Recipe: Mom’s Oatmeal Raisin Cookies

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When I was seven, I dressed up as a cowgirl and traveled the neighborhood to hand out cookies to strangers. We’d just moved to a small bit of cul de sac away from the farm we’d lived on for more than a decade. In retrospect, I don’t know what possessed me to do such a thing. Here’es an excerpt from my third book about the whole crazy thing.

From Burnt Toast Makes You Sing Good:

Mom had made a comment about “calling on” the neighbors. A week after we moved to Hill Street, my parents went out to dinner in Flint. Milt was off somewhere in his Mustang. My sister was at her friends’ house, twin girls named Pam and Tam. My other brothers were in the living room with the new color TV watching “The Streets of San Francisco.”

I got dressed in my teal cowgirl vest and skirt, both attractively finished with a white leatherette fringe. I pulled on my matching white cowgirl boots and topped it with my blue felt cowgirl hat. I set off into the neighborhood with a basket in hand, my mother’s banana spice cookies inside.

Oatmeal cookies in wicker basket on a white background

Honestly, I thought this was a good idea

The first neighbors I called on had a puzzling reaction. The man across the street operated a television repair shop out of his home. I knocked and despite hearing noise inside that would indicate they were there, they didn’t come to the door.

I moved on to a tiny brick house with a young newlywed couple. “Who are you? What are you doing?” the husband asked. I tried to explain. “Honey, go get the camera,” he yelled over his shoulder. They took my picture, then some cookies. I could hear them laughing behind the door. The Cher-style hippie girl’s home was next. She was brushing her long hair when she answered the door. She took a cookie, whispered “thank you” and closed the door, all while brushing her hair.

A sweet elderly couple explained that neither of them could eat sugar, but thanked me and welcomed us to the neighborhood. She gave me a dime. At another house, a woman answered, a baby in her arms. She chuckled as she helped herself to a cookie. “Ok, nice to meet you, Candy Girl.”

The brown house on the corner looked run-down, the backyard enclosed by a sagging aluminum fence. The doorbell didn’t work, so I knocked. A small girl with delicate features opened the door. She must have been three. I gave her several cookies. She never said a word, and just kept staring me with big brown eyes as I made my retreat.

  I left the biggest house on the block for last, a two-story number with an immaculate yard. A flock of young girls answered the door. Ah! Kids my age! I thought. The dark-haired father pushed the girls aside. “Who are you? What are you selling? We don’t want any.” Before I could explain, he slammed the door in my face.

I turned away. I thought I might cry. But then, how else would I meet the nice girls inside? I squared my shoulders. “Cowgirls don’t cry,” I thought.

Me, Margaret, Cindy and Katie

Me, Margaret, Cindy and Katie

The next evening, I put my cowgirl outfit back on. That night, I emptied the cookie jar of mom’s oatmeal raisin cookies. I repeated the endeavor of the previous night. The man across the street pulled aside the curtain but didn’t open the door. The young couple took another photo of me. The old lady gave me another dime. The woman with the baby smiled broadly. “Hey Candy Girl! What do you have tonight?” She took two cookies.

Steeling my little cowgirl will, I returned to the big white house and rang the doorbell. The front door was open, with only a screen door in place. The girls, all clad in long cotton nightgowns, clamored from up and down the split-level entry stairs to the front door. “Hey, it’s you! Don’t worry, our dad isn’t home. You can come in.”

That’s how I met my closest childhood friends.

Now, I’m not saying that you have to put on a cowgirl outfit to give some of these cookies to your neighbors. But it wouldn’t hurt. As it happens, the neighbor who nicknamed me “Candy Girl” showed up at one of my book events in Michigan just after the book launched. She’d looked all over for the photo her husband took, but couldn’t find it. Sadly, I have no photos of me in that cowgirl outfit, but I still have the oatmeal cookie recipe.

Recipe: Mom's Oatmeal Raisin Cookies
Recipe type: Baking
Cuisine: American
Cooking the raisins helped to soften them. Makes 1 dozen large cookies or 24 small ones, depending on how you shape them.
  • 2 cups (360 g) raisins
  • 1 cup (250 ml) water
  • ½ pound (225 g) unsalted butter
  • 2 cups (400 g) sugar
  • 2 teaspoons (10 ml) ground cinnamon
  • 1 teaspoon (5 ml) salt
  • 4 large eggs, beaten
  • 3 cups (285 g) old-fashioned oatmea
  • 3 cups (420 g) all-purpose flour
  • 2 teaspoons (10 ml) baking sod
  • 1 cup (100 g) chopped walnuts (optional)
  1. Put the raisins and water in a large skillet. Cook slowly over low heat until tender, about 15 minutes.
  2. Remove the raisins from the heat. Add the butter and let it melt through. Add the sugar, cinnamon, and salt and mix thoroughly. It will be a thick-liquid. Cool to lukewarm.
  3. While the raisin mixture is cooling, preheat the oven to to 350°F (177°C). Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper or a nonstick silicone liner. (If you make large cookies, you may need to do 2 batches.)
  4. Add the eggs to the raisin mixture. Mix the oatmeal, flour, and baking soda in a large bowl until well blended. Add to the raisin mixture. Blend well. Stir in the walnuts if using.
  5. Drop by teaspoonfuls for small cookies or use a tablespoon for larger cookies, leaving about ½ inch between spoonfuls as the cookies will spread during baking.uncooked cookies on baking tray
  6. Bake according to cookie size, about 10 minutes for small ones and up to 18 minutes for larger ones. Let cool briefly before serving. Store in airtight container.

This recipe was originally published in October 2014, but was updated to add the excerpt in November 2017.
uncooked cookies on baking tray

About katflinn

Kathleen Flinn is the author of "The Sharper Your Knife, the Less You Cry," "The Kitchen Counter Cooking School" and "Burnt Toast Makes You Sing Good." All are published by Viking/Penguin.


  1. Ha, “Candy Girl” is (slightly) better than “Q-tip” (my nickname growing up).

  2. Janet Pole says:

    Yummmmmm … I think these will be made in my baking class tonight as well.

    Not sure if it is your page or my computer but it cut off letters and reads “baking sod” and “oatmea” .

  3. Am I supposed to drain the raisins? It didn’t say so I left the water and my batter was too runny. I added more flour and am making bars hoping it still turns out!

    • Hi!

      Yes, you need to drain the raisins. I’ll review the recipe. I hope they turned out.

      • They turned out fine, just a little less potent tasting than if I had drained it. Kind of like bar cookies. I’ll try it again with drained rasins! I really am enjoying your books and method of cooking. Very inspiring! I cook a lot but your books have given me more confidence and I have learned knife skills!! I like how it seems more simplified when you talk about it. I am very into whole foods but a lot of recipes just seem too complicated. Thanks so much!

  4. Nicole Lamp says:

    Hi Kathleen, just finished your latest book and made your mom’s oatmeal cookies today. I, too, did not drain the raisins as it didn’t say to. I made about 50 cookies using a Tablespoon to measure. Your recipe says max 20? I baked them roughly 11 minutes. I loved your most recent book and really loved your first book. Still have to read the second. Would you ever come to Sonoma and teach a class at Ramekins Culinary School?! Please keep writing. I so identified with a lot of your childhood as I was born in 1960. Thanks for the memories!

    • Sure, I would definitely come there to teach a class! Did you make your cookies really small? When we tested it, the number of cookies varied from 18 to 26, but a few people who made much smaller cookies had a larger output. I will have to go back go review the notes.

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