The Very, Very, VERY best Oatmeal (IMO)

A few days ago something prompted me to search the internets for a banana curd recipe. Most likely it was the pile of rotting overripe bananas on my counter; it is also possible that the onset of cold weather contributed to my sudden craving for rich, butter-and-egg-enriched custardy goodness. Banana-flavored, of course.

I did find a lovely recipe (which I made, and promptly inhaled, and which you should consider making, too, if you have a pile of bananas, an egg, some sugar and a stick of butter lying around); however, it is not the banana curd I wish to gush about today. No, it is the oatmeal. The banana-curd-recipe author casually mentioned adding said banana curd to her oatmeal, which she claims is the Very, Very Best. I always feel inclined to challenge people when they claim to be good, and even more so when they throw in the superlative. Except….

The segues that lead one to a particular discovery on the internet are usually long, winding, and irretrievable if you happen to close all 36 open browser tabs by mistake. Fortunately, I was able to retrace my steps by going back to the banana curd search, which easily and happily led me to the Very, Very Best Oatmeal. Whew.

Except it’s not.

Now, I am a non-confrontational person, but I’m just going to say right here that I disagree with the author of the Very, Very Best Oatmeal’s eponymous claim for one simple reason: texture. I guess this is where subjectivity and personal preference enter the equation. While she and I both abhor gummy, sticky, soupy oatmeal, I happen to like mine a little creamier, rather than crunchy. And moister. I like moist oatmeal, otherwise I call it granola. And so, with a very small tweak of adding more liquid to the recipe and a longer steaming time, I have found what is, for me, the Very, Very, Very Best Oatmeal (IMO). But I will say that if you tend to prefer your oats a bit crunchy, and drier, then you will love FauxMartha’s version immensely and give her the oatmeal crown, because texture aside, her version is brilliant and may just be your oatmeal epiphany.¬† Of course, this is not a competition in any sense, just a quest for a tasty (yet healthy and hips-friendly) breakfast. ūüėČ

Very, Very, VERY Best Oatmeal (IMO) (Original Recipe found on FauxMartha)

  • 1 cup old-fashioned oats (I did not try this with quick or instant oats, or even steel-cut, so I cannot report on whether those variations would work)
  • 1 T unsalted butter
  • 1/4 tsp or thereabouts kosher salt
  • 1/2 cup milk
  • 1 1/4- 1 1/2 cup water
  • 1/2 tsp cinnamon, if desired

You will need a deep sauce/frying pan with a lid.

Melt the butter in the sauce/frying pan over a medium-ish (technical term) heat. Add oats and salt (if using) to the pan and stir to coat them with the melted butter. Gently move the oats around until they become fragrant and take on just the faintest bit of color, which takes about 2-3 minutes with my setup.

Toasty oaties


Because I am lazy, I do not remove the oats from the pan as the original recipe suggests. I just take the pan off the heat, pour on the liquid (go slowly, as it will sputter at first), add cinnamon or other spices (ooh, I bet dried fruit would work, too!) if desired, then return to the heat and stir until liquid comes almost to the boil.


Cover pan, turn off heat, and let the oats steam in their liquid undisturbed for 20-30 minutes. Don’t cheat and peek early, or your steam will dissipate and you’ll be out of oatmeal luck.

This next photo was taken after 20 minutes of steaming, because I am impatient. You can see there’s a little bit of liquid left in the pan, but they were not the least bit chewy.



(Tip for other lazy and not-morning-people: do this at night, just before bed; you can uncover the pan in the morning and heat the oats briefly before digging in.)

Oh, and for ultra decadence and tastiness, stir in a spoonful of banana curd, which is how you got here in the first place.

Banana curd!?!




Valentine Pie

How do you (a) wish your sweetheart a happy Valentine’s day, (b) celebrate in a really unique way and (c) overachieve at the same time?

You bake a heart-shaped apple pie.

Valentine Pie

Here’s how it happened:

Last night I stopped at the grocery store to get milk and bread.

