In our family, Christmas cookies come about in one of two ways: we either make them or folks drop them by the house. I’m sure something similar happens with you, too. And there are the tins of cookies that you’re thrilled to receive and look forward to for weeks and others that you stow away until the day comes when you don’t feel all that guilty throwing them out. Growing up, a woman my dad used to work with would send her eponymous Denise’s Pieces each year. They’re a pretty standard chocolate-covered toffee but they’re soft and buttery and hide-from-your-sisters good. Two years ago, Denise offered to drive over from Sacramento to give us a tutorial and teach us how to make the toffee on our own. Yes! Best day ever! At the end of the day, Rachael, Zoe and I learned we were pretty awful at making toffee. We also learned Denise’s caveat: once she shows you how to make the toffee, “you’re set free.” Free, we asked? That’s right: you no longer get a tin of toffee in the mail. No! Worst day ever!
On the far other side of the enjoyable-Christmas-cookie-spectrum are Zeke’s holiday tins. My mom hired Zeke the handyman a few years after she and my dad got divorced. There were leaky faucets and running toilets; little did she know she’d hired the most unhandy of all handy men. Zeke wasn’t young and sprightly. He was creaky, old and slow. But he always had a bad joke waiting in the wings, and would pull up to the house in his red “Jazz” hat with his trusty canine sidekick, Scooter. Zeke passed away this year. My mom was heartbroken. Not because she lost her handyman, but because she lost what had become a very special friendship. So this year we won’t get to joke about Zeke’s Christmas cookies. They would come in festive tins and he’d hand deliver them on the way to the dump. You could tell he put great time and effort into each one, but truth be told: they were awful. They always seemed quite stale and never tasted like much at all. My sisters and I would joke about them, my mom all the while insisting the brownies really weren’t that bad (they were).
Just like Denise and Zeke, we give tins of cookies away each year, too. Every December 23rd, my sisters and I usually gather at my dad’s house for Cookie Night. We’d all choose one recipe we wanted to make, supply my dad with an ingredient list, and he’d do a grocery run and plan something easy for dinner. The first few years this was a great way to spend an evening. Then one year it started to feel like more of an obligation for some reason so we did cupcakes instead. The following year we narrowed it down to just two cookie recipes. This year, we’ve decided to let Cookie Night go. I think there was an unspoken agreement that it started to feel more like a burden than a joyful way to spend time together. I don’t really know why, but it did.
So this week, I’m all about being proactive with Christmas cookies. Make cookies that you love. Bake them with those you love. Share some with neighbors and friends. Keep others for yourself. Hide them from your sisters if need be. So that’s what we have today. A recipe that is incredibly easy (I actually just mixed these with a wooden spoon) and has quickly become a cookie I’ll make in the spring or summer, too. Not just for Christmas. They are crumbly, only slightly sweet, and have a wonderful toastiness from the hazelnuts and almost savory cacoa nibs.
On my many trips to Seattle this year, I’ve been to Theo Chocolate a handful of times. It’s there that I first learned about cacoa nibs, the roasted and dried seed of cocoa beans. They’re bitter and crunchy and I’ve come to love using them in salads, cookies, and cakes. If you don’t have cacao nibs at home you could certainly omit them from this recipe, but they add a warmth and crunch that I know you’re going to like. These are what I fondly call “log and slice” cookies. They’re buttery and sandy in that classic shortbread kind of way–a cookie you’d feel good about giving. And a cookie worthy of hoarding, too.
Happy baking. To you and yours.
I hope you have the warmest holiday weekend surrounded by people you love. I truly, truly do. See you back here soon.
What I like about this recipes is its versatility. You could easily make these buttery cookies with pistachios and apricots or chopped dried cherries and pecans. Keep the proportions the same and go to town. Another bonus: if kept air-tight, they will stay good for two weeks — long after all of those house guests have gone.
Adapted from: Alice Medrich’s Chewy, Gooey, Crispy, Crunchy
Preheat the oven to 350 F. Spread the hazelnuts on a cookie sheet and bake for 8-10 minutes until they smell toasty and are golden brown in the middle when you cut one in half. Once cool to the touch, rub the nuts together to remove as much of their skins as possible. To do this I put them all in the center of a dishtowel and use it to help. Chop the nuts into small chunks — remember the larger the chunk, the more difficult it will be to slice the cookies later so do take some time here.
