One of my few happy childhood memories is an old Christmas cookie recipe from my grandmother on my adoptive father’s side, which my adoptive mother baked from time to time. I’ve made a tradition of baking these with my children before Christmas every year. They are a light, golden colour (my boyfriend says they’re Golden Retriever-coloured), sweet and slightly crispy, and have their place right next to the gingerbread cookies on our table. And like gingerbread cookies they may be decorated with frosting, plain white or coloured according to your personal preference. You may eat them along with hot chocolate, coffee or mulled wine (which in Norwegian is called “gløgg”), whilst watching the snow falling outside the window, listening to Christmas carols and feeling the butterflies in your stomach flutter about as you look forwards to the holiday and to spend time with your closest family and friends, which for me is what Christmas is all about: lots of good food in the company of dear, happy faces, and making sure every year that my children experience a much better Christmas than the ones I grew up with.
May this season be blessed, and help heal old wounds in the depth of my soul and others’. May it bring joy and peace to children who live in troubled families, who maybe suffer abuse, and may not look forward to Christmas. I know this too well, as I was one of those children myself.
This post is a season’s greeting from the cold North. I wish you all a merry Christmas, and a happy new year, everyone who read my blog and have followed me so far on my journey of healing. I thank you all from the bottom of my heart, and I hope that each and every one of us can help a troubled child in this season, which is indeed meant to be a happy one. It could be the kid next door. Reach out a hand, as a good, compassionate fellow human being. Even if it means you have to contact the police or child protective services. Pay it forward and get the ball rolling. I wish someone had done that for me when I was a little girl. If everyone will take a small part in this responsibility, maybe this world will become a better place to live for all some day.
I’d like to share my recipe with you, in case you’d like to try it too. Unfortunately I’m unfamiliar with American/imperial measures, so I’m afraid this is all going to be in metric. I wish you good luck with the cookies 🙂
1/2 kilo sugar
30 grams Salt of Hartshorn (ammonium bicarbonate)
50 grams butter, melted
Wheat flour to make a perfect doughMix everything together in a bowl, keep adding flour and knead until you have a smooth dough.
Take about a quarter of the dough at a time, place on table and flatten with a rolling pin until about 2-3 millimetres thick. Use gingerbread men cutters to cut out cookies from the dough, put onto baking plate covered with parchment paper, and place in oven at 200°C for 3-4 minutes. They are finished when they are white to light golden brown and slightly puffed up.
If you use a hot air stove, the cookies will be more puffed, and a bit more crispy too. Do not leave in oven for too long, as they burn easily. A bit of trial and error may be required the first few times. Leave on a cooling rack for a few minutes. When they’re done cooling, they should be sweet and slightly crunchy, and ready for the cookie jar to wait for Christmas.
Be warned that the ammonium bicarbonate does smell rather intensely, both when you mix the dough and when you take the cookies out of the oven, so you may want to keep your kitchen windows open during the worst of it. It’s well worth it, though.
These cookies represent one of the happiest memories from my childhood, from a Christmas many, many years ago when I was overwhelmed by a whole mountain of them. Baking them, and eating them, brings that memory back to life from the depth of my soul, and makes my inner child smile. I wish that this year it will rain cookies on everyone! 🙂
Happy Holidays!
God jul!
Feliz Navidad!
Fröhliche Weihnachten!
Joyeux Noël!
Hyvää Joulua!
즐거운 크리쓰마쓰!
And a Happy New Year to all!
Namasté
~ Khara
Indigo Child Khara 