Many dollars and several grocery bags later, I came home with milk, bread, and a slew of other things too good to pass up. Like heart-shaped baking pans for a buck.¬† (You see how this would be irresistable on Valentine’s Eve, right?)

Sadly, I had to resign myself to waxy grocery-store Granny Smith apples instead of the delicious, local Jonagolds, Ida Reds, Braeburns and Melroses I normally bake pies with.¬† But that’s the trouble with adult ADD¬† doing things on a whim¬† being spontaneous: you sometimes have to¬† settle for what’s available.

I used my new favoritest-ever pie crust recipe for this pie.¬† It ended up making a bit too much pastry for the pan, but I’m sure we will suffer through a few hand-pies tomorrow once I whip up some more filling.¬† Or maybe we’ll just have a little baked sugared dough.¬† There are far worse problems to have.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Fricass√©e de poulet √† l‚Äôancienne

Last night I made the Fricass√©e de poulet¬†√† l‚Äôancienne, or “old-fashioned Chicken Fricassee with Wine-flavored Cream Sauce, Onions and Mushrooms” (page 258).

I was pleased to discover that I “invented” (my term for “winging it”) something similar to this recipe many years ago.¬† I used to brown chicken breasts in fat, sprinkle them with some seasoned flour, then cover them with broth and simmer til they were done.¬† Of course, fricassee is not quite that simple.¬† But that’s the gist of it.

This particular recipe was actually three recipes in one.¬† Besides the main chicken dish, you also had to make an Onion and mushroom garniture, which meant you had to make the “white-braised onions” on p 481 AND the “fresh mushrooms stewed in butter, lemon juice & water” on p 511.¬†¬† I was going to skip that step at first, but then I saw where you had to take the cooking liquids from those two recipes and add them to “the sauce” for the fricassee.¬† So it seemed kind of necessary.¬† Fortunately, I had pearl onions in the freezer and shrooms in the fridge, so it all worked out.

I did this recipe exactly as the Book said to.¬† My only fudge-y moment was using half-and-half instead of cream, which I hopefully made up for with a bit of extra butter.¬† Good lord, this French cooking uses a lot of butter.¬† I thought I had a crazy amount of butter left over after all the holiday baking, but it’s down to almost nothing after just two dishes.¬† I’m going to have to make a butter-less dessert at this point, or else we will have to go out and buy more butter.

So now I shall regale you with camera-phone impressive shots of my really mediocre impressive French cooking.  I even used my French cook-pot.  And French wine.  Well, American wine with a French name.  Whatever.  It was dry enough.

First, we had to procure the cut-up fryer.¬† I learned, after reading a lot of other blog posts extensive research, that it is important to use chicken of the correct age for the cooking technique you want to use.¬† Fryers are called that because they are suitable for frying.¬† Broiling will make them bland and stewing will make them stringy.¬† Or maybe it’s the other way around.¬† Anyway, just make sure you match up the type of bird with your preparation method, okay?¬† Oh, and don’t go by weight.¬† A fryer, according to the Book, should be between 2-3 pounds.¬† I read somewhere else that fryers were between 3-4 pounds.¬† Mine was 5.25.¬† It’s all about the age of the bird, not the weight.¬† (In case you’re curious, a fryer is a bird that’s 3-5 months old.)


Anyway, so we have a lovely cut-up fryer (I have mad chicken dissection skillz, tyvm) and also some mirepoix or trinity or whatever people are calling the onion-celery-carrot aromatic mix these days.¬† Now, I have always finely diced my veggies when used for this purpose, but the Book says I’m supposed to slice them thinly.

So I did that.


Look, it’s blurry-poix.

I took a lot of blurry pictures for this post. Sorry about that. This is a surprisingly “active” recipe, meaning I was constantly moving around the kitchen and adding ingredients and stirring and consulting the cook-book and whatnot. And that meant at least one hand was dirty/stirring/pinching in spices/holding a lid most of the time. So I did a lot of one-handed cell-phone photography. Some day, when I’m famous, I will hire someone to photoshopgraph me while I am cooking so the pictures are in focus.¬† Or maybe I will hire someone to do the cooking so I can do real photography with my real camera.¬† We’ll see.¬† I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch it was time to start, as all good recipes do, by melting some butter in a heavy pot.  I added the veggies, as directed, and cooked them for about 5 minutes until soft but not brown.


