Posts Tagged cookie recipes

A Letter

May 12

Posted by Laura in Baking, Food of Love | 5 Comments

Dear Mom,

It’s my third Mother’s Day without you, and I can’t say that it’s gotten any easier. If anything, it’s more difficult.

I’m starting to realize that I will never “get over” you. That I’ll never not miss you.

At one point during your funeral, I found myself surrounded by several women, all ten to twenty years older than me. They said just the right, most comforting things, Mom – and then I understood: they were all daughters who had lost their mothers. I was being inducted into a sad sorority that I didn’t know existed, but I was grateful to have.

They told me that unexpected things would trigger my grief (like the time I burst into tears while reading an article about the national debt). They told me how much growing up I would do in the months right after you were gone. They told me that a day wouldn’t go by that I wouldn’t think of you, and it would be that way for the rest of my life.

At the time, I doubted that was possible; now I know it’s true. You’ve left a hole in my heart, and it will be there when I die.

I know how odd this sounds, but I’m getting comfortable with the pain. It’s become like an old friend — it doesn’t hurt any less, but I’m no longer surprised when it shows up at my door. It’s strangely consistent, and as such, it’s strangely comforting.

Like everyone else, I continue to grow and change. Each day, I’m older and wiser than the day before, and the longer it’s been since I’ve seen you, the more I have to tell you about what I’ve learned, the more we need to “catch up.” But not only are we never going to catch up, I have a lifetime left to live without you, and we are never going to share any of it. It’s a peculiar brand of loneliness.

Motherhood still doesn’t come easily to me, Mom. I’m not half bad at it, but I’m certainly not a natural. I work at it every day.

The Boy, for his part, is a marvel. He’s curious and bright and outgoing, but headstrong and impish. He’s a heckuva negotiator. He constantly seeks laughter; it doesn’t take much to induce peals of giggling. Occasionally he’ll say, “I love you, Mom,” unbidden — trying to sound like a big boy — and it melts my heart. I know for a fact that you two would be close friends and natural allies, and that melts my heart, too.

Like me, he’s fiercely independent, and for all I put you through, I deserve the challenge of raising such a child. I wish I could ask you how to survive raising a strong-willed little person: how to not only keep from snuffing out his independent streak, but parlay it into leadership and character. And perhaps most importantly, how to not wind up on blood pressure medication in the process.

His eyes are exact replicas of mine, which I’m still not quite used to. When I bend down to explain why it’s important to tell the truth, or why he’s not allowed to play with knives, I find myself getting lost, forgetting my message, because it’s just so surreal to see my own eyes staring back at me. Moments like these shake me out of my daily haze and realize that wait: I have son, we are a family, I have passed my genes along to another generation. He is a whole person, the hero of his own story. I find this stunning.

If I really believe that I what I believe is really real, then you are with me in spirit. If it’s all true, then you and Daddy are together. Maybe you were even there with him that day, when he realized what was coming, but before he fell – those few minutes or seconds probably felt like an eternity, when he was alone and probably afraid.

If what I believe is really real, then I have a chance at seeing you again someday — if I fight the good fight, if I finish the race. If we meet in heaven, will we embrace and finally “catch up”? Or will we be so awestruck by God’s presence, so overwhelmed by the beauty of the place, that we won’t have the inclination to do anything but worship? I like to think that if heaven is really paradise, then we can do both – a kind of cosmic multi-tasking, like when I sing 80s hair metal songs at the top of my lungs while safely operating a motor vehicle.

The truth is, Mom, that I have my doubts some days. Most of us do, I suppose. You were my spiritual mentor, the one I would talk to about all this, and I miss that, too. If you were here, you would tell me that I have been given all the answers, and I only need to pray and search my heart to make the fear and doubt fade quietly away. And you’d be right.

I realize now, through writing this, that you haven’t actually left a hole in my heart – I was born with it. We’re all born with holes in our hearts, designed to receive a mother’s love. And I see now how lucky I am to have had my particular heart filled by you, specifically. The hole in my heart is still full, still bursting with your love, because as my friend Joy once wrote to me, true love is truly good, and what is truly good never dies.

You are always with me; I just wish that I knew how to always feel it.

I will keep trying. I will keep learning.

Pray for me.

I love you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If Mom were here today, I would have made this Chocolate Caramel Slice recipe to celebrate Mother’s Day.

I think she would have liked this particular combination of sweet and salty. She would certainly have appreciated the recipe itself — how it’s easier than it looks, how pretty the final result is, how it can be made far in advance of an event.

I would have wanted to gab with her about the British-ness of it all: the Lyle’s golden syrup, the Maldon salt, the fact that it’s called a “slice.” This would have led to reminiscing about our trip to London, before she was sick. Maybe we would have vowed to return there, after she’d beaten the cancer, to sample more British desserts in the name of “research.”

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.

