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Moonsets and Moonpies at Thirty Below

19 Jan

Moonset at 9:30 a.m.

Fairbanks has my brain in its icy claws; the temptation to eat donuts and birthday cake by the truckload is powerful.  It’s been -30°F (and colder) here for weeks and weeks and weeks.  We’ve had a few days here and there of temps above 0°, but from Thanksgiving until now -30° has been hanging around like a bad house guest.  However, there is always something beautiful about my environment; Fairbanks likes to remind me that even though the weather is brutal, there is always the moon…

In honor of this, I’m putting up a recipe for my semi-homemade Moonpies.  The sugar and calorie content is sinister, but it’s a full moon, so they’re fitting.

Arctic Moonpies

  • vanilla wafers (as many as you need)
  • marshmallow creme
  • Nutella
  • Baker’s White Dipping Chocolate
  • chopped, salted pecans

1. Mix equal parts marshmallow creme and Nutella and attempt to get a layer onto a vanilla wafer, sandwiching it with another wafer.  This part is very gooey and sticky and requires a good deal of finger licking, but doesn’t that sound naughty and fun?

2. Put the cookies in the fridge or the freezer and let the gooey stuff harden if you need to, then dip each sandwich into the melted baker’s chocolate.

3. Lay the dipped sandwich on waxed paper.  Before the chocolate hardens, sprinkle on some of the chopped pecans.

4. Finally, feed them to someone else’s children and then leave when all Hell breaks loose.

Where My Shorties At? A Postmodern Spin on an Old Recipe

23 Dec

Shorties in the house! Holla!!!!

I now have access to a Super Secret Family Cookbook from a Danish Grandmother in the Midwest.  The Danish Grandmother came to America in 1933 when she was 16 years old.  And she came alone. Her recipe book is filled with things that a Southerner finds strange: kolaches, fastnachts kuchle, boter koekjes (guess what those are), a recipe simply titled “Danish Pastry,” and all sorts of jello-esque salads that seem to be a hallmark of Midwestern American church lady cooking.  I love these kinds of cookbooks; personally compiled by family members, not for the purpose of making a buck when it sells a few copies on Amazon, but because family members recognized that if no one wrote these things down, their own family foodways and traditions would become lost over time.  Each successive generation makes its own changes, partly out of necessity and partly out of a lack of knowledge.

I’ve been trying lately to involve my son, henceforth “Mr. McCool,” and my daughter, henceforth the “Postmodern Daughter,” in the cooking process, especially over the holidays when I tend to be making more traditional foods.  You can only imagine my foodie delight when she said last night, “Move over, mom. I need to be able to watch your technique.”  Really!?

The Postmodern Daughter has been bugging me for weeks to make shortbread.  The Danish Grandmother’s Super Secret Cookbook actually contains a recipe for Holiday Shortbread.  It seemed like a good recipe to try with 4 people in my tiny kitchen, so we piled the ingredients up on the counter and got to work.

This is a good time to make a little confession:  I’m a bit of a control freak in the kitchen:

Don't wash my cast iron pans!!!

Who used a metal fork on the egg pan?

Why is the eggnog ruined? You boiled it, that's why.

This is especially true when it comes to baking. It’s odd, because I tend to think of recipes more as “guidelines” rather than rigid instructions; but after a series of chocolate chip cookie disasters in my early twenties, I decided that when it comes to baking, I should always play by the book.  And let me tell you, that’s about the only place in my life where I voluntarily follow the rules.

But there were 4 of us in the kitchen last night trying out two varieties of shortbread: one from Betty Crocker (a Butter Pecan Shortbread) and the other from the Danish Grandmother (Holiday Shortbread).  Two kids under the age of 10, me, and the Hot Boyfriend all mixing away.  The anxiety I was feeling was probably palpable (flour on the floor, kids with freshly licked fingers in the cookie dough, nuts flying everywhere because someone was crushing them with the butt of a honing steel). People kept adding extra stuff to both the mixes and I was nearing a full-blown panic attack, sputtering “but…but… you’re supposed to…”  And then the Hot Boyfriend said, “There you go again, with your Supposed To’s.”

Well, that shut me up.  I like to think of myself as a Renegade, a Maverick, someone unafraid to play fast and loose, a girl who knows how to improvise, how to be creative.

Are you trying to tell me I can't add cocoa powder to my chili?

Orange marmalade: it's going to revolutionize my carrot and beet relish

Go ahead, tell me what temperature my oven should be at. I'm listening.

So I shut up.  I let all 3 of them add whatever they wanted.  I even stopped adding flour when it felt like the dough was dry enough, even though the recipe called for more.  I was wild.  And I was free.

Anyways, it sounds like the Danish Grandmother was a bit of a rebel herself, never cooking from recipes too religiously and frequently tweaking her own recipes when she had improved them.  So here is the recipe for her Holiday Shortbread.  Don’t follow it too closely. Even the 9 year old Postmodern Daughter knows that “you should always add as much butter as you want.”

Holiday Shortbread

  • 1 cup butter
  • 1/2 cup sugar
  • 2 and 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
  • 1/4 teaspoon salt

Preheat oven to 375ºF. Cream butter until fluffy. Add sugar and beat until light and fluffy. Gradually blend in flour and salt. Roll out on lightly floured surface to form and 11″ x 7″ rectangle, 1/2 inch thick. Cut into 1″ squares. Bake on unbuttered cookie sheets 12-15 minutes or until a pale golden color. Cool completely on wire racks. Store at room temperature in container with tight fitting lid. Makes about 1 dozen.

Drunken Winter Crazy Cookies

9 Dec

Brutal. And it's going to get worse.

I try not to be bitter over my exile in this Winter Wasteland.  I try to love this place the way some of my friends and colleagues do.  But I. Just. Can’t.

It’s dark here.  Nothing is easy in the cold.  My footing is still, after 15 years in Alaska, unsure on the ice.  Between plugging my car in, scraping windshields, donning and removing 3 layers of clothing multiple times each day, shoveling my driveway, chipping away at the ice dams that form on the inside of my bedroom window, and trying to keep up with 3 pairs of gloves, hats, snowpants, scarves, and boots, I’m up to my eyeballs in desperation. It’s the desperation that leads me to food.  Thinking about it, reading about it, studying food, listening to “A Chef’s Table” podcasts, listening to the chef’s memoirs I get through Audible.com, watching Top Chef or No Reservations. I write about it. I obsess over it. Food is solace.  Food is pleasure.  Feeding others is a pleasure. The history of food is the history of humanity.  The only thing food can’t do for me is buy me a plane ticket out of this place.

Here is the recipe for a cookie that encompasses my dark feelings regarding Alaskan winters; it’s a cookie in which I find solace (even if I can’t actually eat it…I have sugar and flour issues) because this cookie understands me.

Drunken Winter Crazy Cookies Part I

  • Soak 1 cup of raisins and 1/2 chopped dates in 1 cup of Triple Sec overnight.
  • Preheat oven to 375F.

Drunken Winter Crazy Cookies Part II

  • 2 & 1/4 sticks of butter, softened
  • 1 & 1/4 cups packed brown sugar
  • 1/2 cup white granulated sugar
  • 1 & 3/4 cups all purpose flour
  • 1 tsp baking powder
  • 1/2 tsp salt
  • 2 & 1/2 cup Quaker uncooked oats
  • 1/2 cup pecans

Beat the butter and sugar into submission.

Add beaten eggs.

Combine dry ingredients then fold into the wet mixture.

Stir in the drunken raisins and dates and add the nuts.

Bake for 10 minutes or until otherwise done.

Eat until Hell freezes over.