Then I added the chicken.¬† It’s supposed to be cooked for 3-4 minutes on a moderate heat, turning every minute, until it’s stiffened slightly (but without browning it).¬† Then I had to turn the heat all the way down, put on the lid, and cook for 10 minutes more, turning the meat only once.

Next, you add the flour- about 3T, plus some salt and white pepper.¬† Ooops, I don’t have white pepper.¬† I used black pepper.¬† At least it was freshly ground.

And that is the only photo you will see of the adding-the-flour stage, because I had to turn the chicken a lot to cover all of it with the flour and not let it burn, and also I didn’t have any other burners on which to set the hot lid because they were all full of other cooking pots.¬† See?


Oh, wait, let me stage that better. Here’s the wine.


Now it looks like a French cooking project. Anyway, as I was saying, there was no spare burner on which to set the lid, and also at this precise moment my kids decided they wanted to go sled riding, so that is why there is hot chocolate on my front left burner.  And that was where I would have set the orange lid to take a picture.  So, no pictures.

The hot cocoa is also my camping cookpot, because all of my other pots are In Use.


Anyway, here we can see the mushrooms cooking in water, lemon juice and salt:


And here, tightly covered but in a convenient glass-lidded pot, are the onions, in white wine, butter and herbs:


I do have one other sauce pan, but it was in the sink. I believe it still had the morning’s oatmeal in it.

So once all the flurry of hot cocoa and boiling mushrooms came to an end, I added the liquid to the chicken: 3 cups boiling chicken stock/broth plus 1 cup of dry white wine. There are substitutions offered, but as I did not take them I don’t feel like typing them out right now. Oh, and you’re also supposed to put in a bouquet garni of parsley, bay leaf and thyme. I did not feel like getting out my cheesecloth so I just threw the herbs in the pot loose.


And then we simmer, slowly, covered, for about 30 minutes. The Book gives really questionable “doneness” indicators, like “when the drumsticks are tender if pinched”. I opted for the more modern, less salmonella, meat-thermometer technique.¬† When the chicken was at a satisfying temperature, I removed the chicken to a “casserole dish” and let it sit with the “Onion and mushroom garniture” while the sauce cooked.



The sauce was the part I wasn’t really sure about.¬† In the end, it tasted good, so I won’t complain, but I should probably go back to Paris and order chicken fricassee from several places to get a feel for what the sauce is supposed to taste like.¬† Because I’m not sure mine was right.¬† More research is definitely in order here.

So I added the liquid from the mushrooms and onions to The Sauce.  It then simmers for a couple of minutes, during which you skim off any fat.  Then you bring it to a boil and keep stirring it while it reduces to about 2 or 2 1/2 cups.  I could probably have reduced mine a little more, but it was dinner time and the natives were restless (and hungry).

Next, take 2 egg yolks and 1/2 cup whipping cream and whip them together in a metal bowl.  Then add some of the hot sauce to the egg yolks to temper them.  Keep beating, add more sauce, beat more, add more sauce (you can see where there is absolutely no free fingers for photography here, right?) until all the sauce is beaten in with the eggs and cream.  Then you put it back in the pan and, stirring constantly, boil for about a minute.

Next you “correct the seasoning”.¬† I wasn’t sure what this meant, because the sauce was boiling and I didn’t know what “correct” was, anyway.¬† But I dipped a spoon in and tasted it, and decided to throw in some salt since I tend to totally undersalt my cooking.¬† I added a couple drops of lemon juice and some scrapes of nutmeg (as the Book suggests).¬† And then I dumped poured the sauce over the chicken and garniture.¬† Et voil√†!¬† Chicken fricass√©e!

