... who are the most wonderful cooks, and I'll never forget them, especially when I make their chili.