Cutout Cookies

Food is often the focus of my thought, perhaps at this time of year more than ever. It’s my love language. For my husband, for my children, for my family and for my friends. If ever I’ve cooked for you, or with you, consider yourself loved.

This morning, in preparation for my kids coming over to celebrate Charlie’s birthday, I decided to make cutout cookie dough on the off chance that we might have time to make some cookies together this afternoon. The recipe (“Can’t Fail Christmas Cookies” from Martha Logan’s Helping Hand Recipes) I have is from an old women’s magazine (an old magazine, not a magazine for old women). The recipe calls for ‘swift’ning’, a term I had never heard before using this recipe, a recipe shared with me by my Aunt Corinne and used by her children and grandchildren for many years as their go-to Christmas Cookie recipe. It’s perfect. The cookies are light, and almost biscuit-like in their flakiness – trees, wreathes, reindeer, ornaments and gingerbread boys, frosted with buttercream and decorated with sprinkles, nonpareils, colored sugar and candies.

When I first moved to Maryland in the early 80s, my Aunt would have cookies on a paper plate tied with ribbon and my name on it in the downstairs freezer, next to the soda fridge with the cans of beer and Pepsi and Sprite guests were always encouraged to visit. Every year, until she was no longer able, Corinne would make Christmas cutout cookies, and, every year, she would keep a plate in the freezer with a ribbon and my name on it. And if I didn’t visit soon after the holiday, she would remind me that the cookies were in the freezer waiting for me, as though I needed this enticement to visit this most wonderful woman.

Since my own children were little, we have made these cookies, usually Natalie and I, but sometimes my husband and sometimes our boys. We’ve even bought fall-themed cutters and made them in October, decorating leaves and pumpkins in the bright oranges, yellows and reds of the season. And every time I make them, I think of my sweet Aunt Corinne, her love, her consistency, her gentleness and strength, her faith, her bluntness, and the fact that she gave me landing space when I needed her so. This year, because time is flying by, I almost passed on making the cookies, but this morning I remembered that its not actually about the cookies.

I still use my mother’s square, heavily and deeply scratched brownie pan, the one she made cake brownies in for school parties and church bazaars. Honestly, I much prefer the fudgy brownie, but I rarely stray from the pan itself. And macaroni and cheese is always made in the big red tray my mother-in-law used. And Tortierre is our Christmas Eve dinner, a tribute to my beautiful French-Canadian ancestry and made from handwritten recipes from my mother, modified and updated over the years of her life.

Love.

It never really was about the food.