The Meaning Behind Christmas Cookies

Submitted into Contest #71 in response to: Write about someone trying to recreate a grandparent’s signature baked good from memory.... view prompt

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Christmas Fiction Happy

Baking cookies has never been short of therapy for me. We tend to overthink the sheer amazement someone can get out of simply watching cookies rise in the oven. It only takes around fifteen minutes in that hot metal box, and that once gooey ball of flour, sugar, egg, vanilla, and chocolate chips will change into a crispy and magical delight. Normally every holiday, we'd go over to my Grandparents' house and marvel as my Grandma was able to so easily whip up her unbelievably delicious Christmas goodies, but this year was different. Grandma had recently been diagnosed with Alzheimer's and found it harder and harder to remember her once so easily accessible cookie recipe. Our family took it upon themselves to be tasked with creating the cookies this year, in hope that one may shed a smile onto grandmas face. Our first couple of attempts could have been something out of a horror film. Cookies would come out of the oven looking like some life form from another planet, or something that could have been picked up off the side of the road. Over time we got better, and the cookies would look more and more normal, but they never matched what Grandma had once made. I knew that if we didn't get a cookie recipe down pat, and soon, we may never get the opportunity, as Grandma was slowly fading more away. So later in the week, sometime around mid-December, I decided today would be the day I finally figured out my Grandma's famous cookie recipe. I cleared my schedule, and sent my family out shopping (so that I'd have the whole house to myself). I would spend all day in the kitchen if it meant that I could see another smile on Grandma's face. I took out the most common ingredients, things that you'd find listed online, simple things. I put out bowls for each individual item: the flour, the sugar, the eggs, the food coloring, and then got to work. I messed up every single clean bowl and baking pan in the house. Dishes piled up higher and higher in the sink. Every other couple of batches I'd throw in a random ingredient like lemon zest or sour cream, and yet nothing tasted like the sweet nostalgia I was longing for. Batches of cookies came out of the oven lopsided, normal, or really messed up, and I was starting to lose hope. Why is it so hard to bake cookies? My grandma makes it look like Wizardry every time she steps into the kitchen, so why can't I? These we're the questions I found myself asking. I decided I would make two more batches, and if those weren't perfect, I could give up and try again another day. The first batch, I started like a normal cookie would. I sifted in flour, I folded in an egg, I added sugar and melted butter, and finally, I added cinnamon. Maybe cinnamon would be the answer to my prayers. Grandma’s cookies always did have a bit of a bite to them. I pushed the pan into the hot oven, which now smelled like burnt cookies, and then sat back and sighed. Baking cookies has always been a sort of therapy for me. Fifteen minutes go by and the cookies are done, so I take them out, and let them cool before finally picking one up to try it. I take a small bite and hold my breath, anxious to see if I had finally cracked the code. To my disbelief, I hadn't. I threw the rest of the cookies away in anger. One more batch, that's all I have left to prove myself. I did everything the exact same, I sifted in the flour, folded in an egg, added the sugar and melted butter, and then paused. I opened the spice cabinet that was directly overhead of the oven and saw a bottle of some mysterious brown powdery substance sitting towards the back. I pulled it out and read the label. Nutmeg, of course, the one thing I didn't think to try. I added in the Nutmeg and set the cookies in the oven. After another fifteen minutes, I took them out, and let them cool, before biting into one. Immediately all of the Christmas memories and happy times spent with my Grandma came flooding back. I did it! The cookies were perfect, and I knew once my family got home they'd be just as excited as I was. I waited, and waited, and waited some more until finally, the doorbell rang. My mom was carrying around twelve shopping bags, and her arms were full; but, I ran up to her anyway and shoved the cookie in her mouth. Her eyes lit up in amazement, and we knew that this holiday would be a good one. Mom shared the cookie with Dad, and Dad gave the rest of the cookie to my baby brother. A couple of hours later, we went to my Grandma's house. I was carrying not only a big plate of cookies but a smile too. We walked in and talked to her for a while before finally letting her know that we had cookies. I asked her if she wanted one, and she said yes. I grabbed a small plate out of the cabinet and a glass of 2% milk before handing the cookie to my Grandma. Once she took a bite, I think something internally lit up. Her whole demeanor changed, and I don't know if it was the magic of Christmas or just really good cookies, but for a split second, I felt like I had my Grandma back. One last time. We all shared plenty of laughs that day. Grandma was in a cheerful mood for the rest of the night, and I like to think that it had something to do with my cookies. That was one of the last Christmases we were able to spend with Grandma, but it was a good one, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I was stuck cleaning up dishes for a couple days, but in the end it was worth it. I had finally figured out my Grandma's cookie recipe, and maybe one day I’ll write it down, who knows?

December 04, 2020 17:02

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