The verdict: I should have re-heated the chicken. It was slightly cool, even with the hot sauce over top. It was also just a tiny bit overdone. I should have pulled the meat out of the pot earlier. The mushrooms and onions were fabulous. Family tolerated it; they would probably eat it again if I waited long enough for them to forget this first attempt.

Joie de Vivre Quiche

Whee!¬† The quiche worked out great!¬† It could definitely use some tweaking, but I am pretty happy with the result. I made it this morning, had a piece for breakfast, and ate another for lunch.¬† I don’t even want to know how many points it has.¬† Points are not relevant when you’re discussing French food, anyway.

First, before I get all hypercritical about the results, let me just say it’s very, very edible.

Quiche, plated

One Slice Gone

Now.  Down to business.

The short crust technique that Child (et al) calls for in this recipe is a bit different from how I make pie crust. And my pie crust is all kinds of awesome.¬† Just ask my husband, who complains regularly and loudly about the complete dearth of pie crust in our house. But, hey, I can’t just have all that butter and lard hanging around. Bad things would happen.

So, back to quiche.  Which is like pie, but not pie, and not enough like pie for me to have spent all this time talking about pie.  And, damnit, now I want pie.  I will have to stick with quiche.

I promised myself I would be true and faithful to the Book and not make any changes to the recipe, like subbing something I thought would taste better (even though I didn’t even know what the original recipe tasted like yet) or leaving out a step that seemed annoying or redundant.¬† And I did pretty well with that.¬† There was a slight alteration with equipment, which one can hopefully forgive since I wasn’t about to go out and buy a quiche pan just to make a quiche.¬† Not when I have forty seven pie plates and cake pans and tart pans and who knows what else hanging around this kitchen.¬† So I made do with a 9″ springform cake pan.¬† It’s not ideal, but it worked well enough that I’ll use it again next time.¬† I also fudged one little ingredient.¬† See, the spinach quiche recipe refers to the Leek quiche recipe for the proportions of egg and cream.¬† And the Leek recipe refers to the Quiche Lorraine recipe.¬† And the Quiche Lorraine recipe has a baconless variation that says you can either use part cream and part milk, or all milk.¬† So even though the Spinach quiche via the Leek quiche called for all cream, I didn’t have any cream and didn’t want to waste half-and-half on a quiche, so I used all milk.¬† Ahem.

So, first, there was a partially baked shell.

Partially baked shell

Actually, first there was defrosting and de-liquiding of the frozen spinach.  Then there was dough.  Then there was refrigeration.


And THEN there was a partially baked shell.

It came together like this:

2 cups of sifted AP flour, 1/2 tsp of table salt, and two pinches of sugar, mixed together in a bowl.

Then there is a large quantity of butter that shows up, cut into small bits. The butter should probably be chilled for a couple of minutes after cutting it up into bits. Oh– and here was my only “I thumb my nose at you, Julia Child!” moment. She says to use 1/4 pound (1 stick, or 8 TBS) of butter and 3 TBS of VEGETABLE SHORTENING. Ack. Vegetable shortening does not exist in my world. So I used all butter. (Perhaps I could have used some lard, but I did not.) Anyway.


Now you gently and quickly rub the butter bits with the flour between your fingertips. The idea is to encase the butter in a sheath of flour so that, when it bakes, it makes lovely flaky crust. That’s a lame explanation but I’m ready to move on with this blog post.

Cutting in fats

Rubbing butter and flour together

Rubbing butter and flour together

Please do not look at these photos as a definitive example of how to do this. This is the first time I’ve used my fingers to make crust. And while the crust was good, it was not perfect (though I think the problem was with the pre-baking, not the rubbing). Still, let me just disclaim right here that I have no idea what I’m doing rubbing butter and flour between my fingers. The Book said to do it. And I quote:

Il faut mettre la main¬†√† la p√Ęte!

See?  So we Rub.

Eventually (it took me about 10 minutes), we have this:

Flour and fat combined using fingers

a blurry picture of flaky, shaggy dough bits.

Next, you add 5 T of ice water. It’s best to sprinkle it over the dough as you gather it with your hand shaped like a backhoe.

