Cooking Memories

The answer was always a vociferous 'No.' The question, posed to my daughter throughout her childhood, was simple, "Would you prefer a mom who stayed home and baked cookies?" Depending on her age, I surmised that the negative response correlated with my pitiful baking attempts. As the years progressed however, I concluded that she admired my working life and would emulate it someday.

During the holidays, I'd retrieve the stash of cookie cutters, replenish the green and red sprinkles, heat the oven, and do the traditional 'mom' thing. Sometimes, well quite often, Pillsbury made the dough but the origin didn't matter. We'd giggle, make a mess, burn a least a few of the snowmen/stars/wreaths and I'd decide the results did not justify the effort. I don't recall that the baked cookies were grabbed by family members. I might take them to work, send samples to school with my daughter (kids will eat anything) or dump the remainder in the trash. An ignoble ending to be sure.

This year, I've again been deeply impressed by the cookie prowess of my dear sister-in-law, Carol. She writes of days and nights in her kitchen, creating award-winning (my descriptor, not hers) cookie dough. I weaken and ask for her recipe. She assures me repeatedly that it is fool-proof. Ha! I bet she is wrong. With the dough and frosting recipes in hand, I'm off to the grocery store for supplies.

Obviously it's no fun to make cookies singularly. I'll need help. An audience. Eaters who devour cookies without complaint. The little girls next door are perfect. They've joined me on culinary adventures in the past. We've happily made meatballs and cakes, even the occasional cookie.

My new sifter is ready for its task. Three and a half cups of flour to be sifted may take a day. This isn't working. I have a sifting SOS. I call Carol. She is patient, kind. I learn that sifting doesn't mean 'sifting.' All I must do is put the flour in a bowl with the other dry ingredients and use a whisk to blend everything. No need for a sifter at all.




The girls are bored. They're hungry and snacks are critical. While I tackle the Kitchen Aid mixer, munching keeps them happy. In a matter of minutes, the floor is covered with Pirate's Booty, a popcorn like concoction. Hanna declares it 'on accident.' I know what she means.

I find the much-touted Kitchen Aid confusing. Being left-handed, the levers are backwards. Frequently, I neglect to 'lock' the mixer and thus invite disaster. I've carefully measured multiple ingredients and tried to faithfully adhere to Carol's perfect recipe. The girls have abandoned me. They've discovered that Henry's doing something much more interesting than making cookies.



Soon I'm summoned to Caitlin's bedroom and advised to bring my camera. I find Henry, Hanna and Jessy deeply engrossed in a new game available on the iPad. It is known as 'Angry Birds' and the girls, with an alacrity only the young possess, master its intricacies immediately. Their lovely laughter helps relieve my cookie making stress.

I can't disappoint Carol, so I retreat to the kitchen and the unfinished concoction. The mass resembles dough and I blithefully transfer it to a plastic bag. For the best results, overnight refrigeration is recommended. I'm relieved to have gotten this far in the process.



Prior cookie-making didn't consume two days but maybe that fact contributed to the less than desirable results. I'm buoyed by this thought and the next morning, I begin the laborious task of rolling out half of the dough. Carol has suggested that I make a few cookies without little girl participation and then let them do the frosting.




The flattened dough reminds me of a map of England and then of a bird flapping its wings. Whimsy is invading my kitchen. Though I've been told to expect lots and lots of cookies, my dough doesn't yield that many. I make snowmen, gingerbread men, Santa and Ms. Claus. Stars in all sizes rest next to holly branches. I cut a few cats just for fun. The oven's ready for 5-7 minute baking.



The next step is frosting, once the cookies are completely cooled. (Another Carol admonition.) I need the girls. Uh oh, one of them is at Immediate Care. Allergies may be the culprit. Hanna is happy to accompany me home but wants to delay any cookie activities until her ailing sibling joins us. There's time for a 'Chopsticks' duet and a swing session.







Jessy is fine and eager to begin frosting. Colors are chosen. Purple, blue, and pink are favorites. Who cares if they don't match the season? I'll ask Carol if frosting freezes.



We've been cooking memories.