The Christmas Cookie

This week I spent a very content, productive afternoon making Christmas cookies. In years past, I have made about 20 different kinds, but now I make just a few favorites and leave the rest of the baking to my very capable grown-up children. Several years ago, we started a tradition of an  exchange where we gather together with our cookies and containers to plan the Christmas Day festivities.  We reminisce, laugh, knit, and give hints for presents, all the while sampling one another's baked goods and trying not to clobber one another or throw around impatient, inappropriate remarks. I always come away from this gathering with a full heart, a bit of a sugar high, and wondering how I could have possibly given birth to four children who are so much the same, yet all so different.

As far as the cookies go, I leave trying out the newest Ina Garten and Nigella Lawson concoctions to the girls while I stay with the  old-fashioned recipes I've always been partial to. Shortly after Thanksgiving, I go through my beat-up black card file and dig for the faded, nearly illegible hand-written recipe cards I've had in my possession for 40 years. As Christmas approaches, I wait for the kind of snowy day when I know without a doubt that I will not want to so much as stick my nose out the kitchen door. I put on some old Bing Crosby and Perry Como cassette tapes, get out the gigantic blue and white bowl, and begin.

One of my favorite cookie recipes comes from a time long ago, when a wood-fired cook stove was  the heart of the house.  My mother, Agnes Scanlon Schneider has very fond memories of her Great-aunt Clara making gigantic molasses cookies when she was a little girl growing up in Hannibal, New York.  My mom has made these cookies many times herself and I remember happy visits to NY with my own little girls, where we sat around the kitchen table enjoying these enormous warm molasses cookies with a cup of piping hot tea or cold milk after the girls' nap-time.

I even have memories of Great-great Aunt Clara who turned 80 the day my younger sister was born. I have the recollection of my grandparents bringing this tiny elderly lady to special birthday dinners in our dining room. All us children were dressed in our Sunday best and the table was set with the fine china, crystal wineglasses and good silver. There are photos of my sister and I in identical dresses, flanking the diminutive lady with the lace collar and antique brooch, her snow-white hair pulled back into a tight little bun.

Mom loves to tell the story of how she often visited her great-aunt Clara and would be treated to the  lovely, puffy, spicy cookies we have all grown so fond of. She has related several times how Aunt Clara would hand her a cookie, and how her well-meaning mother, my sweet grandmother, would take the cookie away for a moment to break it in two pieces before handing it back to my mother. Mom says it always made her sad to have the cookie taken away from her and broken in two. I can picture her little girl self with her blonde curls,her blue eyes misting, not understanding why her mother wouldn't let her have the whole beautiful cookie all in one piece. She tells how she dared not complain or whine. She thinks her mother did this so there would be less crumbs to sweep up. Perhaps my grandmother thought the substantial cookie was easier for her little girl to eat if there was a half for each hand.  To this day, whenever my mother sees someone break one of the cookies in half before eating it, she gets that same sad feeling. I have even heard her cry out, "No!" if someone breaks the cookie in half so it can be dipped into their cup of coffee or tea.

Mom uses Great Aunt Clara's over-sized cookie cutter when she makes the cookies. I have to resort to a one-pound coffee can, but I do roll them out with my grandmother's rolling pin, which is my most treasured possession. The recipe I'm about to share here is much cherished by our family and is printed here with my mother's blessing. You will probably be shocked to see that the cookies contain lard. It's really important to not substitute shortening or butter; the flavor just isn't the same. Buy the lard and don't think about it too much. You won't be sorry.  Have the tea ready as soon as the first batch comes out of the oven. Set aside some to take to a little old lady later in the day. Invite a friend or two for a visit. Sit by the fire with your feet up. Reminisce. For my mother's sake, whatever you do, don't break the cookies in half! Just eat the whole thing and don't worry about the calories, or the crumbs!

Great-great Aunt Clara Cole's Molasses Cookies

1 c. melted lard (cooled to lukewarm)
1/2 c. sugar
1 1/2 c. molasses
Mix w/a wooden spoon until blended.
Add alternately w/ 1 c. sour milk:
5-6 c. flour
4 tsp. baking soda
2 tsp. ginger (You can add another tsp. if you want.)
1 tsp. cinnamon
1 tsp. salt
Roll to about 1/4-1/2 inch thick on a floured board and cut out w/an over-sized cookie cutter or 1-lb. coffee can.
Sprinkle w/sugar.
Bake at 350 degrees for 10-15 minutes (depending on size of cookies) on baking sheets lined w/wax or parchment paper. Makes about 20. You may want to make a double batch!