Chocolate Caramel Slice
Adapted Slightly from Bon Appetit Desserts, copyright 2010

Crust
1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
1/4 cup (packed) light brown sugar
2 teaspoons cornstarch
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
1 tablespoon ice water
1 large egg yolk

Caramel Topping
14 ounces sweetened condensed milk
1/2 cup (packed) light brown sugar
6 tablespoons (3/4 stick) unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
2 tablespoons golden syrup (such as Lyle’s), or dark corn syrup
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Chocolate Glaze
6 ounces bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, chopped
3 tablespoons heavy whipping cream
Flaked sea salt (such as Maldon)

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Generously butter a tart pan with a removable bottom (either a 12 x 8 1/4 x 1, or an 11-inch round).

Crust:
In a food processor, pulse the flour, sugar, cornstarch, and salt to combine. Add the butter and pulse until the mixture resembles coarse meal. Add the ice water and the egg yolk, then blend until moist clumps form. Pat the dough into the bottom of the pan (not the sides), forming an even layer. Prick the dough all over with a fork, then bake until golden, about 22 minutes. Let cool completely on a rack.

Caramel:
Whisk milk, sugar, butter, syrup, and vanilla in a heavy medium saucepan over medium heat until the sugar dissolves and the butter melts. Boil gently, whisking constantly, until the caramel is thick, golden, and a candy thermometer registers 225°F. This took me about 15 minutes. Pour the caramel over the cooled crust, spreading in an even layer. Let cool for 15 minutes to set.

Chocolate:
Combine chopped chocolate and cream in a microwave-safe bowl, then microwave on high for 30 seconds. Stir, then microwave on high in 15-second intervals, stirring between each, until chocolate is smooth. Do not overheat or the mixture will separate. This took me 1 minute and 15 seconds total microwave time, but your results will vary depending on your microwave. Spread the chocolate over the caramel, spreading in an even layer. Sprinkle with sea salt. Refrigerate until the chocolate is set, at least 1 hour. (Can be made up to three days ahead. Cover and keep refrigerated.)

To serve, cut dessert lengthwise into strips, and then across into bars.

Tags: baking recipes, cookie recipes, dessert recipes, memoirs

Inferiority

Nov 19

Posted by Laura in Baking, Food of Love | 7 Comments

Life is easier now that we can bake cookies together.

Motherhood doesn’t come easily to me.

Don’t get me wrong, The Boy is thriving and I love him more than I ever dreamed possible, but parenting just isn’t a natural talent of mine.

Remember when you learned to play basketball for the first time, in gym class, and you slowly realized that some people just don’t have any hand-eye coordination? It’s sort of like that. When my friends hear my questions and concerns and frustrations about being a mom, they’re thinking, Why can’t she just put the ball in the basket?

An example: When The Boy was but a wee thing — a month old, perhaps — my friends encouraged me to venture out. Start small, they said. Run a quick errand, or get a cup of coffee. You’ll be surprised at how easy it is.

So I did. I made sure he had a full belly, then put him in a fresh outfit. Perhaps more noteworthy, I put me in a fresh outfit. I packed an extra set of everything and set out for our two mile journey to the nearest coffee shop.

The drive was pleasant enough. It was a sunny day, and when I looked back every five seconds, The Boy was oblivious, content.

My friends were right, I thought, it’s nice to be out. We arrived uneventfully at the coffee shop. I unclicked his bucket seat and carried him in.

It was about two o’clock on a weekday afternoon. Aside from the baristas banging around behind the bar, it was quiet. On a momentary break from life, the patrons were all quietly reading or pecking on a gadget or sipping coffee. It was an oasis. We had all escaped, including me. I was out.

I walked to the counter, gently set the bucket on the floor, and dug around for my wallet. That’s when the dream started to unravel.

Just as the barista asked what she could get for me, The Boy started to whimper. Oh crap. I reached out with my foot and tipped the round-bottomed bucket ever so slightly, to make it rock, and then quickly ordered a medium coffee to go. Maybe if I acted like I knew what I was doing, it would all be okay.

For his part, The Boy was not amused. The whimper quickly turned into a fuss. My shoulders crept skyward, toward my earlobes. Please tell me this isn’t happening.

The fuss turned into a cry, which quickly escalated into a howl. I tossed some money on the counter, grabbed the coffee, and then turned and froze, staring down at my son. How was I going to carry this heaping bucket-o-Boy and a cup of hot coffee at the same time? And even if I could manage that, how was I going carry all that AND get my keys out AND unlock my door AND heave him back into the car? I needed another arm. (Octopus mamas must have it soooo easy.)

"Coffee shops aren't my thing. I'd rather hang in the kitchen."

The Boy kept howling, red now. The bubble of our communal oasis had been burst — pillaged, sacked, plundered. I could feel the intensely hot laser beams from everyone’s eyeballs, staring. Now that I think about it, this explains why I broke out into a sweat. Will someone please remind me why hot coffee was a good idea?

I had to get out of there. I tucked the handle of the bucket into the crook of my strong arm and grabbed the coffee with the other hand. I lurched like a zombie towards the door — bucket-toting arm lifted for leverage, coffee arm almost fully extended in anticipation of the now-certain spill, which would surely land directly on my infant son’s face and scald him beyond recognition. Really?, I chided myself. Hot coffee?

