-----------------
It was the week before Christmas. This year, unlike the previous years, things were going pretty well. Mark and I had had much trouble in the previous years that led up to and past our recent wedding, adjusting to the change in Christmas traditions, figuring out the best way to satisfy both sets of families. Figuring out a way as to not offend the two sides and allow them both to still experience some, if not all, their Christmas traditions. This year seemed to be different. Managing the expectations of both families seemed to be working. We had a schedule all worked out that people seemed to be happy with. Plus, our Christmas shopping was all done weeks ahead of time, save for a few minor gifts. I was feeling pretty good about things.
It was this year that I decided to try my hand at shortbread cookies. A little bit of background information is required here. I am not the best baker in the world. Sure, I can make the usual chocolate chip cookies and banana bread, but I’ve always feared shortbread cookies. “Make sure you don’t knead it too much! That’ll ruin EVERYTHING!” my friends would tell me. Of course, hearing about how difficult it was to make these cookies properly, no wonder I had a complex about it.
I had conjured up the idea about giving the small gift of a tin of shortbread cookies to our relatives that we would visit over Christmas. “We can line the tins with doilies and decorate the cookies with red and green sprinkles and icing!” I said excitedly to Mark who simply looked back at me in shock. And rightly so… the woman who had said in past years that she “hated Christmas and hated the stress it brought” was now actually excited about making Christmas cookies. About making cookies in general even. “Sounds like a great idea” he replied and just smiled back.
We did a mad search in the downtown Toronto area looking for the necessary items that we didn’t have: cookie cutters, Christmas tins, and doilies to line the tins with. Looked everywhere and eventually found them in a small shop in Chinatown. Meanwhile I had already done the necessary research with other people that had surpassed the shortbread cookie hurdle. Discovered tips, gathered different recipes and had settled on one that seemed the easiest. I had purchased red and green icing tubes and a little box of assorted sprinkles in which I could decorate the cookies. I was set.
I think that something strange happens to women when they begin doing something like this, making shortbread cookies for Christmas. It’s as if something maternal kicks in, and kicks in hard. Something kicks in that says, “you’re going to be doing this for a long time now, and probably for your future kids, so you’d better get it right”. This certainly happened to me. As I settled in that night, the week before Christmas, around 10 pm (I had decided that this was the best time to begin my quest) looking at the flour, cornstarch, icing sugar, butter, cookie cutters, rolling pin and so forth, that maternal instinct hit me and I became absorbed. Mark would ask me questions that I would either ignore or reply with a distant “Sure…”. As I began mixing the ingredients, I started to notice flaws. “Why is it all crumbly? It’s not supposed to be crumbly!” I asked myself in panic. I then realised that I hadn’t read the instructions correctly and didn’t put enough butter in. With a sigh, I reached for the butter and dumped some more in. And kept mixing. “It’s still crumbly!” I yelled over to Mark who was attempting to ask advice from his mother that he happened to be speaking to. I decided to try to roll it out and try cutting a few pieces to see what would happen. The rolling seemed to be working with a bit of patting on the ends to keep the distorted shape from crumbling over. The cutting of the pieces did not work. The dough crumbled right out of my angel, my gingerbread person, and my star. I looked over to Mark glumly, wondering what I was going to do with this big mass of buttery flour, cornstarch and sugar I had created. I was doomed. I had no cooking ability and my future children would be the laughingstock of their friends. We would have to resort to store bought cookies and they would never know the joy of home baked treats. I could see it clearly. These unborn children would favour their friend’s mother’s cookies over mine and would head over to someone else’s house for Christmas shortbread. I had failed even before I started.
Luckily we consulted the Joy of Cooking. It clearly states that if the dough is crumbly, add some water to moisten it, but not to overdo it. Adding a few drops did the trick! My shapes were coming out perfectly. I had beautiful angels, gingerbread people, and stars. “La la la la… I’m makin’ shortbread.” I sang confidently to myself. What do all those people know? Shortbread hard to make? No problem. I decided that I should become a pastry chef.
After cutting up all the shapes and arranging them on the pan off they went in the oven for approximately “15 – 20 minutes, or until the edges were browned”. 15 minutes passed…. Then 20…. No browning – this was odd. Mark assured me that we just had to keep them in longer. “I think our oven is low. Ovens can be as much as 30 degrees off. It’s probably just at a lower temperature than we’ve set it so it’s going to take a bit longer.
After an hour and no browning I decided that this was enough. I took them out, cooled them off a bit, and then did the test. Dry. Tasty? Yes, but still dry. I decided that it was a good thing that I didn’t make a more than one batch. Looking over at Mark though, who was happily chomping away at the, although dry, but still butter and sugar filled cookie made me realise that perhaps I still had a chance with our children to be. Plus, they’ll be young and inexperienced. With a little bit of practice maybe I can even fool them.
