Last week, while I was taking a bath and Kat was assisting by throwing rubber duckies into the tub on top of me, I decided to attempt to distract her by telling her that we were going to start making cookies this week for the holidays.

And she said my favorite word in the English language. (No, not “chocolate.”)

She stopped, poised in mid-throw, ducky hovering over her head like a bloated blue hummingbird and said, “Why?”

I nearly wept with joy. It was the first time she had asked one of us “why?” about anything! And it was about cookies!

I grinned and said, “Well, making cookies is a tradition at Christmastime. I’ve been baking cookies every Christmas for thirty years, and I hope to be doing it for another thirty.”

“But why, Mommy?”

Why, indeed.

I perked right up, and happily watched as the wee blue ducky, long forgotten, was dropped on the bathmat where it would lurk, waiting to trip me up as I got out of the tub. Putting on my best “Mommy has a minor in history voice” I answered, “All over the world, at this time of year, when the nights get longer and longer and longer and darker and darker, people celebrate the return of the light, as the days slowly start to lengthen and the nights become shorter again. All over the world, people have holidays that celebrate the light, and on those holidays we give gifts, we feast and we make sweets like cookies, to rejoice in teh return of the sun, and the light of hope and love in our hearts.”

It sounded good, and Kat nodded sagely.

I finished and she piped up with, “But what do cookies have to do with light?”

Ah, she thought she got me with that one, but no! I had a ready answer, and it is even historically accurate.

“Well,” I said as I started draining the tub, for the ablutions were completed, the last five minutes of them blissfully duck-free, “long ago before there were refrigerators and grocery stores, people had to grow all of their food and store it for the winter. And sometimes, if the winter was really cold, or the harvest had been bad or if the snows lasted longer than usual, people would start running out of food near the end of winter. So, in the beginning of winter, when there was still plenty of food stored up, people would make and eat fattening foods like cookies and roast meats and cheeses so they could fatten themselves up to live through the winter. That way, if they ran short of food, they had a bit of fat on them to keep them strong until springtime. And the feasting just happened to coincide with the return of the sunlight, so the holiday tradition of making cookies was born.”

So there we are. That’s why we make cookies at Christmas.

Now, as to why I make cookies at Christmas, that is another story. I make them every year, because since I was fourteen years old, that was my holiday job. I did the baking. I made bread, cakes and especially cookies. I wasn’t really allowed to cook anything else in my mother’s kitchen, but since she didn’t much care for baking, and I did it so well, she turned the duty over to me, and I just kept on with it, happily becoming along the way somewhat of a cookie expert.

The first recipes I used were the family ones, handed down from great-grandmothers, a couple of them even coming all the way from Germany. And, of course, I used the Toll House Cookie recipe on the back of the pouch of Nestle’s semi-sweet chocolate chips. I insisted on using real butter in all of my baking–my Mom liked to use margarine, but I was having none of that. All of the recipes called for butter, and butter is what I used–who was I to argue with my long-dead great grandmothers? You don’t mess with the ancestors, man–they can come back to haunt you. I also insisted on real chocolate chips, and real vanilla extract too. Mom grumbled, but bought the ingredients I specified, and when she tasted the results, she stopped grumbling.

Over the years, I started experimenting, and worked out new recipes, some of which were based on the old family favorites, like my Aphrodite Cakes, which is based on my great-grandmother’s German sugar cookies. Others were based on ideas I had, like what would a cookie with Sichuan peppercorns in it taste like? Would lavender be good in shortbread? What about chilies in a brownie? Why can’t I put toffee chips and cinnamon bits and espresso powder and just use brown sugar in chocolate chip cookies? If Irish Cream is good with cream cheese in brownies, what happens if you add raspberry preserves and Chambord?

That is the cool thing about cookies. They are easy to play with. You can add ingredients, subtract them, change them, modify them by chilling or melting them, and you can almost always, if you have a bit of knowledge about baking, come up with something that will taste amazing. Cakes–they are much trickier, and I would not play as fast and loose with cake recipes as I do with cookies. Pies–well, I play with fillings all the time, but I stick pretty close to the general ideas when it comes to the crust. I will add ingredients and change proportions a little, but not like I do with cookies. Pie crust is too fragile to mess with very much, and cake–it is just finicky.

