Over the weekend, we engaged in some “advanced baking.” At least that’s what my husband has dubbed it. We plunged into the unknown and, using an unvetted recipe, tried to recreate the exact cookies Mr C remembers his grandmother making when he was a kid.
The recipe (which his mother provided) produced a dough that was challengingly delicate. In the end, though, we managed to produce some two dozen cut-out cookies, rolling out the chilled dough with a lot of flour. It was an exercise in perseverance, culminating in a strangely strong satisfaction and triumph.
Fragile are the connections that link us to the past and the generations. The cookie tins that we count on to connect us with our sisters and mothers across the miles. Yet the meaning of love resides in such details, in trivialities at once precious and urgent.
PS No, my friends; Celia is not about to morph into a kitchen blog.
Harley says
I remember well the Xmas cookies my grandparents used to make; they always looked great and tasted even better. I was too young back then to appreciate how much work they put into baking them……..Now, hopefully being older and wiser I can fully understand the work you and yours put into making those beautiful looking cookies!…………Nice pictures of before and after!
Celia says
Harley,
In my house too, growing up, all kinds of treats and wonders simply appeared. Not unduly often, but we were never really clued in to the labor that went into the childhood we had.
The cookies made with our own labor tasted great, too! I was glad of that.
Celia
Janet says
I liked how you described the recipe as “unvetted”.
Celia says
And, you know, the first time Mr C made it, the cookies almost didn’t turn out. Tasted great but looked dreadful. . . we had to keep and eat them all ourselves. . . . what a shame!