Yes, ladies and gentlemen. Today is the day, and we’re bringing you moment by moment events of the great Christmas Cookie Bake, 2020. It’s as if you are right here, watching the excitement from your homes. We’re taking you into the tent with Paul and Pru. The lists of possibilities has been pared down to only the eight or ten favorites.
Her Ladyship is perched in her designated seat of command at the dining room table, recipe book at the ready. She’s preparing to shout directions to the kitchen, where Princess Elizabeth has prepped the cookie sheets, uncovered the mixer, brought out every conceivable utensil, unleashed the waxed paper and parchment. (Why do we have parchment? Wasn’t that something that medieval popes used to jot down their thoughts?). Anyway, the day breaks bright and full of promise.
This year we’re set. Shopping for the ingredients is rather like a scavenger hunt. I’m always looking for the really hard-core stuff. You know, the ones that will cause normally well-trained stocking people at the supermarket to pause, frown, and look wildly around as if maybe my request will materialize in front of them. Candied kumquats, for example. While the grocery store employees are frantically restocking normal items – cake mixes, flour and sugar, that sort of thing, I have them stopping to search every aisle for candied kumquats. Out back to the store rooms, up to the manager’s office they go. Once again, I scour the baking aisle for an infinite variety of chocolate bits – semi-sweet, bitter-sweet, milk and dark chocolate, white chocolate, chocolate / peanut butter, chocolate with bits of other stuff mixed in like peppermint, spearmint, avocado. OK, not that last one. But if there were an avocado cookie, the Princess would request it. Then I had to swoop over to the candy aisle for Hersey kisses. It’s all chocolate, but no, we can’t put it with the chocolates. It’s technically a candy.
So, we’re off. Is the camera rolling? Can everyone hear me? The first batch of cookie dough is brought to Herself for formation and skilled handling. It’s shaped into squares, round balls, attractive little cookies with peaks in the center, whatever shape is required to maintain interest. Spacing is essential, because otherwise they’re liable to melt together into one gigantic cookie. An addition last year was something with pretzels. I debated for what seemed like hours over the best type of pretzel to purchase, only to find out later they’re crushed to bits, so they didn’t need to twisted sticks anyway. I could have used floor scrapings at the pretzel factory. Our daughter is the raw materials supervisor. She mixes the ingredients, prepares the ovens – oh yes, we’ll keep two working constantly at different temperatures and with the oven racks spaced out so we can switch the sheets periodically. May we assume that those on the bottom rack cook faster, slower, more evenly, until their tans are just right? The mixer is whirring, flour is flying like a sandstorm in the Sahara, pounds of butter are disappearing. In between, she’s bringing unbaked cookies from the formation center to the oven, then bringing the cooked ones back for the final, finishing touches of sprinkles, confectioner’s sugar, whatever will give it an attractive “sheen”. Sugars are like chocolate bits – there is an infinite variety. There’s the granulated (which is the basic white sugar to the uninformed. There’s brown sugar, which has a become a family – dark brown to different shades of light brown. Confectioner’s sugar is the finely ground, powdery one that gets everywhere, particularly all over your clothes when you eat the cookie that’s coated in it.
The cookies are beginning to emerge. Some are long and pointy. They’re shortbreads. Those are the ones that taste like sawdust. Most of the cookies came out as intended. The gingerbreads spread out to the point of violations of personal space, so I had to separate them. Perhaps Paul or Pru could stop by to tell us what happened. They’re very good at pointing out deficiencies. Or we could have one or two election fraud investigators make inquiries. We started freezing a bunch last year so they won’t all revert back to their original parchment state by Christmas. They’ll be fresh and bursting with flavor if we remember to unthaw them at some point. At least that’s the story I hear as I clean out the freezer so we can fit them in.
My role in this is several steps down the ladder. As I may or may not have mentioned before, my role is rather like Dobby, the house elf in Harry Potter. I was historically called that several times in the past for emergency washing of the mixer bowl or whips. I lend a hand when needed. Around these parts, I prefer to think of myself as the “clean up specialist”. I wipe down the mixer paddle for the next go-around, keep the scrapers, bowls and spatulas coming, occasionally making a dash to the spice rack. Or, if you prefer, I’m like one of the nurses in surgery, handing the surgeon equipment. Last year, the princess did, in a commanding voice, request “SPATULA”, extending a hand as she was hunched over the mixer.
It looks like this year’s bake is hugely successful., even by quarantine standards. The cookies are nestled all snug in their plastic compartments. They’re stacked on top of the fridge, awaiting distribution. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, all in all, a good bake. That’s the last official preparation for the season except for Christmas dinner. I’m not sure if every household has protocols and strict time frames as we do. Her Ladyship, even in times of incapacity, still maintains order and schedules. Should you wish to adopt our system, there is the initial shopping, beginning midsummer to early fall. Then the serious shopping begins and continues until about Thanksgiving. We begin the house decorating, which happens in phases, concluding with the Appearance and Decking of the Tree. That’s followed up closely by the Christmas card writing. It takes a day or two of hunting down what we have in stock, determining whether we like them or not, and should we buy more? Do we have return labels? There is a one to two day writing out of the cards, with a pruning of the Christmas Card List, additions and subtractions. Sometimes, subtractions become re-additions, as we get cards from those that we’d crossed of the list in hopes they’d forgotten about us. I don’t do any writing because, as I’ve been regularly informed over the years, my handwriting is quite frankly substandard, so Herself does this, perched over her workspace like a monk in a medieval monastery. Once they’ve been delivered to the Post Office for mailing, we can turn our attention to the wrapping protocols. I’ve described this in great detail in other writings, so if you’re truly interested, feel free to visit previous blogs. It is, however, an event of epic proportions. Finally, the cookie bake is like the final free skate and giant slalom at the Winter Olympics or Melania’s avenue of red trees.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen. This concludes the cookie bake for another year. Five varieties, way more than we can sensibly eat in this, the year of the pandemic. I’ll strap on my facemask and drop some off at doorsteps. I’ll sample a few before my afternoon nap. Then a few more with my evening tea. Yes, friends, once again the cookie bake is in the record books. The cooling racks are tucked away and the cookie sheets returned to their shelves. The mixer is deeply breathing a great sigh of relief. The butter and egg containers are piled high in the trash. The chocolate inventory has been recalibrated and repacked, along with the pecans. The candied kumquats but a memory. All is calm, all is bright – until we start cooking Christmas dinner. As Tiny Tim would invoke, “God bless us, every one!”
Have a wonderful ZOOM Christmas, and stay safe.
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