But cookies are forgiving. They are easy and they are fast and they are fun. So, I love playing around in the kitchen every year and coming up with new and tasty additions to the holiday sweets repertoire.

This year, I wanted to do something new with a chocolate chip cookie.

But I didn’t want to overload it like I did with the Coyote Chip Cookies. Granted, they are lovely, and I like them a great deal, but Zak is not fond of them, and I wanted to make a chocolate chip cookie that both he and I could enjoy together.

What flavors go with chocolate?

Coffee. Been there, done that.

Nuts? Eh–I have to be careful with that, Zak can be weird about nuts. He likes some of them and not others.

Something was niggling at the back of my brain, trying to get my attention and suddenly, I remembered–Zak had just said the other day at the grocery store when we were buying candy canes that he doesn’t know a thing about those because he doesn’t really like peppermint candy, but chocolate covered cherries–those he used to be able to eat by the box.

And what is his favorite (non-Jeni’s) ice cream? Cherry Garcia.

Ah ha! Cherry chocolate chip cookies!

Why had I not thought of it before? What exactly is wrong with me? Dried sour cherries added to the usual Toll House style cookie, with milk chocolate instead of semi-sweet, since Zak prefers the former, and some almonds to help boost the flavor of the cherries and add a bit of crisp texture to the chewy fruit and cookies–perfect!

Yeah, I was right. The tart cherries are chewy and tangy, and you can taste the cherry flavor very well in the golden cookie, and it pairs beautifully with the rich, sweet milk chocolate. Almonds pair perfectly with both chocolate and cherries, and they added some crunch and the whole thing is just soul-satisfying.

He ate three for breakfast this morning. Brittney, who came to take care of Kat while we were in Columbus for my therapy appointment and for Generic Winter Holiday shopping, had one and declared it “Amazing.”

There are a few caveats: one, use Mariani brand dried cherries if you can find them. They are plump, chewy and delightfully tart. You don’t want to use sweet cherries in this–you want to use sour red cherries. Mariani are the best I have come across for baking–they do not dry out and do not require plumping before baking. So, seek them out. Two–toast your almonds before you put them in the cookie dough–it brings out the flavor in them. And three–you can use half semi-sweet chocolate chips and half milk, but I think milk chocolate is better, because it is a better foil for the tart sour cherries than the lightly bitter semi-sweet would be.

It is my new favorite, and here it is–one of my gifts to you this holiday season. Go bake a batch and celebrate the return of the light with a little bit of dietary fat and sugar!

Cherry Chocolate Chip Cookies
Ingredients:

2 1/4 cups all purpose flour (or 1 1/4 cups all purpose flour and 1 cup white whole wheat flour)
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 cup cold butter
3/4 cup sugar
3/4 cup light brown sugar, packed
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon almond extract (optional)
2 large eggs
12 ounce package milk chocolate chips
6 ounce packaged Mariani dried sour cherries
1 cup sliced almonds, toasted

Method:

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F.

Stir flour, salt and baking soda together in a bowl and set aside.

With a mixure, cream together the cold butter and sugars, until well blended and fluffy. add the extracts and eggs, and beat well until mixture is smooth. Add flour mixture in thirds, and mix until well blended. add chocolate chips, cherries and almonds, and stir until combined.

Drop by rounded tablespoonsful onto not greased baking sheets (I line mine with silicone liners) and bake for 9-11 minutes, or until golden brown, but still seeming to be lightly underdone in the center. Remove from oven and allow to cool two minutes on the baking sheet, then transfer to a rack. Allow to cool until the cookie is still warm to the touch, but is firm and not hot. Place into a container with a tight-fitting lid and seal them up and allow them to cool the rest of the way. (This guarantees a chewy texture to the cookie.)

Makes about three and a half dozen cookies.

Here’s Dan, with his annual birthday present from me–a cheesecake. For the past several years, I have been making Dan cheesecakes, because he has an inordinate ability to consume entire cheesecakes at a sitting. They are his favorite thing, in fact, though with my cheesecakes, he contents himself with only two pieces at a sitting, because if he were to eat something containing three pounds of cream cheese and five or six eggs at a time, not to mention the cup and a half of sugar and who knows what all else, depending on the flavors, all at once, I believe he would likely kill himself.