Moistening dough

If you just pour the water in, the dough on top will be puddly and sticky and you’ll have to work the bowl too much to get the bottom dough incorporated. Sprinkle.¬† I don’t know how to say “sprinkle” in French, but do that anyway.

Gather the dough on a board and make it into a ball.

Gathering dough ball

Then you fraisage.

Fraisage is a French word that means “a firm, quick smear of about 6 inches.” Basically.


This was very hard for me, because while I like to make bread and have done the fraisage thing many times (on BREAD DOUGH), I have never, never, never EVER ever never fraisaged (is that even a word?!) a crust.  That goes against everything I have ever learned or heard or known about crust-making.  It was hard to trust the Book.  But I did it.

Finally, you pretty up the dough ball and smooth it out with just a couple of quick kneading-like movements. And then you pose for the camera.

Ball of dough, ready for chilling

Wrap and chill. The Book says 2 hours or overnight. I was exhausted already, so I opted for overnight.

This morning, fresh and full of coffee, I took my little ball of dough out of the fridge and rolled it out.  I made it big enough to fit my [very nonstandard springform] quiche pan.

Short-paste shell



And then other things were happening in the kitchen, like kids wanting breakfast and telephones ringing and all sorts of chaos, so I do not have photos of my very clever weight-system for baking the unfilled crust. I used a slightly smaller cake pan (8″) on top of the crust, which everybody does, but since I do not have any dried beans in my house, I put two water-filled ramekins in it to hold the whole shebang together. And then I dutifully baked it at 400F for 8 minutes.

After 8 minutes, I took the weights out, pricked the bottom of the crust a few times with a fork, and let it bake about 2 minutes more.

Partially bake shell

While that was happening, I assembled the filling ingredients.

Three eggs:


A shallot, diced fine and sauteed in 2T of butter:

Sautee shallots

Not pictured are 2 cups of milk, a defrosted and drained package of frozen spinach, some nutmeg, salt and pepper, and 2 oz of Gruyère cheese.  Well, they are pictured here, just already mixed with the other ingredients.

The filling

Except the cheese.  It goes on top.  Like this:

Ready for the oven

Back to the shell, though.¬† When the shell was partially baked, I removed it from the oven and took off the springform ring. It seemed unnecessarily precarious to try to get the shell off the pan bottom, so I put the shell still on the metal bottom right into a 10″ pie plate. If you look closely, you can see the metal under the shell in the previous picture. This arrangement held everything together nicely and -bonus- the pie plate also caught a tiny bit of filling that overflowed when I put this contraption back in the oven. I will use that technique again.

And then I baked it for about 30 minutes at 375F, and life was mostly good.

Finished spinach quiche

Finished quiche

The filling was set perfectly, but the all-milk was a little… milky.¬† It was kind of bland, especially when you had a bite of all filling and no crust. Next time I will either use half and half or suck it up and go buy cream. It’s good- don’t get me wrong, but it could be so much good-er.¬† It also needed a bit more salt.¬† Again, that could be due to the lower fat content.

The side of the crust was fabuloso. (Sorry, I think that might be Italian.) The bottom, however, was a little underdone. Next time, I will bake the shell longer before adding the filling.

What a shame that I will have to make this recipe again.

Spinach quiche

Mastery Might be a Bit of an Overstatement

This year, I’m going to make stuff out of this book.

Mastering the art of French cooking

Stop laughing.  Seriously.

This book, along with its companion, Volume II, have been sitting on my kitchen shelf for years (like, 10 of them).  I inherited them from my dad, but have never made a single recipe out of either one (though I did consult Volume I for croissant technique back in December). I decided that if I am going to waste precious cook-book-shelf-space on these, I need to make at least something from them.  And then of course we are all still a bit giddy from three days in Paris, so everytime we see anything that has to do with either French food or the Eiffel Tower, we go a little crazy.

