Mom-Mom’s Pastry Cookies

Some things you want to make. Some things you have to make.

It is the kind of dough that mocks you from the dark depths of the fridge as you chill it. “I dare you.”

Well, it did that this year.

Every Christmas, my grandmother used to make what my mom called “The Hungarian Pastry Cookies.” We are not Hungarian. I’m not sure of the origin of this recipe, which at this point consists only of a list of ingredients, one noted direction and a temperature [but no baking time] I scrawled one year on a sheet of reporter’s notebook paper. I did learn this year that when my mother was a child, “Mom-Mom and Nanny [my great great aunt] used to spend a day together, making apricot filling, drinking the apricot brandy, rolling them in powdered sugar over and over again.”

Now, you all know I’m all for a sip or two of brandy anytime, but this is one baking project where a clear head is clearly needed.

I never saw my grandmother make them. I have no instructions, but I’m the only one in the family who knows how to make them. Or is willing to.

So I did again this year.

It is a tender pastry dough, not to be overworked, and quick to turn sticky once your rolling pin hits it. To be honest, though, I’ve never had a problem with it, not even the first year I attempted them. I did this year, though.

As I previously wrote, it was the final batch of dough made that Sunday night after the weekend snowstorm and a few days before Christmas. Perhaps it was the long days and late nights I’d put in, but once the dough came together in my mixing bowl and I went to pre-roll it into 16” x 16” x 1/8” sheets, it stuck to my fingers, it glued itself to the waxed paper, it melted and tore into holes in spots.

Back to the fridge to chill. Then it still didn’t behave. I had to call it a night eventually, but not until I showed the dough who’s boss.

It showed me instead.

All week, I silently checked it as it silently sneered back at me. For the first time, I was not looking forward to Christmas Eve Day, when I make the cookies to be delivered warm out of the oven that night, then still fresh for the extended family on Christmas Day. I could not not make them. That was not an option.

I held my breath that morning, banished all from the kitchen counter and went to work. Not “slowly but surely,” but quickly and efficiently. I gave the dough no excuse to gloop up on me. Using a ruler and a pizza wheel (or razor sharp knife), I cut each pre-rolled super-chilled sheet (my secret, shhhh) into sixteen 2” squares. You then put a dollop of filling in, fold over the edges, quickly evacuate them to a cookie sheet, then say a Hail Mary as you slip them into the oven.

Fillings this year were prune (my favorite), apricot (family favorite & the tradition) and date. In years past, I’ve made a wonderful “stew” of dried figs and star anise. That was absolute blasphemy the first year I did it, as I’d forsaken the walnut filling my grandmother used to make. But everyone ate them then and in subsequent years.

Actually, I observed something this year that I’d seen in the past, but didn’t fully, duly or officially note.

Mom-Mom’s cookies are the first thing every member of my family takes when they arrive. My younger sister, who hosted Christmas this year, puts together quite a spread of appetizers and nibblies no matter what the occasion – pretty much anything and everything any guest could want. But my cousin Craig walked in after a long drive from Pennsylvania and took an apricot cookie – before barely a “Hello.” Ditto for cousin Alicia, even after assaying the table covered with cheeses, dips, crudité, chocolates, etc. My mother’s brother, Vic, makes no false pretenses or apologies: he pours a glass of milk and sits down right next to the cookies for as long a spell as it takes to relive childhood. My father made a beeline for the prune filled cookies. My mom, surprisingly, tried a date-filled cookie first.

“Delicious, good idea Elise,” she said. “But didn’t you make the fig this year?”

An Old Favorite for An Early Christmas

They say the holidays come earlier and earlier each year. We had our first Christmas of the season two days early, on Wednesday.

A special friend and I wanted our own Christmas to exchange gifts and had theoretically planned it pretty much since Halloween. I figured it would be a short quiet time together, maybe at home, over dinner in a restaurant, or at our favorite bar if need be. It’s not always easy for either of us to steal time away from home. But she is near and dear, as is every moment together.

In the end, she decided to make a full turkey dinner with trimmings and invite both me and my daughter over to celebrate with her family (my husband was working). Dessert? Quite a spread of cookies, courtesy of you know who.

