The object at hand: a molasses cookie. Actually the object that was at hand just moments ago but is now resting safely for the time being in my tummy. Cookies were an essential part of Christmas growing up in the Maine homestead. They are for me the flavor and fragrance of this festive season. I’m certain I’m not alone in this regard. I offer as evidence all the cookie tins from neighbors that so often show up at our home during the holiday season.
Mom always baked a wide variety. She knew that sugar cookies in the shape of trees and wreaths, while festive, weren’t the only way to pack on the pounds during December. The same goes for gingerbread men, although she rarely made them. She began baking just after Thanksgiving and didn’t stop until just before Christmas Eve. As a result we always had a white Christmas, at least in the kitchen thanks to all the flour and powdered sugar being flung.
Don’t think I just sat back and watched. Even as a tyke, I was there working tirelessly beside her. If you think licking beaters, spoons, and bowls clean after the mixing is done isn’t hard work, you just don’t know the finer points of baking. Someone has to take care of quality control. That included making sure any unsightly cookies were never seen by the general public. I was a master at making them disappear...sort of a cookie hitman, if you take my meaning.
Then there were the pecans, some fifty pounds of them that needed to be cracked and shelled. My father was from Waycross and every year when we went to visit my aunt he would procure a large sack of pecans. During late November he and I would head for the basement. He manned the cracker and I got the wonderful task of shelling and cleaning the nuts. He would “ka-whack” the nuts and shrapnel would fly. That was 40 years ago. I’m sure the house we lived in then has been remodeled several times. I’m certain each time they did they found pecan shells and wondered “what the heck”. All of this went on while a stack of Jim Reeves albums played on the stereo. Yes I’m that old. To this day when I listen to Gentleman Jim sing “He’ll Have to Go”, I flinch expecting to hear “ka-whack” after every phrase and be pelted by pecan shells. Fortunately these days we buy them shelled. It’s like living in the demilitarized baking zone.
The nuts were a necessity since most of mom’s cookies required them. There were date nut bars, Danish wedding cookies, orange balls (which I don’t think we're actually baked but were made with orange juice, flour, butter, nuts and coconut),sugar cookies in festive shapes, chocolate chip cookies (of course, this is America after all), Forgotten cookies, and Thumbprints. Those are just the ones I can remember. There were others that would come off the bench to sub for the regulars occasionally when she was in the mood to try new things. The Forgotten Cookies were brought in for a tryout one year and were able to make the team for two reasons. Firstly they tasted fantastic. They were light in texture and melted in your mouth. No chewing…how helpful. Secondly was the way they were made. They contained egg whites whipped fluffy like a meringue with chocolate chips and of course nuts. Then they were placed in a 350 degree oven. The oven was turned off and you just forgot about them for several hours or overnight.
No matter how the lineup changed, the thumbprint cookies were always there. They were my father’s favorite. They’re sometimes called jewel cookies or wreath cookies. They’re the ones that have the jelly blob in the middle. The dough is similar to shortbread. The dough is rolled into two-inch balls, dipped in egg white, and then rolled in nuts. You use your thumb to put a dent in them just before you pop them in the oven, hence the name “thumbprint”. Once they cool, you plop a blob of jelly in them. Mom always used currant jelly. I’m not sure why, but I still try to use it when I make them.
Yes, I do bake them. It’s something I enjoy. Although I haven’t tackled everything on mom’s list, I do have her recipe box. I consider it my baking bucket list. I make a pretty good gingerbread man and love to decorate them. Same goes for the sugar cookies. Although when the kids would help decorate them, they looked like something that came out of Dr. Frankenstein’s oven.
Admittedly my thumbprints don’t come out as tasty as I remember. But they do remind me of many wonderful Christmas seasons filled with good food, twinkling lights on trees dripping with tinsel, and the anticipation that comes with having something to look forward to. With every bite I am pulled back in time. The memories flood and occasionally flow down my cheeks.
They say you shouldn’t live in the past. It’s true that looking backward too long can blind you. But I think it’s important to occasionally remember from whence you come. It is grounding. And it seems a good way to honor my parents.
Some may lament the pounds Christmas cookies may pack on. Personally I find the memories they contain quite healing.