Over the last two days, I read said books and decided there were several things I wanted to make:

  • a quiche
  • a chicken dish
  • a beef dish
  • p√Ęte¬†√† choux
  • a fancy dessert


Settling on a specific recipe, however, was hard.  So I eliminated everything that had anchovies and foie gras.  There were still many, many recipes to choose from.  Eventually, I decided on the following:

  • a quiche: quiche aux √Čpinards (spinach quiche, p 153)
  • a chicken dish: Fricass√©e de poulet¬†√† l’ancienne (old-fashioned chicken fricassee with wine-flavored cream sauce, onion & mushroom, p 258)
  • a beef dish: pi√®ce de boeuf brais√©e / boeuf¬†√† la mode (braised beef-pot roast / beef braised in red wine, p 309)
  • p√Ęte¬†√† choux (cream puff paste) p 177
  • a fancy dessert (to be decided yet).

I have all the ingredients for the first four dishes, which I (probably overly-ambitiously) plan to make this weekend.  Vraiment.

January Muffins

January, in the northern hemisphere, means the dead of winter. With the dead of winter come three things:

  • Ridiculously, horridly cold weather
  • The urge to eat nothing but carbohydrates and thick soups
  • Bathing suit catalogues

I suppose it’s sort of nice to get the heads up on the whole “bathing suit season is approaching, believe it or not!”.¬† I would never believe it myself, judging by the measly 3 degrees showing on my Fahrenheit thermometer.¬† Actually, my thermometer is so cold it doesn’t even know it’s supposed to be showing 3 degrees.¬† I think the non-mercury liquid froze at around 9 degrees.¬† And I can’t even bring myself to type the temperature in Celsius because it sounds even worse.¬† All this before we even factor in the giant wind chill!


So, naturally, I want to put my oven on and bake things that will cause my kitchen (and, shortly thereafter, my tummy) to be warm and cosy.  I want to make muffins, specifically.  But muffins and bathing suits are mutually exclusive once you pass the forty mark, which I did a few years ago.  So I have to be careful.

Coincidentally, a few weeks ago, I purchased a bag of frozen mango on my last Trader Joe’s run of the year.¬† I really didn’t have any plans for the mango, but a friend said she liked it and I felt like I would be better off with some in my freezer, too.¬† And there it sat.¬† Til today.

Today, I was getting vegetables out of the freezer to force my family to eat something, anything remotely healthy for dinner’s side dish and the mangos fell out of the freezer and onto my foot.¬† Frozen mangos hurt, even when they fall a relatively short distance onto one’s thickly-slippered foot.¬† There may have been some cursing.¬† There may have been some retaliatory recipe-searching.¬† You mangos, you’ll be sorry…

I decided muffins would happen, after all, and they would include mangos.  But I wanted to watch out for the muffin-top.

the dreaded “Muffin top”

So I searched the internet for a suitable recipe: one low in fat, low in sugar (or with no sugar), but with enough taste and homey goodness that it would satisfy my craving for some comfort food and keep away the winter blues.  I found a close candidate, a near-vegan version.  I added in an egg  (because I like egg in my muffins) and used a tiny bit of OJ to smooth out the puree, since I was using frozen fruit.  I macerated said frozen fruit with a bit of sugar, too.  And I upped the spices a bit and decreased the cooking time.

An hour later, three things happened:

  • My kitchen smelled wonderful
  • My tummy was happy
  • Those mangoes got their comeuppance



January Muffins adapted from Alisa Cooks’ Honey-Vanilla Mango Muffin recipe

  • 2 cups of flour (I used whole-wheat pastry flour, as called for in the original recipe. )
  • 1 tsp baking soda
  • 1/2 tsp salt
  • 1/2 tsp cinnamon
  • 1/4 tsp freshly grated nutmeg
  • 1 (24 oz) bag of frozen mango chunks: reserve 1/2 cup and dice it finely, the remainder will eventually be pureed
  • 1 T sugar
  • about 1 T orange juice (or more, as needed)
  • 1/4 cup canola or other neutral oil
  • 1/2 cup honey
  • 1 egg
  • 2 tsp vanilla

Prepare muffin tins: I used 10 silicone standard-size cups, plus two 12-cup mini muffin trays with paper liners.  Hope that helps.