I took such great pleasure in putting together these treats and chose a favorite green Depression glass dish to use. The flavors, the colors, the composition – I’m grinning ear to ear just thinking about it and the wide eyes that greeted the cookies once unveiled. She knows I like to bake and create and has tasted the fruits of my labor before, both savory and sweet. But never did she expect the variety or the surprise of one of her favorites: the tri-colored Italian cookies. They are my favorite cookie as well.

Served with a little Asti (one of her favorite drinks, another surprise I brought), the cookies were the perfect accompaniment nibble by nibble to our gift giving, creating one of the warmest, sweetest Christmases in recent memory.

This is the most wonderful time of the year.


7-Layer Italian Cookies
Gourmet Magazine, December 2005
4 large eggs, separated
1 cup sugar
1 (8-oz) can almond paste
2 1/2 sticks (1 1/4 cups) unsalted butter, softened
1 teaspoon almond extract
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
25 drops red food coloring
25 drops green food coloring
1 (12-oz) jar apricot preserves, heated and strained {you don’t need this much)
7 oz fine-quality bittersweet chocolate, chopped (best, darkest you can find; use extra if desired)

Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 350°F. Butter a 13- by 9-inch baking pan and line bottom with wax paper, leaving a 2-inch overhang on 2 ends, then butter paper.
Beat whites in mixer fitted with whisk attachment at medium-high speed until they just hold stiff peaks. Add 1/4 cup sugar a little at a time, beating at high speed until whites hold stiff, slightly glossy peaks. Transfer to another bowl.

Switch to paddle attachment, then beat together almond paste and remaining 3/4 cup sugar until well blended, about 3 minutes. Add butter and beat until pale and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add yolks and almond extract and beat until combined well, about 2 minutes. Reduce speed to low, then add flour and salt and mix until just combined. Fold half of egg white mixture into almond mixture to lighten, then fold in remaining whites gently but thoroughly.

Divide batter among 3 bowls. Stir red food coloring into one and green food coloring into another, leaving the third batch plain. Set white batter aside. Chill green batter, covered. Pour red batter into prepared pan and spread evenly with offset spatula (layer will be about 1/4 inch thick).
Bake red layer 8 to 10 minutes, until just set. (It is important to undercook.)

Using paper overhang, transfer layer to a rack to cool, about 15 minutes. Clean pan, then line with wax paper and butter paper in same manner as above. Bake white layer in prepared pan until just set. As white layer bakes, bring green batter to room temperature. Transfer white layer to a rack. Prepare pan as above, then bake green layer in same manner as before. Transfer to a rack to cool.

When all layers are cool, invert green onto a wax-paper-lined large baking sheet. Discard paper from layer and spread with half of preserves. Invert white on top of green layer, discarding paper. Spread with remaining preserves. Invert red layer on top of white layer and discard wax paper.

Cover with plastic wrap and weight with a large baking pan. Chill at least 8 hours.
Remove weight and plastic wrap. Bring layers to room temperature. Melt chocolate in a double boiler or a metal bowl set over a saucepan of barely simmering water, stirring until smooth. Remove from heat. Keep chocolate over water.

Trim edges of assembled layers with a long serrated knife. Quickly spread half of chocolate in a thin layer on top of cake. Chill, uncovered, until chocolate is firm, about 15 minutes. Cover with another sheet of wax paper and place another baking sheet on top, then invert cake onto sheet and remove paper. Quickly spread with remaining chocolate. Chill until firm, about 30 minutes.

Cut lengthwise into 4 strips. Cut strips crosswise into 3/4-inch-wide cookies.

Stained Glass Cookies

Let the games begin!

We’ve completely hunkered down in the trenches of Christmas cookie production. Starting Saturday afternoon as a snowstorm blew through the Northeast, my daughter and I made the following doughs:

- Sugar Cookies, to roll out and cut into shapes;
- French Chocolate rimmed in white non-pariels, a slice and bake variety;
- Pfefferneuse, to roll into balls and bake;
- Fig, raisin, bourbon and chocolate filling rolled into a spiral, to slice and bake (an invention this year of random ingredients);
- Gingerbread, to roll out and cut into shapes.

I added a sixth on Sunday night after putting my daughter to bed, when I made my grandmother’s tender pastry dough. These will be filled with apricot, prune and date fillings this year.

Do you think six varieties are enough? Is this a sufficient head start? There is a method to my madness.

