This is the saga of a mystery and a delicious treat.  The other day, I was leafing through my voluminous loose-leaf notebooks in which I keep recipes, looking for something which, of course, I couldn’t find.  I try— I really do— to be organized.  I have nifty dividers carefully set up and the best of intentions.  The trouble is, I’m a compulsive recipe collector, and I somehow don’t keep up with my filing and my labeling.  They are simply outstripped by my wanton enthusiasm for stockpiling things that “look good.”

Any visitors to my kitchen know to find their way to my grandmother’s green biscuit tin which I lovingly hand-carried from England decades ago.   They know they can always count on finding some kind of homemade cookies lurking inside.   Though I’ve got several dozen different kinds in my baking repertoire, one kind making a frequent appearance is peanut butter chocolate chip.   For some reason—and I think I know what it may be—these are Felix’s professed favorites.  The reason is, I suspect, that they are just so good! They have a rich, crumbly, buttery crumb that’s somehow reminiscent of shortbread, but with peanut butter and good chocolate chips nestled inside. They are a breeze to make and completely addictive.  What’s not to like?