He would die happy, of course, but still–death is not necessary on your birthday.

So this year, I made him a White Russian cheesecake.

Why?

Because he asked for one. And I always try to honor any request, especially when it comes to birthday presents.

White Russians are not the signature beverage of The Dude, they are also one of Dan’s favorite drinks, and both he and I were pretty certain that the flavors of it–Kahlua–coffee liqueur, cream and vodka, would translate beautifully into the cheesecake format.

Of course, vodka isn’t really a flavor–except in as much that alcohol has a flavor–and I puzzled over how to get it into the cheesecake without the alcohol effect and flavor baking out if it.

Eventually I came to it–I wouldn’t bake the vodka at all. The Kahlua would go into the cheesecake batter and be baked–along with a few other flavoring agents–but the vodka would come into the picture after the cake had been baked and cooled.

I spiked barely sweetened whipped cream with it, and sprinkled about a quarter ounce of the vodka on top of the cheesecake before icing it with the spiked whipped cream. Then, I sifted instant espresso powder over the whipped cream and garnished it with a coffee bean right before serving.

Now, the truth is, you could leave out the vodka, but then I wouldn’t call it a White Russian Cheesecake. I’d call it a Kahlua Coffee Cheesecake instead.

It turned out perfectly. Silky smooth, very light in texture–in large part because I beat the batter at high speed even longer than I usually do–and delectable. It tasted very like a White Russian.

Maybe I should have named this cheesecake in honor of The Dude himself, but I figured no one would want to eat something called “The Dude’s Cheesecake.” If I called it “Himself’s Cheesecake,” folks would assume that it was flavored with Irish Cream. Besides, if you hear White Russian Cheesecake, and you are an aficionado of the drink, you will have a pretty good idea what it is going to taste like. If you hear “The Dude’s Cheescake,” you might worry that it will taste of spleef, a Los Angeles bowling alley or a rug that really tied the room together.

Anyway, here it is, Dan’s White Russian Cheesecake.

And for those who are interested, here are a couple of Dan’s other birthday cheesecakes:

2008: Blackberry Cheesecake
2007: Chocolate Raspberry Cheesecake

I wonder what kind of cheesecake I will make for Dan next?

White Russian Cheesecake
Ingredients:

2 cups graham cracker crumbs
1 tablespoon instant espresso powder
1 tablespoon sugar
8 tablespoons butter, melted
3 pounds cream cheese, softened
1 1/2 cups raw sugar
1 tablespoon vanilla bean paste
1 heaping tablespoon instant espresso powder dissolved in 1/4 cup Kahlua coffee liqueur
3 whole large eggs
2 large egg yolks
1 cup heavy cream, thoroughly chilled
1/2-1 ounce vodka, from the freezer if possible
1 1/2 tablespoons confectioners sugar
1 1/2 tablespoons instant espresso powder for garnish
1 teaspoon or so
whole coffee beans for garnish

Method:

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F.

Place crumbs, espresso powder, and sugar into the bowl of a food processor. (I also use the processor to make the crumbs, by the way, so they are usually already in the bowl.) Start the processor and as it is running, drizzle the melted butter through the feed tube. Allow machine to mix thoroughly until the texture of damp sand is accomplished.

Dump crust ingredients from processor bowl into the center of a non-stick 10 inch springform pan. Pat the crumbs in an even layer on the bottom of the pan and about a third of the way up the sides of the pan. Don’t worry if the top edge is a little ragged. It won’t matter.

Bake in the preheated oven for fifteen minutes (ten if you have a convection oven), then remove from the oven and allow to cool thoroughly. Turn the oven temperature down to 300 degrees and put a pan of water in the bottom of the oven. This creates a moist, steamy environment for the cheesecake to bake in, without having to bake it -in- a water bath.

Beat together the cream cheese and sugar in a heavy-duty mixer until they are thoroughly combined and are fluffy. Add vanilla bean paste, and the espresso powder dissolved in the Kahlua, and beat until well mixed.