Any doughs that can be refrigerated to make cut and slice, rolled and cut, or balled cookies are done first and set aside in the fridge for future use. This can be extremely convenient if done early enough, since you can bake a batch of each or any on short notice, or break off just what you’re yearning for when you simply want hot, fresh cookies at midnight with a glass of warm brandy. ‘Tis the season, you know.

In the coming days, I’ll tackle (with glee!) three-layer Italian cookies, a two-day process, almond macaroons (recipe here), dark chocolate-dipped icebox cookies dusted with pulverized peppermint sticks, and my own mixed-fruit biscotti.

By Sunday night, my first batch had already come out of the oven. Well, two actually, if you count the army of little gingerbread men I baked for good measure, and because my husband devours them.

I used my standard sugar cookie dough (recipe here) to create stained glass cookies – easy, glistening and impressive – for my daughter’s kindergarten class. The only extras you need are hard candies and nested cookie cutters.

I prefer individually wrapped Life Savers for this cookie. They come in a variety of colors, one candy perfectly fills the opening, and each comes in its own pouch. Crack and break them up with a hammer or mallet, being careful not to break the cellophane wrap. When you’re ready, just open the pouch and pour the candy into the cookie holes.

Roll the dough to at least a ¼ inch thickness. Cut your desired large shapes, place on a cookie sheet, then cut out your inner shape. Bake as directed. The crushed candies melt into “glass,” filling the inner shapes of the cookies. Ice or decorate as desired, or leave plain. Save the inner shapes to eat plain or decorate as one-bite treats. Accumulate and bake them on a separate pan, since they take a shorter time in the oven than the larger cookies.

I purchased one bag of mixed Life Savers and one bag of Butter Rum flavor. The mixed colors worked on the trees (green), snowflakes (white), some stars and angel “ornament” balls (red); the butter rums made for great gold stars and angels.

The little gift bags tied in a frizz of curling ribbon were a hit with the kids, since I also added the iced and sugared center shapes, some candy, and a gingerbread man to each.

Try these cookies this season, perfect your process, then make them on Valentine’s Day using heart cutters and red candies.

Let's just get past Christmas for now.

Last Call

It’s over.

Two and a half pounds of knobby, gnarly, hairy-rooted celeriac came out of the ground this weekend.

I sat solemnly astride a pail of water, knife in hand, silently slicing off the tall, green tops, then gently removing roots and ends, dipping each muddy orb into the water as it took shape. My bare hands turned increasingly purple and stiff, wet from the water, further chilled by the very cold Sunday air.

When all were cleaned, I sat on the grass, eyeing the empty celery root area of that largest bed. It grew aside the potatoes. I lifted my body up briefly, with the intention of digging in the potato area with my bare frozen hands in the hopes of finding a stray spud. Then I mentally pictured the desperate act I was considering.

In the end, I preserved my last shred of dignity and did not dig. I went inside, closed the back door and called it a season.

Last Eco-Nomics:
2.5 lbs Celery Root @ $2.99:
Total: $7.48

Last Eco-nomics posting: $186.05
This harvest tally: $7.48
Ahead by a Total of: $193.53
“Whole Foods” Pricing: $193.53 x 3.5 = $677.36

Not bad for a few handfuls of seeds and a rack of peat pellets.

Keep in mind that I’ve been keeping track of an “ahead by” figure – i.e., my garden actually produced $243.23 worth of goods, but I knocked off the initial expense of $49.70.

I can’t wait for next year.

I Used the Beef II

Three Down, One to Go.

The beef is making its way out of my freezer, slowly but bloodily surely.

It was very finely combined with ground pork, good parm and crusty country breadcrumbs to make meatballs in a red sauce. The meal turned into an impromptu extended-family dinner paired with an Italian Primitivo I wanted to try, which I think will be a new house red for the winter.

If I make a red sauce, which oddly is not all that often, I bring out the big guns: my favorite, tall, heavy-gauge stainless steel Williams-Sonoma pot with a glass lid. I received it as a Christmas gift, geez, probably 15 years ago. It was one of my first “good” pieces. Kitchenwise, I’ve learned that you’ve got to buy the best that you can. Things heat evenly and dependably, the pieces hold up and you’ll never have to replace a cheap pan again. This pot, together with some Le Creuset pieces, drives home what I also call The Shoe Rule: Your cheapest shoes are the most expensive, and your most expensive shoes are the cheapest. You will constantly break, repair or throw away cheapies that lose their shape and wear out before the season is through. Yet I have a pair of strappy, silver Italian high-heeled sandals from before I was married. They’re a summer constant and still look stunning.

