It’s two days after Christmas, and I am full. I’ve probably eaten more cookies over the last five days than I did all year long. There’s an incredible variety required for the holiday because everyone has their favorites. I like snickerdoodles. Although I also tried my hand at rugelach this year, stuffing the yeasted dough with rather boozy cherries and raisins.
There were homemade fig newtons for Alex, pizzelles (a gift from the Goodwin family) for Aunt Marie, chocolate chips, peanut butter, and entire trays of homemade cookies that arrived on our doorstep en masse. It was a beautiful thing.
For Mom, I tried to make butterballs. They are her favorite, made by the aunts when I was a child, now made by me. This year I couldn’t find the exact recipe and cobbled together one of my own, adapted from many with my fingers crossed and my walnuts dusted in powdered sugar. In the end, they weren’t butterballs; Alex dubbed them butter flats. These were rich, delicate, crumbly cookies, with a slightly bitter edge, covered with powdered sugar and melting on the tongue. Everyone was happy to eat them, and tomorrow I head back into the kitchen to figure out how I made them for future reference. So you’ll have to wait another day or two for the recipe, although the memories, well, they last a lifetime.
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