Barry came back to the boat recently and found me laughing my head off like a lunatic. Because we’ve been doing fiberglass work in the main cabin, we’ve moved out of the galley and are cooking on a 2-burner Coleman stove on a picnic table under the boat.
But I can’t let the Coleman stove stifle my creative cooking instincts. And I’ve been meaning to make cookies for my friends here in the boatyard for a while. Finally, this past Sunday evening, I made a batch of No-bake Oatmeal Cookies.
One of the rules I break all the time is this one: Never ever make an untried recipe for company. In this case, I was hoping they’d be good enough to give away, but I wasn’t stupid. I didn’t tell anyone ahead of time and get their expectations up.
I carefully followed the recipe, which came from an issue of Practical Sailor. It’s not exactly Cooks’ Illustrated or Gourmet — in all the years I’ve read the magazine, this was the first time they’d actually printed a recipe. There are a lot of sailors out there with stoves and no ovens, so no-bake cookies are important!
Anyway, the reason Barry found me collapsed in laughter was the result of my attempt at no-bake cookies. The result was suspiciously like peanut butter-chocolate fudge with oatmeal in it, not a cookie-like consistency at all. And when I tried to cut them, they crumbled horribly. So I came up with a new name for them, a contraction of “fudge” and “cookie”: Fuckie.
As Barry came around the boat, wondering what was so funny, I knew I had to offer him one. “Honey,” I gasped, “Would you like a … fuckie?”
“A WHAT?” he asked. Between chuckles, I managed to explain the name. I tried to hand him one, but half of it dropped off before he could eat it. They truly were “fuckies.”
Nonetheless, they tasted OK, and folks who are working on boats need all the treats they can get. So I passed them out, and they went over remarkably well. One reason might be this: I chickened out and changed the name. I mean, most people won’t accept a fuckie from someone they hardly know.