But, I digress. Subconsciously, I’m getting off-topic, and that’s for a reason.

I’ve noticed that I have a habit of taking a long time to fess up about using the beef. This pot of sauce was made on Columbus Day, appropriately. I’m just getting around to dealing with, or at least acknowledging, my own personal fallout. It took close to one month to write about my first use of the beef over the summer.

Either way, it was a good, hearty meal for an October that’s been one of the colder ones on record.

One last block of beef remains in the freezer.

Nearing the End

I knew this day would come.

It’s time to put my beds to bed. I have been putting it off for reasons other than the cold and the tangled mess of refuse it will create. I just don’t want the gardening season to be over.

But my squash vines are unsightly and dying. The tomatoes are not ripening. The bean vines long ago stopped producing in any meaningful way and have lost most of their leaves. All my potatoes are harvested. The celery root is ready to come out of the ground.

I cleared out the first bed two Sundays ago by picking the last of the Swiss Chard, a double bale. The stems were narrow and tender, and the colors were far deeper than seen earlier, likely due to the cold weather and the fact that I left the leaves out for so long in the false hope that my garden could survive the winter. The Kentucky Wonder bean vines covering those trellises and winding up the gutter pipe managed to put out one last pound of beans. Not bad for four or five year old seeds planted “just to see” if they’d grow. Some beans dried and went to seed, so I collected those seeds for use next year.

The tomato vines have grown rattier with each passing day, yet they were still completely heavily laden with fruit, all green. We collected each possibly usable tomato and placed them in paper bags to ripen indoors. The brown and cold-injured fruits went to be composted. I pray the tomatoes will ripen in the bags and I can squeeze out one last panzanella from them, as they are largely Sungold and black cherry tomatoes. I’ll let you know what happens. The larger mortgage lifters, black Russians and my daughter’s yellow tomatoes did not fare well once the cold set in.

One and a half pounds of pattypan squash emerged from the squash bed, which started look a bit ratty during Labor Day weekend. The buttercup squash vines had long since died; the pattypans, a summer squash, gave a good fight. The butternut vines, however, keep pumping out flowers, even in their unsightly condition. They also bear two new squashes – little as they are, I’m keeping that area untouched, in the hopes that they will mature before a serious frost. Hope springs eternal.

It does, actually. Due to four days of rain in the forecast this past weekend, I decided to leave my celery root in the ground in the hopes that each will plump up just a bit more. I left the chili pepper plants alone, since those peppers stand on the ends of the plants like firecrackers – a bit of red-hot cheer in the shortening days of autumn. A girl can dream, can’t she?

Eco-Nomics:
Double Bunch of Swiss Chard: 2 lbs @ $2 = $4
One Last pound of beans @ $.99 = $.99
Pattypan Squash: 1.5 lbs @ $1.50 = $2.25
The last Zucchetta Trombolina: 1.5 lbs @ $.99 = $1.49
Total: $8.73

Last Eco-nomics posting: $177.32
This harvest tally: $8.73
Ahead by a Total of: $186.05
“Whole Foods” Pricing: $x 3.5 = $651.18

R.I.P. Gourmet

Say it ain’t so.

After close to 70 years in circulation, Gourmet Magazine is slated to cease publication at the end of the year.

Never mind the fact that I’m paid up through the year 2013. I feel I came in late to the game as it is: My subscription kicked in with the November, 2003 issue. I was planning on my own 70 years with it.

My husband and I bought our first house in 2002. I had always tried to be somewhat inventive and adventurous in the kitchen – in my own little somewhat-knowledgeable way. I would find things at the farmer’s market or on sale at the grocery store and figure out what to do with them. I came up with a few of my husband’s favorites along the way, but believe me, not all were winners. Mike has always said that I’m a very intuitive cook. I just like the process of figuring it all out. When I started buying the occasional newsstand copy of Gourmet that year, my eyes opened up to so much more. So did our palates. Mike bought the subscription for me. I’ve never looked back.