It was this year that I decided to try my hand at shortbread cookies. A little bit of background information is required here. I am not the best baker in the world. Sure, I can make the usual chocolate chip cookies and banana bread, but I’ve always feared shortbread cookies. “Make sure you don’t knead it too much! That’ll ruin EVERYTHING!” my friends would tell me. Of course, hearing about how difficult it was to make these cookies properly, no wonder I had a complex about it.
I had conjured up the idea about giving the small gift of a tin of shortbread cookies to our relatives that we would visit over Christmas. “We can line the tins with doilies and decorate the cookies with red and green sprinkles and icing!” I said excitedly to Mark who simply looked back at me in shock. And rightly so… the woman who had said in past years that she “hated Christmas and hated the stress it brought” was now actually excited about making Christmas cookies. About making cookies in general even. “Sounds like a great idea” he replied and just smiled back.
We did a mad search in the downtown Toronto area looking for the necessary items that we didn’t have: cookie cutters, Christmas tins, and doilies to line the tins with. Looked everywhere and eventually found them in a small shop in Chinatown. Meanwhile I had already done the necessary research with other people that had surpassed the shortbread cookie hurdle. Discovered tips, gathered different recipes and had settled on one that seemed the easiest. I had purchased red and green icing tubes and a little box of assorted sprinkles in which I could decorate the cookies. I was set.
I think that something strange happens to women when they begin doing something like this, making shortbread cookies for Christmas. It’s as if something maternal kicks in, and kicks in hard. Something kicks in that says, “you’re going to be doing this for a long time now, and probably for your future kids, so you’d better get it right”. This certainly happened to me. As I settled in that night, the week before Christmas, around 10 pm (I had decided that this was the best time to begin my quest) looking at the flour, cornstarch, icing sugar, butter, cookie cutters, rolling pin and so forth, that maternal instinct hit me and I became absorbed. Mark would ask me questions that I would either ignore or reply with a distant “Sure…”. As I began mixing the ingredients, I started to notice flaws. “Why is it all crumbly? It’s not supposed to be crumbly!” I asked myself in panic. I then realised that I hadn’t read the instructions correctly and didn’t put enough butter in. With a sigh, I reached for the butter and dumped some more in. And kept mixing. “It’s still crumbly!” I yelled over to Mark who was attempting to ask advice from his mother that he happened to be speaking to. I decided to try to roll it out and try cutting a few pieces to see what would happen. The rolling seemed to be working with a bit of patting on the ends to keep the distorted shape from crumbling over. The cutting of the pieces did not work. The dough crumbled right out of my angel, my gingerbread person, and my star. I looked over to Mark glumly, wondering what I was going to do with this big mass of buttery flour, cornstarch and sugar I had created. I was doomed. I had no cooking ability and my future children would be the laughingstock of their friends. We would have to resort to store bought cookies and they would never know the joy of home baked treats. I could see it clearly. These unborn children would favour their friend’s mother’s cookies over mine and would head over to someone else’s house for Christmas shortbread. I had failed even before I started.
Luckily we consulted the Joy of Cooking. It clearly states that if the dough is crumbly, add some water to moisten it, but not to overdo it. Adding a few drops did the trick! My shapes were coming out perfectly. I had beautiful angels, gingerbread people, and stars. “La la la la… I’m makin’ shortbread.” I sang confidently to myself. What do all those people know? Shortbread hard to make? No problem. I decided that I should become a pastry chef.
After cutting up all the shapes and arranging them on the pan off they went in the oven for approximately “15 – 20 minutes, or until the edges were browned”. 15 minutes passed…. Then 20…. No browning – this was odd. Mark assured me that we just had to keep them in longer. “I think our oven is low. Ovens can be as much as 30 degrees off. It’s probably just at a lower temperature than we’ve set it so it’s going to take a bit longer.
After an hour and no browning I decided that this was enough. I took them out, cooled them off a bit, and then did the test. Dry. Tasty? Yes, but still dry. I decided that it was a good thing that I didn’t make a more than one batch. Looking over at Mark though, who was happily chomping away at the, although dry, but still butter and sugar filled cookie made me realise that perhaps I still had a chance with our children to be. Plus, they’ll be young and inexperienced. With a little bit of practice maybe I can even fool them.
You know this is my favorite one- it is about your baking skills :-) And needless to say you've come a long way.....and your kids obviously know you are the the best baker in the world :-)
ReplyDeleteKeep baking and keep writing. I've enjoyed every word. And the baklava was stupendous!!