Sprinkle the T of sugar over the mango chunks that will be pureed.  Stir to incorporate. Let them stand in a bowl for 30 minutes or so, until they thaw a bit.  This will aid in the puree process.

Turn oven on to 350 degrees F.

Combine dry ingredients and spices, set aside.

Puree the mango (except for the reserved 1/2 cup) with a bit of OJ (I used about a T) in a blender.  When it is nice and smooth, transfer it to a large mixing bowl.  Add the oil, honey, egg and vanilla and blend well.  Stir in the 1/2 cup of diced mango.  Add the dry ingredients and stir until just combined (this is a basic law of muffin making!  overmixing makes muffins icky!)  Spoon into prepared muffin receptacles.  Bake until done.*


* this, of course, depends on many factors:  the size of your muffin receptacles, the accuracy of your oven, etc.  I found my mini muffins were done in about 17 minutes.  The larger ones baked for about 23 minutes.  I tend to under-bake things, though, as I find they cook a little more as they cool.

The original recipe suggests drizzling honey over the baked muffins, but I didn’t think it needed any.


The Ghost of Cookies Present

For Christmas 2012, we made scads of cookies and other treats to share when our family comes to visit.

The irony here is that most of these cookies have been eaten since I photographed them a few days ago.  So they really are just ghosts now.  Memories of Christmas that might-have-been.  Sweet,  buttery, flaky, sugar-coated memories.  Sigh.

Our first recipe, as always, was sugar cookies. Of course, I used the New and Improved recipe, and not the lame traditional one I’ve used for the previous 37 Christmases.

Also new and improved this year: tiny cooky cutters. I found a set of 12 at JoAnn’s marked down to “put me in your basket because I’m nearly free”. My favorite is the holiday light bulb. S8 likes the baby Christmas tree. She says it looks like a fairy-sized tree, and we are All About Fairies in this house.



As you can see, the girls use Every Single Cutter, at once, on their allotment of dough.¬† This is actually brilliant because it keeps them from accidentally cutting into another cookie they’ve already done, or putting the cutter over a hole where a cookie used to be.¬† Once all the cutters are placed, they remove them (and the associated cooky) one at a time.¬† It works.¬† Good thing I have a zillion cutters.

Actually, we made two three batches of sugar cookies. The first ones I cut out and baked myself when the kids were in bed, and they helped me decorate those the next day. I had to be sure the New and Improved recipe really was that much better. (It was.) But then they wanted to help bake, too, and since I gave the first batch away at a cooky exchange, we had to make more. And then most of those got eaten, so we made even more.  So there are actually two different days of baking and three different days of decorating shown here.  Whatever. It all blurs together when the sugar and colors come out.




In this next photo you can see those brown circles off to the right, which are Moravian Spice Thins.¬† ZOMG.¬† No words for how yummy those are.¬† Sadly, they’re all gone- I traded them at a cooky exchange.¬† I might try to make more, but do I really need them?¬† No.


More decorating:




Here are my snow ladies:


I also made pumpkin cranberry bread:


Spritz cookies:


Cinnamon rolls:



and rugelach.¬† Rugelach is fun.¬† It’s a cream cheese pastry dough filled with chopped walnuts, raisins, cinnamon, sugar and apricot preserves.


It takes forever to make, but the end result is totally worth it.

Rugelach ready for oven

Baked rugelach

I did make a tactical error (the result of not reading the recipe carefully) and mixed the apricot preserves in with the other filling ingredients.¬† While it doesn’t affect the taste one bit, it does make it quite difficult to spread the filling onto the dough.¬† Apparently, the proper (read: sane) way to do it is to keep the preserves separate and spread them on the dough directly.¬† Then one can easily sprinkle the filling ingredients over top, cut the dough, and roll it.¬† Ooops.¬† I know for next time.

We also have a nice selection of cookies in the freezer from two cooky exchanges this year. I don’t even know what’s in there- I’m trying not to think about them so they don’t tempt me. The rugelach is bad enough.