Whisk together the eggs and egg yolks until they are thoroughly combined and lighten in color somewhat. Add to cheese batter and beat on high speed for four minutes to aerate the batter.

Scrape cheesecake batter into the prepared, cooled pan over the crust, and smooth the top so it is even. Place into the center rack of the 300 degree preheated oven and bake for one hour and fifteen minutes. (Bake for forty minutes to an hour if you have a convection oven.)

Remove from oven when done–the cake will be set around the edges, and will be somewhat jiggly in the middle. Do not worry–as it cools on a wire rack on the counter, the residual heat of the cake will continue to bake the middle. By the time it is at room temperature, it will be completely set.

Allow to cool to room temperature, then cover tightly with foil, and still in the pan, refrigerate for at least ten hours or until completely cold.

To remove from the pan and serve, run a thin icing spatula or knife gently around the outside of the springform pan to loosen the cake from the pan. Unlock the spring, and loosen the sides of the pan away from the cake, and lift away.

Pour the heavy cream and the first measure of vodka into a chilled mixing bowl. Sprinkle the top with the sugar, and beat well, stopping when the cream will hold stiff peaks.

Sprinkle the garnishing vodka over the surface of the cheesecake, then spread the spiked whipped cream over the top, reserving 1 tablespoon or so of the whipped cream for garnish. Sift the remaining measure of espresso powder over the top, and plop that reserved tablespoon of cream in the center of the espresso-powdered top. Put one or more coffee beans on the central dollop of cream and voila–serve it forth!

It serves at least sixteen people, up to twenty or so, depending on how thinly you slice the cake.

Kat was adorable all day, and after Zak told her it was Mommy’s Day, she would come running up and out of nowhere and hug me, which she does anyway, mind you, but this time she would say, “Mommy Day!” “Happy!”

It was terribly cute.

Zak gave me my presents a day early–a Starship Enterprise from the new Star Trek film (go see it, it rocks–I’ve seen it twice and plan to see it a few more times in the next week or so) as well as a new communicator and tricorder. Fun!

Morganna, in addition to not stealing me any flowers from other people’s yards this year, for which I roundly commended her, also gave me an amazing gift. She gave me a pack of Cryptozoological critters–a whole playset’s worth–which includes such luminaries of the cryptid world as Bigfoot, The Jersey Devil, Chupacabra, Nessie, and of course, my favorite and denizen of my home state, Mothman.

Of course, I looked at my presents arrayed before me and realized something–I am a geeky Mom. I mean, how many Moms do you know of who would be thrilled to receive not only a Starship Enterprise, which now owns pride of place in my sewing room, but a little plastic Loch Ness Monster, who now resides on my kitchen cookbook shelf with her cryptid companions? No flowers, no breakfast in bed, no massage gift certificates. Bah. Those are such run of the mill gifts. No, I get toys–and really cool ones at that!

So, yeah. Geeky. That’s me.

I also got a great dinner, which served to celebrate both Mother’s Day and Dan’s birthday. I cooked the dinner, but that is okay–I had fun, and Zak and Brittney and Morganna helped with it all, so it was great fun to make and eat. We had a really tasty version of Jamaican Jerk Pork, this time with ramps instead of garlic, the best version of Peas and Rice I have ever tasted or made–and yes, a recipe is forthcoming–a great pickled ginger and mixed greens salad and for dessert, in honor of Dan, a White Russian Cheesecake.

Morganna gave me another great gift, but I won’t tell about it yet. Maybe later.

Anyway, I hope that everyone else has a great Mother’s Day!

When I was about four or five years old, I did.

It all went down like this.

Even as a kid, I am told that I had a wicked sense of humor, and was apt to do things that were unexpected. The April Fool’s Day in question, when this prank occurred was unseasonably warm, and as there had been a great deal of rain the week before, our huge front, back and side yards were endowed with a verdant overgrowth of lush grass–the kind of grass that makes you wish you had a lamb or two to graze upon it, because it is such a shame to just cut it.

But, lacking a sheep, my mother had to cut the grass, since Dad was working long shifts at Union Carbide. Which, truth be told, she didn’t mind doing because, being a farm girl by birth, Mom preferred yard work and gardening to any sort of housework.

