Barbers have such a stressful job. One wrong snip, one misheard word, and the customer will be harbouring ill will every time she looks in the mirror for the next couple months. That’s a lot of negative karma going around.
In seventh grade, I experience a traumatic haircut. At just past the shoulders, my dark brown hair was neither straight nor wavy. I was attempting to grow it out in the hopes that length would convince my hair to commit to straightness. So I asked the barber for a trim, who misheard and ended up hacking off a good four inches of my hair. Tragic, yes, but at least my side-swept bangs were left intact.
Staring into the mirror that night, I vowed to grow my hair out until it was gloriously long and flouncy and straight. At twelve, I figured that it would take roughly three years to grow it out to an acceptable length. For the next four years, I went to a different barber. “Just a trim,” I’d say politely every time he asked how much hair I’d like to take off.
Three years came and went and I’m still growing my hair out. Somewhere along the lines, I had decided that I would donate my hair to charity, though I couldn't seem to bring myself to part with my mane last winter when the charity had come by our school to collect hair. I guess I figure that if I grow my hair out even longer, it won’t be quite as short when ten inches is shaved off.
A couple weeks ago, I decided that I couldn’t deal with side bangs anymore. There were only two options: to let my bangs grow out long enough so that I could tuck them behind my ear or to just hack them off. I chose the latter; I’m somewhat impatient and immediate gratification definitely suits me more in this case. But seeing as drawing/cutting/walking in straight lines are not my forte—not to mention the fact that I had just nicked myself with a pair of scissors—I thought it would be best to leave it the professionals.
The next day, I went to the barber shop near my dad’s workplace and asked the lady for straight bangs. “Just bangs?” she asked, eyeing my waist-length hair. I answered yes; I was still in the hair-growing-out phase and my biannual haircut wasn’t due for another couple months. Snip, Snip, Snip, went her scissors and instantly, my bangs hung straight, covering my forehead like a thick curtain.
My mom retrieved her wallet from her purse and opened it to pay, but the barber merely shook her head. “I just cut her bangs,” she said. Touched, I decided that I would make her some Black Sesame Shortbread Cookies and send them to her with my dad when he went to work the next day.
These cookies also happen to be the ones that I sent to Nicola, Melissa, and Heather as a part of The Great Food Blogger Cookie Swap, hosted by Lindsay and Julie. I hope you guys enjoy these!
Click below for the recipe.
Black Sesame Shortbread Cookies
Yield: about 2 dozen cookies
- 3/4 cup black or white sesame seeds, plus more for rolling
- 1 3/4 cups all purpose flour
- 1 cup icing sugar
- 1/4 tsp salt
- 1 cup cold unsalted butter, cubed
- 1/2 tsp vanilla
Preheat oven to 350F.
Whirl 3/4 cup sesame seeds in a food processor until finely ground. Add flour, sugar and salt. Pulse until combined. Add butter and vanilla through the feed tube while pulsing until dough comes together.
Scoop 1 tbsp of dough and roll into a ball. Lightly dip tip of ball into remaining sesame seeds. Place on baking sheet, seed-side up, and gently flatten to 1/2-inch thick disc. Repeat with remaining dough and seeds.
Bake in centre of oven until edges of cookies are just starting to brown, 9 to 11 min. Let cookies cool on sheet for 1 min. Transfer to a rack to cool completely. Store in an airtight container up to 1 week or freeze up to 1 month.