Combine the flours in a medium bowl and mix with a fork. With a mixer or a strong wooden spoon, beat the butter with the sugar, salt and vanilla until smooth but not fluffy. Mix in the nibs and nuts. Add the flours and mix until just incorporated. Finally, mix in the currants. Scrape the dough into a mass and knead it with your hands a few times to make sure the flour’s incorporated evenly. Form the dough into a 12 x 2-inch log. Wrap and refrigerate for at least two hours.
Preheat the oven to 350 F. Use a sharp knife to cut the cold dough log into slices 1/4-inch thick. Place cookies at least 1 1/2 inches apart on lined or greased cookie sheets. Bake for 12-14 minutes, until the cookies are light golden brown at the edges. Rotate cookie sheets halfway through the baking time to ensure even baking.
Allow cookies to cool on the pan for 5 minutes before moving them onto a wire cooling wrack where they should cool complete
My good friend Keena was working in India for the last few months and just returned to Seattle, eager to experience as much Pacific Northwest summer as possible in September. I'm with her on this one: It just so happens that towards the end of this month, the farmers markets I've been doing will also come to an end, so things seem like they're both simultaneously gearing up (hike! picnic! beach!) and wrapping up at the same time as I also feel a sense of wanting to cram in as much as I can before the days start getting noticeably shorter. And truly: there's no better recipe to commemorate such efforts than these fresh corn grits with oil-poached summer tomatoes.
For many years, I've always made a summer to-do list. I usually set to work on it right at the beginning of June when the days feel long and ripe with possibility. The list often involves things like learning to bake sourdough bread or making homemade ricotta, doing an epic hike I'd read about in a local magazine, training for a marathon, or reading specific novels. It is always a pretty aspirational list, and I generally don't make much of a dent in it -- resulting in the guilty feeling come late August that I'd wasted too many lazy afternoons when I could've been baking sourdough or making ricotta or doing memorable, epic hikes. But this summer is going to be a bit different: there will be no list. We wait so long in Seattle for long stretches of sunny days, and now that it stays late until 9:30 (or later?), I want to see more of our friends and find stretches of time to do not much of anything except catch up, tan our legs and eat farmers market berries. That's my list.
I received The Sprouted Kitchen Bowl + Spoon cookbook in the mail not long before we moved to our new house, and I remember lying in bed and bookmarking pages I was excited to try but also feeling overwhelmed with where to start: the truth is that this summer has been a relatively low-inspiration / low energy time in the kitchen for me. I'd been chalking it up to pregnancy but when I think back and if I'm honest with myself, my cooking style tends to be very easy and produce-driven during these warmer months. I rarely break out complicated recipes, instead relying on fresh tomatoes and corn or zucchini and homemade pesto to guide me. But last night I cracked open Sara's book and pulled out a few peaches I've had sitting on the counter, fearing their season may be nearing its end. This morning as I was making coffee, I sliced up the peaches, toasted the pecans and churned away -- having a bite (or maybe two) before getting it into the freezer to firm up.
A triple berry summer crisp made with oats, quinoa flakes and hazelnuts. Summer in a skillet.
We just returned from my mom's cabin on Lake George in upstate New York where we often spend the 4th of July. As usual, each bedroom was packed with family members (this year the couch was even occupied for a night), and our days with reading, lounging on the dock, swimming a bit, maybe jogging down the road or playing tennis if you were feeling ambitious. We drank a notable amount of seltzer water; I managed to read three books and my mom threw us a family baby shower complete with balloons, chocolate cake and Mike's rhubarb bars. In previous years, my mom has planned most of the dinners and even some lunches, but for breakfast we'd all fend for ourselves. I'd often bake a pie or a batch of brownies in the afternoon and everyone would help out where they could, but she would largely do the shopping and brunt of the cooking. This year was different: having just moved from California to Vermont, my mom had a lot on her plate and sent out an email before the holiday weekend asking us all to chip in and help with the meals. Sam and I claimed Friday dinner: we grilled sausages and Sam made his famous deviled eggs. We cut up some unusually seedy watermelon that I found at the co-op in Burlington before we drove out to the lake, and I made a summery quinoa salad that I expected to be kind of epic. The trouble was that it wasn't. I overcooked the quinoa until it was kind of a congealed mush and everything just went downhill from there. But I knew that the idea was strong -- to pack a whole grain salad with all the things of summer (corn! tomatoes! basil!) -- so when we got home to Seattle I tried again. And this time it's a winner.