The only downside to her mowing the lawn was we only had one of those old non-motorized push mowers, which required quite a bit of muscle power to use–it was pretty decrepit–and strong as Mom was, she was pretty small, and the lawn was really big. And the grass was really tall, making it all the more difficult.

So, there she was, pushing the mower, the whirring sound of its spinning blades making a steady rhythm punctuated by her periodic grunts and sighs.

I was playing on the porch, and after a steady half-hour of mowing without a break, Mom called to me. “Barb, can you go in the house and get me a glass of water?”

I looked up to see my Mom sweating and and winded and I said yes, and dashed in the screen door, letting it slam behind me, to keep our cats from sneaking outside without their harnesses and leashes.

My heart pounding with excitement, I ran into the kitchen. I knew it was April Fool’s Day, and I had not had a chance to ever play a prank on anyone in my life and I always wanted to. And all of the ones outlined in various kids’ publications–such as putting a bit of fishing line on a dollar bill and putting it on the sidewalk and when someone stopped to pick it up, pulling it away from them–seemed lame to me even then. And, the neighborhood where we lived had a distinct dearth of kids in it, so I had no peers upon which to practice my natural bent as a practical joker, and my Dad was at work, so it looked like my Mom was going to be on the receiving end of my prank.

And the inspiration hit me as soon as she asked for a glass of water.

I dragged a chair to the cupboard and pulled down a tall glass–one of the big ones my parents always used for iced tea. Then, I dragged the chair over to the refrigerator, climbed up and pulled open the freezer, and reached in to scoop out five ice cubes which I plunked into the glass, one by one.

Then, I dragged the kitchen chair back to the table instead of over to the sink. Instead, I opened up the low cupboard where Mom stored our canned and bottled goods, and pulled out the big bottle of white vinegar.

And I poured the chilled glass full of vinegar, and swirled the glass around to get it to bead up with condensation a bit.

Then, out the back door I walked, carrying the the glass carefully in two hands to keep from spilling it.

Mom saw it, and saw the ice and smiled, “I wondered what took you so long–you put ice in it–you are such a good girl.”

I smiled as she took the glass from my hands and watched as she tipped back her head and gulped a huge mouthful of it down.

The poor woman was so thirsty, she didn’t even smell the vinegar when she brought the glass up to her lips, she just guzzled the clear liquid in it.

That is, until she choked and spewed the vinegar that was in her mouth on the ground, coughing and sputtering.

“April Fool’s Mommy!” I chimed, giggling with wicked glee.

Mom’s face, usually a dark golden brown (her mother, my Grandma, was in large part Cherokee, so both she and Mom had the dark skin, hair and dark almond-shaped eyes that told their heritage) turned a fierce red and she growled at me, “You little….if I get a hold of you, I’m going to….” and she lunged at me, tossing the glass into a soft pile of cut grass, where the ice cubes and vinegar slithered and drizzled out into the lawn.

That was my cue to take off running as fast as my legs could go, out of the gate, down the driveway, through a gap in the hedge and into the front yard. I have to admit I laughed the whole way, even though I knew my fate was dire if she caught me–it was too funny.

And after me she went, yelling imprecations the whole way–threatening all sorts of corporal punishments if she caught me.

From the front yard to the side yard I ran, then wiggled under the fence back into the back yard, then in the back door, and out the front, so that I was -behind- Mom back in the front yard.

She went around to the side yard, back into the back and didn’t see me, but she could still hear me laughing.

This enraged her and she started yelling again, and dashed out the gate and back down the driveway, figuring I had gone that way. She started cussing so bad, our next door neighbor, Mr. Sigmund, who was pruning his beautiful roses, poked his head over the fence and said, “Judy, Judy–what are you doing? What did Barbra do?”

She said, “She made me drink vinegar, the little–” Well, you can guess what she called me, and the truth is, I don’t blame her a bit for anything she called me that day.

So, Mr. Sigmund, afraid she would kill me if she caught me, came through his gate and joined the chase, huffing as he trotted after Mom, “Now, Judy, calm down, she didn’t mean anything by it, just now, wait!” I ran, still laughing, with my Mom behind me, still yelling, and Mr. Sigmund behind her, still trying to talk reason into her.

