… is to follow the real recipe!

Remember when I tried to make the Momofuku compost cookie?

Well, I just found out that the actual recipe has been posted.  On Regis and Kelly’s website of all places.  And there’s quite an interesting secret step involving the eggs.

Happy baking if you try them.

Momofuku Compost Cookie
c/o Live with Regis and Kelly

It’s clear that I like to make cookies.  It’s clear that I like to make cookies for others.  But, when it comes to cookie recipes, I’m rarely surprised.  A cookie is a cookie is a cookie.  Butter, sugar, flour, salt, eggs.

I have a number of recipes that I gravitate toward, but only one go-to recipe.  What makes it special for me is that it contains no white sugar and the butter must be melted.  The warm dough has always yielded soft, slightly doughy cookies.  I don’t like cookies any other way, really.  I’ll make them many other ways, but as I rarely cook for my pleasure, that’s not always important.

In a tradesies situation I created (Fairmount bagels for my baking) I went looking for something to take me out of my baking box.  Dorie Greenspan is someone who I’ve been reading for a long while now without trying any of her recipes.  With her recent Chocolate Chunker post, my mind was sufficiently intrigued.  Easy recipe.  Salted peanuts.  The word “gooey.”

I don’t have much to say except that I think they are the best cookies I’ve ever made.

I forgot the raisins.

I added cinnamon.

I sprinkled fleur de sel on the tops after baking.

I made monster cookies, easily 2 tablespoons of dough each.

Gooey.  Chocolatey.  Salty.

Warm dough.

Finger-lickin’ dough.

Make them.

Now.

After rolling and cutting over eight dozen fig rugelach, your mind tends to wander.  Away from Christmas, away from “the spirit,” away from good tidings.  The hangover starts earlier than it should.  What do I want?  What would taste good to me right now?

With a circle of dough in front of me and apparently not enough fig jam, I hatched a plan—a rugelach experiment.

Surrounded by all the sweetness, I wanted a dose of salty.

I swapped the jam for peanut butter and the sprinkled sugar with fleur de sel.

How awesome do I feel when I read that Bon Appétit has peanut butter listed as the dessert trend of the year?

My cookie tins only ever have room for three cast members.  Shortbread gets a spot without question.  The other two roles are filled on a whim and if I’m impressed enough, I might give them the role again.  Sometimes a chocolate chip base with holiday-coloured M&Ms makes the cut.  Last year, burfi stole the show.  This year, costar #1 was a soft ginger cookie from Epicurious and #2 was a cookie I have not made in a few years:  rugelach.

Rugelach made its debut that first Christmas I gave away cookies.  I think my motivation was to be ambitious, as I felt the other two cookies seemed rather easy to make.  A little elbow grease added to the love and thought-that-counts could only make things sweeter.

However, I am descended from women who are bakers—not pastry chefs.  I came home after school to homes that were filled with the perfume of quickbreads and muffins and easy drop cookies.  My grandmas didn’t fool around being fussy with butter temperature and overmixing.  They kneaded and stirred for hours to ensure they always had a freezer full of sweet carbohydrates for little empty stomachs who ran off their lunches during afternoon recess.

I blame my ill-preparedness when tackling my first batch of rugelach on them. 

Who needs a rolling pin when you can use a large can of tomato sauce?

Who needs a food processor or mixmaster when you’ve got fingers?

This year I bought myself a rolling pin.

While I tend to fool myself at times into believing that perfection is attainable, I have never had an issue with my awkward little rugelach that come in a variety of sizes.  I don’t know how to be fussy with food and I’m not sure if I ever want to be.  Fussy is not fun.

But, fig jam in a sweet pastry made with cream cheese and butter definitely is.

Basic rugelach (not kosher)

2 cups all-purpose flour

0.5 cup sifted icing sugar

0.5 teaspoon salt

1 cup cold unsalted butter, cut into cubes

4-oz (125 g) block cream cheese, cut into cubes

Filling—I like to use fig jam.  Jam, dried fruit, nuts, chocolate chips, coconut (read: whatever you want) can be used.

1 egg

sugar

I added about half a teaspoon of cinnamon to my dough this year.  Why?  Because I can.

Stir first three ingredients in a large bowl or processor.

Cut in (or process or use your fingers) butter and cream cheese until dough is crumbly.  Then work until dough comes together and no crumbs remain.  Divide dough into three.  Flatten each part into a disc that is about 0.5 inch thick.  Wrap each in plastic wrap and put in fridge for at least 30 minutes.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Let dough soften slightly at room temperature for around 10 minutes.

On a lightly floured surface and using a floured rolling pin, roll each disc into a circle that is 12 inches in diameter—a perfect circle is not required.

Spread about 2-3 tablespoons of filling on each disc.  Cut each disc into 16 wedges using a pizza cutter.

Beginning at wide end of wedge, roll up toward the point.  Place each wedge (point side down) on parchment-lined baking sheet.

Brush tops with beaten egg and sprinkle with sugar.

Bake in oven until golden, around 13 to 16 minutes.

Store in an airtight container or the fridge for up to one week.

It was five years ago this Christmas that I started giving cookies away as gifts.  On a budget and with a long list of people I wanted to give to, baking seemed a good choice.  Not only was I being thoughtful in the it’s-the-thought-that-counts kind of way, but I was also giving time and love. 

Love, hey?  Maybe not so much. 

My bake-a-thons become like a night of heavy drinking.  The next day I swear “I’m never going to do that again.”  My nausea comes in the form of the dishes upon dishes waiting to be cleaned.  My headache is the flour and sugar and spices that coat the floor.  The spins occur as I curse my inadequate kitchen equipment.

But like any good party, the fond and fun memories come to the fore as the headache fades.  And the next time you are in a similar situation, you don’t pass on the wine.  Hangover shmangover.

I’d do dishes upon dishes upon dishes for the feeling I get when someone says they enjoy my cookies.

_______

Whipped shortbread is my “must.”  It’s the only cookie that holds any Christmas nostalgia for me.

Without fail, Christmas dinners at my aunt’s old house would end with movement toward the basement for cozy couches and a wood-burning fireplace.  Festive festive.  My little girl ears were always overstimulated with adult conversation and a crackling fireplace.  Respite from the storm?  A jaunt to the furnace room where the deep freeze lived.  I would be on tiptoe as the frozen coffin revealed its cold wonders.  A tin would be reached for and opened right there and then.  Whipped shortbread branded with red and green maraschino halves.  Solid, cold, white like snow.  The tin would be brought to those round the fire for late-night snacking and added holiday indulgence.  My preference was always for the one I ate while the freezer top closed.  Cold on my lips with a noticeable bite; the butter not yet warm enough to leave greasy fingertips in my warm embrace or melt too quickly in my mouth.  Like a nice Christmas kiss.

I’ve left the maraschinos in the 1980s. 

Whipped Shortbread

1 pound unsalted butter (454 grams)

1 cup icing sugar

0.5 cup cornstarch

3 cups flour

1 tsp vanilla

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. 

Cream butter. 

Sift together icing sugar, cornstarch, and flour.

Beat together dry ingredients, butter, and vanilla until the consistency of whipped cream (I use only a handheld mixer, hence the cursing.)

Drop by teaspoonful onto parchment lined cookie sheets.

(I flatten slightly with a fork.)

Bake for 8–10 minutes.

Makes 60+ cookies.