A cookie exchange works when three numbers are settled before the invitation goes out: how many guests, how many dozen each, and who is baking what. Get those agreed and the day itself is a table, some containers and a couple of hours.
Get them vague and you end up with six people, four of whom brought chocolate chip, and one person who baked eleven dozen because they were not sure.
There is no official standard, which surprises people. Hosts set it, and the common patterns are:
Eight to twelve guests is the sweet spot. Fewer and the variety is thin. More and everyone is baking industrial quantities for a tin they can barely lift.
Write the number in the invitation, in numerals, and do not change it later. Someone will have started on the Saturday.
This is the single rule that makes the difference, and it costs nothing.
Ask each guest to reply with what they are baking, first come first served, and keep the list where everyone can see it — a group message works fine. Chocolate chip gets claimed within the hour, which is exactly why claiming exists.
Aim for a spread across the usual categories so the table is not all one texture:
You do not need to enforce this rigidly. Just noticing that four people have claimed chocolate and nobody has claimed spiced is enough to nudge one of them.
Put these in the invitation, because the day is too late:
A cookie exchange produces two things: a tin of cookies, which lasts a fortnight, and a set of recipes, which lasts for years. The second one is the part that gets lost.
Ask everyone to bring their recipe written out, or to send it ahead so you can print them. Then they go home with the cookies.
If someone brings a recipe card in a relative's handwriting, photograph it before you hand it back. Those are the ones worth keeping properly: a recipe scanner reads the card into a recipe you can cook from and keeps the photo of the original attached, so the handwriting comes with it rather than staying on a card that goes home in a coat pocket.
Photograph the card before it goes home again.
Tradish is launching on iOS and Android soon. Keep every recipe that comes through your kitchen, including the ones in somebody else's handwriting. Join the waitlist for early access and our best launch price.
The layout does more work than people expect.
One plate per baker, with space around it, and a card saying what it is and who made it. Nut and dairy warnings on the card too.
A separate sample plate, so people can try things without picking the display apart. Half a dozen of each is enough.
Containers at the end of the line, not the start, so people fill them as they go. Flat boxes work better than deep tins, because cookies stack badly and people take more variety when they can see what they have.
Somewhere to put coats and bags that is not the cookie table.
The whole point is that everyone leaves with ten kinds instead of one. Say it out loud when people start packing: a few of each, not a dozen of one.
If you have an odd number of anything left at the end, that is what the host keeps, which is a perfectly good reason to be the host.
A small thing that makes it feel like an occasion rather than a transaction: a silent vote for a favourite, with nothing at stake. People take it far more seriously than they expect to.
There is no official rule, which is why the host has to pick one. Two to three dozen per guest is the common range, with six dozen about the upper limit before it stops being fun. For a group of ten, six to eight cookies per person keeps the baking sane.
Eight to twelve works well. Fewer and the variety is thin; many more and everyone is baking enormous quantities for a tin they can barely carry.
Say the number of dozens, ask people to claim their cookie in advance so there are no duplicates, say whether it has to be homemade, and ask for the recipe. Set all of it in the invitation rather than on the day.
Ask everyone to reply with what they are making, first come first served, and keep the list somewhere everyone can see. Chocolate chip gets claimed within an hour, which is exactly the point of claiming.
Containers or boxes for people to take cookies home in, a table with room for every plate, something to drink, and printed copies of the recipes if you collected them.
Guests, dozens, and who is baking what. Settle those in the invitation and the rest is a table, some boxes and an afternoon.
And collect the recipes. The cookies are gone by New Year; the recipes are the part you still have in ten years.
Tradish is launching on iOS and Android soon. Join the waitlist to be first to know when we launch.
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