I love to bake.

I bake when I’m happy. I bake when I need to relax. I bake when I’m frustrated. I bake when I’m sad.

With just one exception.

Last year, when my Dad passed away on President’s Day, I stopped baking for months. It took awhile for me to even realize I hadn’t taken out my baking books like usual, leafed through recipes, stirred up cookie dough in a big mixing bowl, and baked spoonfuls of it on sheets in the oven with eager anticipation.

But when you’re numb, when your heart is broken, and your eyes still well with salty tears at every little memory, it’s hard to muster the strength to make anything in life sweet.

So for months, I didn’t bake. Didn’t even notice I wasn’t baking. Until one day, I started to miss it. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to do it, because I realized that every time I used to bake, I’d always share some with my Dad. It didn’t matter if it was cookies or muffins or brownies or fruit galettes or coffeecakes, I’d always save some for him. It didn’t matter that he lived an hour away. I’d just wrap some up carefully and store it safely in the freezer until I went to visit him and my Mom.

By far, my Dad and I had the biggest sweet tooths in the family. We both never met a chocolate bonbon we didn’t like. My Dad was known to enjoy a piece of pie before dinner, even if dinner was only an hour away. He thought of it as his version of an appetizer. And in the last years of his life and my Mom’s life, he kept a freezer full of ice cream — a ritualistic treat he would dish out for the two of them almost every night for dessert.

Months went by until I realized this cloistered, non-baking life was crazy. My Dad wouldn’t want me to act this way. And though he was physically gone, his spirit still was there, and probably wondering why the heck nothing sweet, warm, and sugary was coming out of my kitchen oven anymore.

So I started baking again. And I realized how much I had missed it. I think of my Dad often now when I’m trying out new baked goods recipes, such as this cookie one. I think he would have liked this one. His tastes were simple. He appreciated things that were done well. That’s what this cookie is all about: It’s a classic, beloved peanut butter cookie, only it’s just a bit more intense in flavor from the welcome additions of not only peanut butter chips, but dry-roasted salted peanuts, as well.

I may not be able to share them with my Dad anymore. But now I do the next best thing: I share them with you.

Triple Play Peanut Butter Cookies

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At times, I have the world’ss biggest sweet tooth. But other times, I like to turn down the sugar amp a tad. That is why I especially adore Italian desserts, because they satisfy more subtly. With their additions of nuts, olive oil, ricotta or other cheese, and fresh or dried fruit, they provide especially flavorful yet tempered endings to a fine meal.

One of my favorite new cookbooks is “Dolce Italiano (W.W. Norton & Company, 2007, $35) by Gina DePalma, the pastry chef at Babbo in Manhattan. It is filled with Italian desserts just like this.

Leafing through the pages, I stopped at the recipe for “Calcioni” that DePalma calls it her favorite baked pastry ever. So how could I resist?

These are small half-moon shaped pastries. The dough has a whisper of sweetness from granulated sugar and vanilla extract, while the filling is salty Percorino Romano. At first bite, you think you’re eating a cookie. Then, at second bite, you expect a filling of sweet jam of some sort. But surprise, surprise! Your taste buds are hit with the rich umami and saltiness of sheep’s milk cheese.

I love the unexpectedness of these pastries. And so did my former officemates, who couldn’t get enough of them.

Serve them as an appetizer, snack, or part of a cheese course at the end of a meal, along with a glass of sparkling wine or almost any still wine, especially full-bodied reds such as Cabarnet Sauvignon. Then wait for it, wait for it — the pleasurable look of surprise on the faces of your guests.

Calcioni

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