Soft & Chewy Oatmeal Raisin Cookies

My strongest belief in the universe — aside from the sacred duty to always buy good butter and to own at least one spatula that has feelings — is that Soft & Chewy Oatmeal Raisin Cookies deserve a medal, a parade, and possibly a small shrine in the kitchen. If you think raisins make cookies sad, you haven’t had these. Also, if you want evidence that I will defend cookies in the face of culinary blasphemy, see my long and teary thread on why underbaked centers are valid (sorry, Aunt Marge). For reference, my butter loyalty runs deep — borderline cult — but also check out this other obsession I wrote about: my butter-pecan cookie obsession (no shame).

How I Ruined Thanksgiving Once (and Learned to Mend Cookies and Relationships)

Okay, quick story: the year I decided to bring my “improved” oatmeal cookies to Thanksgiving, I thought substituting molasses for all the brown sugar would be avant-garde. It was not. The cookies spread into tragic flat discs that looked like they’d lost their will to live. Grandma pretended they were "interesting" while quietly dunking hers in gravy (I am not joking). My cousin filmed me crying into a plate (viral content, apparently) and I swore off experimentation for like… two weeks.

Also, I once tried to “improve” a family recipe by adding chocolate chips to a neighborhood tradition cookie swap. My neighbor — who runs a tight cookie ship — quietly replaced my batch with store-bought biscotti and labelled them “interpretive art.” Burned, humbled, but educated. The moral: respect oats; don’t be dramatic with molasses unless you like modern art cookies.

Pivoting: Back to the Recipe Because Food Doesn’t Care About My Feelings

ANYWAY, before I emotionally relive the entire dessert timeline of my twenties (and yes there will be a montage), let’s make cookies that are soft and chewy and forgiving — the opposite of my cooking identity crisis of 2019. These behave. They hug your molars. Also: raisins — controversial, yes — but when plumped perfectly, they are tiny pockets of nostalgia and sneaky sweetness.

What You Need (and My Hot Takes on Shopping)

• 1 cup unsalted butter, softened
• 1 cup brown sugar
• 1/2 cup granulated sugar
• 2 large eggs
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 3 cups rolled oats
• 1 cup raisins

Mini-rant: If you’re buying raisins at Trader Joe’s you’re living your best budget-gourmet life; if you splurge on fancy plump organic ones, I won’t judge — I’ll just be very proud and slightly jealous. Also, pro tip: real butter (not margarine masquerading) = everything. Aldi has steals, Trader Joe’s has charms, and your neighborhood co-op has that one cashier who gives the best recipe advice (bless them).

Cooking Unit Converter: Quick conversions so your kitchen math doesn’t betray you

If you prefer grams or need to halve this for a small rebellion against batch baking, convert here.

How I Do the Hands-On Stuff (a chaotic technique guide)

I could write a clinical list, but where’s the personality in that? So: cream like you mean it — you want fluffy, whisper-light butter because that’s the air that keeps these cookies soft. Don’t over-mix once the flour goes in (I did once and produced hockey-puck cookies and we do not speak of that era). Stir the oats in like you’re tucking them into a warm blanket. Taste the dough (consensual tasting) to ensure balance.

Here’s the actual procedural backbone (because my chaos still loves structure):

1. Preheat your oven to 350°F (175°C).
2. In a large bowl, cream together the softened butter, brown sugar, and granulated sugar until smooth.
3. Beat in the eggs one at a time, then stir in the vanilla.
4. In a separate bowl, combine the flour, baking soda, cinnamon, and salt. Gradually blend this dry mixture into the creamed mixture.
5. Stir in the oats and raisins until evenly distributed.
6. Drop by rounded tablespoon onto ungreased cookie sheets.
7. Bake for 10 to 12 minutes or until the edges are nicely golden.
8. Allow to cool on the baking sheets for a few minutes before transferring to wire racks to cool completely.

Also: if you want to geek out on texture, check this delightful deep dive I once read while procrastinating on Instagram: a nerdy guide to cookie textures (not the same cookie, but vibes).

Why This Cookie Feels Like Home

Cooking isn’t just meals; it’s family lore carbon-copied into smell and texture. Baking these cookies smells like November light pouring through kitchen blinds, like neighborhood kids trading secrets over sugar bowls, like the small mercies of a Midwestern winter where comfort food is currency. When I bake, I’m rebuilding memory in edible form — which, yes, is sentimental, but also practical because there’s food at the end of the therapy.

One More Tiny Story (because I Can’t Stop)

Last week I burned a single tray, and my cat — who is a connoisseur of crumbs — judged me so hard he turned away. I forgave myself, brushed off the char, and put on another batch. Resilience, folks. And butter.

Frequently Asked Questions: Chaotic Edition

Okay I’ll stop now (dramatic pause). Bake these cookies when you need a warm hug, when you’re hosting aunties who have opinions, or when you’re tired of being an adult — they forgive mistakes, pair with coffee, and make apologies taste better. And if the first batch is slightly weird, make another. That’s how legacy recipes are formed: trial, error, and a lot of butter.

Daily Calorie Needs Calculator: Because curiosity kills crumbs (but not appetite)

Estimate how many calories these cookies represent against your daily needs with this handy tool.