Mom was tiring out, so she slowed down and finally stopped. I had doubled back again and was behind she and Mr. Sigmund, and so I hid behind the gate and watched as he caught up to her, and took hold of her, both of them panting and wheezing, Mom with exhaustion, and he with suppressed laughter and exertion. I was breathing hard, and had my hand in my mouth to keep myself from laughing and giving myself away.

“Now Judy–how did you end up drinking vinegar?” Mr. Sigmund asked.

Between gasps and wheezes, Mom told the story, and when she finished, Mr. Sigmund’s snickers overflowed into laughter.

“That’s a pretty good one for such a little kid, you have to admit,” he said.

And then, my Mom who does have a sense of humor, started to laugh, softly at first, and then roaring. Between laughs, she wiped her eyes, and said, “Well, it is no worse than what we kids used to do to Mom.” (This is true–the stuff she and her brothers used to do to Grandma was beyond belief–and they got spanked nearly every night for their shenanigans.)

I crept out from behind the gate and sidled up to Mr. Sigmund, and shielded by his stocky dark green overall-clad frame, peered around and up at Mom.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I just wanted to play an April Fool on someone.”

Shaking her head, Mom reached out and roughly stroked my head. “It’s ok, she said–just go in and get me a cup of real water this time.”

I obediently went inside and did as she asked and all was forgiven. When I gave it to her, she and Mr. Sigmund were still talking in the driveway–he had gone to his side of the fence and had returned to his work with the pruning shears, and she was leaning on the fence, and all was well again.

Mom told Dad about it that night over dinner, and he laughed until he cried–just like Mom did after Mr. Sigmund caught up to her–and asked Mom what she expected-I being the child of both of them.

So, that is the story of my very first April Fool’s joke.

Have any of you ever played a similar food or drink related prank, on April Fool’s Day or any other time of the year?

Here is a photo I wanted to post back in August, when I finished it, but I couldn’t because it was to be my big gift to Morganna for Generic Winter Holiday. (Considering we are a household that includes a Buddhist, an atheist, an agnostic and a Jew, and we are celebrating Hanuka, Yule, and Christmas all at once, we just give the whole shebang a rather droll title and leave it at that.) This year, I made gifts for almost everyone on my list, and this quilt–which you see here as only the pieced top–was the largest gift I made.

Now, the reason you only see the pieced top is because I took it to Susan at The Nelsonville Quilt Company to have her quilt it on her longarm machine, because I am just not competent to quilt something that big on my regular sewing machine.

Anyway, let’s talk about the quilt itself–I saw the design in a magazine and decided that I loved the design, but hated the execution. The designer picked boring fabrics and didn’t vary the width of the strips enough to suit my fancy, so I did it my way. All of the fabrics are batiks or hand-dyes–and I have no clue how many different fabrics are in here. I raided my stash and scrap bag and bought a remarkably few pieces of fabric specifically for this project.

The colors are fantastic, as you can see–brilliant oranges, fuchsias, greens, blues, indigos, violets–yellows–they are all there, along with burnt umbers and golds. I used the black hand-dye as the unifying theme, and I carefully chose individual pieces of fabric to give the illusion that parts of the design are melting into each other. It adds to the psychedelic swirl effect that is mixed with a fractured mirror look.

Which is why I called it “Fractured Fortunes.” Morganna has had a hard, sometimes twisting road toward adulthood, and sometimes the journey has made her feel cracked and broken, but she has emerged as brilliant and beautiful as the fabrics in this quilt, and I know that like this quilt, she will be a sum greater than her parts.

Here is a detail of the corner of the quilt showing that I used four different black and multi-colored batiks for the wide outer border, thus carrying on the crazyquilt scrapbag look and feel of the whole piece.

When she comes back for Spring Break next week, I will photograph the whole quilt to show you the exquisite fabric that Susan and I found for the backing and the delicious multicolored freehand quilting design she did. She did an amazing job, she really did.

I am proud to say that Morganna absolutely loves the quilt and I get a swell of pride every time I see her wrapped up in it or overhear her showing it off to a dorm mate, proudly telling them that “this is what Mom made me for Christmas.”