Although with Gourmet, you always “look back.” I still have every issue. I still use them over and over again. The Rolodex in my brain still somehow knows where each recipe, spice combination, idea and variation I’ve created is in each back issue. I hoped to line an entire room with my Gourmets over the course of a lifetime. Should I be buried in a mausoleum, I would request in my will that my Gourmets accompany me. You’re never done with them.

In the grand scheme of things, I’ve barely begun. But the memories are there.

During Christmas of 2005, my daughter was fourteen months old, not fully verbal and learning to walk, still holding onto furniture to get around a room. While gripping my living room coffee table, she happened upon the December, 2005 issue of Gourmet, which featured a plethora of cookies on the cover – the December issue always delectably does. She honed in on the black and white cookies, her favorite since solid food, looked up at me, and let out an “Mmmm, Mmmm.” “Oh, yes, they look good,” I said. She looked up at me again, furrowed her brow and let out another set of “Mmmms,” her eyes locked on mine. “Yes, little one, the cookies are good,” I cooed to assuage her.

My daughter was adamant. She let go of the coffee table, held the magazine over her head with the front cover facing me, and let out a loud, guttural final “MMMMMM” before I said, “Alright, alright, we’ll make the black and whites!” Finally satisfied, she put down the magazine, never held a piece of furniture after that, then walked on her own out of the room. And yes, I did make the cookies.


When my April, 2006 issue arrived (“Italian Regional Cooking”), I devoured it, cover to cover. Then I immediately hit my local newsstand to pickup a second issue. I knew the one that came in the mail would become completely spattered with food, pages stuck together and unusable by the end of the month. It was. I like to think I did that issue proud.

And Thanksgiving has never been so “same” in my family since the year my mother put me in charge of the pumpkin pie. I never really eat pumpkin pie. I may pick at the filling, but never touch the crust. I agreed to bring it, saying, “Sure, I’ll do the pumpkin.” I never said the word “pie,” not even once in the weeks leading up when she’d call to double check that I was bringing it.

I made a pumpkin flan from the November, 2005 issue. My mom hollered at me the second she saw it as I walked through the door (I’m in my 40’s). The crowd was skeptical. My cousins tossed a few jokes in, such as “Is what they have in Spain on Thanksgiving?” and the like (Spain, flan, I get it. Hardy har har.) But Holy Mackerel: It was Delicious, with a capital D. The toasted pepitas, a garnish, nearly didn’t make it through the day once my dad and Uncle Vic discovered them! Cheers and cries for encores closed out that holiday evening. A new tradition was born.

I’m just not ready to say “Good bye” to Gourmet. Neither is my daughter.

Now five, she pretty much hijacks each issue from my hands after it arrives to select recipes, sometimes from the pictures, sometimes from the voluminous recipe pages. “We should totally make this,” is her favorite come-on.

She has been reading since the age of three – thanks in part, I’m sure, to following recipes together. It makes our adventures in cooking that much easier as she dashes off ingredients, measurements and steps to me. Her little hands are adept at measuring, too, and she can fold even the most delicate ingredients into a soufflé. She does most of the stirring, sifting and counterwork, while I tend to more dangerous areas, like a hot stove or oven.

And it’s not even a matter of using the recipes word for word, ingredient for ingredient. I’ll remember back to a treatment, technique, flavor combination, marinade or the like and translate it to the ingredients we have. Make a recipe once, and it’s yours forever, from new variations on old favorites (braised duck legs with sautéed duck breasts, “Paris on a Budget” September ’08) to attempting a traditional Russian Orthodox Easter dish (Paskha cheese, April ’04) to bring to a family friend’s celebration as a surprise. I’m Italian-Catholic. They were impressed, gracious and flattered that I’d attempt the Paskha, a three-day recipe. I was honored to make it. Thank you, Gourmet.

Even so, I seem always to be on a backlog.

I still haven’t gone through all of the tapas from January ’05. I constantly skim that issue every time I host a dinner – either for an appetizer I’ve made, or for a new one to complement the dinner itself. Heck, my October issue just arrived and I haven’t finished the key recipes on all those dog-eared pages of September.

Sadly, I suppose I’ll have time to catch up on all of them after my last issue comes.