Outside, scorching tears of frustration, embarrassment and ineptitude sprang from my eyes as I ditched the cup in the garbage can and continued toward the car. Once there, I looked him over. His diaper was dry, his belly still full. Nothing was poking or pulling or pinching him. Why was he screaming? Had I somehow dislocated his arm? Were we being pursued by machete-wielding guerrillas, unbeknownst to me? I looked around, just to be sure.

I eventually gave up, clicked his bucket back into the car, and drove home. He screamed the whole way. In fact, he screamed so loud and for so long, that he started to lose his voice. (I challenge you to find that in a parenting book.)

Against my better judgment, I’m going to be perfectly honest with you and admit to something unflattering and quite uncourageous. The thought that was going through my head as I pulled into the driveway was this:

I went and had a BABY and now I’m stuck in this HOUSE for the rest of my LIFE.

I’m about as extroverted as they come. The thought of having to choose between staying home and breaking out in hives from the stress of “being out” was unbearable. I felt as though I’d just heard my own death knell.

Things got better, of course. The Boy grew and changed. I grew and changed. I went back to work, which helped. He learned to crawl, then walk, then talk. He’s no less demanding now, actually, but at least we understand each other.

Here’s another unflattering admission: When I’m in quiet public places, like coffee shops and churches and movie theaters, and I hear a baby screaming, I secretly like it. Even more so when it’s a mother, and she looks flustered, mopping her brow. Isn’t that terrible?!

I’m not taking joy in their frustration, mind you; I’m just relishing the fact that I’m not alone.

Actually, I like to think of it this way: I’m curing myself of a quite-serious inferiority complex, one fussy baby at a time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In hindsight, a tiny coffee shop was not the greatest venue for a first adventure – I didn’t realize just how loud a baby could be in small quiet space.

My second mistake was actually ordering coffee. What I should have done is ask for a cookie – a highly portable, room temperature, easily-scarfed-if-I-suddenly-have-to-carry-my-kid cookie.

The problem is, food at coffee shops is generally miserable. So The Boy and I made cookies ourselves, which I adapted from the November issue of Food & Wine magazine.

Cranberry Chocolate Chip Cookies

Adapted from Dried Cranberry and Chocolate Cookies, Food & Wine, November 2011

1 1/2 cups dried cranberries

2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1 cup quick-cooking oats (or regular rolled oats)
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon kosher salt
2 1/2 sticks unsalted butter, room temperature
1 cup light brown sugar
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 large egg, room temperature
1 large egg yolk, room temperature
1 tablespoon pure vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups semisweet chocolate chips

Preheat the oven to 325°F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper. Cover the cranberries in hot water and let soak for at least 5 minutes, but not more than 10 minutes. Drain the cranberries; set aside.

Meanwhile, in a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, oats, baking powder, baking soda and salt. In a standing mixer fitted with the paddle, beat the butter and both sugars at medium speed until creamy, about 3-4 minutes. Add the egg followed by the egg yolk and vanilla, beating well between additions and scraping down the side of the bowl as necessary. Add the flour mixture, chocolate chips and cranberries all at once and stir just until combined.

Spoon heaping teaspoons of the dough onto the baking sheets, 2 inches apart. Bake for 12 to 15 minutes, until the cookies begin to brown at the edges. Let the cookies cool on the baking sheets, then transfer them to a rack to cool completely.

Store in an airtight container.

Tags: baking recipes, cookie recipes, dessert recipes, holiday recipes, memoirs, vegetarian recipes

Oh SNAP!

Dec 3

Posted by Laura in Baking, Food of Love | 6 Comments

What do homemade gingersnaps have to do with the Houston Grand Opera?

It’s no secret that I’m a lover of Houston — I came out and told you so last summer. And actually, I had this grand plan of writing a series of posts about my fair city, beginning with a discussion about how underrated Houston’s food scene is. Well, procrastination is the thief of time, as they say, because Bryan Caswell beat me to it.

I certainly don’t mean to insinuate that Caswell and I are in the same league — being one of the best chefs in Houston, he has about ten thousand percent more street cred than me, and about a zillion times more reach (his editorial made the front page of cnn.com, after all). But I’m also not about to try and write what he already said so elegantly, either. If you haven’t read what he wrote, you should: check it out here.

So let’s agree that Houston has a fantastic dining landscape that next to no one knows about. Done.

On to the next Thing I Love About Houston: its world-class arts scene. That’s right: world class, baby!

Consider the following facts:

Houston is second only to New York City for the number of theater seats in a concentrated U.S. downtown area.
Houston is one of only five cities in the U.S. with permanent professional resident companies in all of the major performing arts disciplines of opera, ballet, symphony, and theater.
The Museum of Fine Arts Houston is Texas’ oldest and most prominent museum, and is the fourth largest art museum in the United States.
One of the most important private art collections in the world, the Menil Collection, is in Houston.
The only intact Byzantine frescoes in the Western hemisphere are housed in Houston’s Byzantine Fresco Chapel.
In 2008, Yahoo! Travel listed Houston’s Rothko Chapel as one of the top 10 U.S. places to see before you die. Rothko Chapel is also on National Geographic’s list of the world’s “most sacred places.”
The Houston Museum of Natural Science is the third most visited museum in the U.S., behind the Smithsonian Institution and the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Crazy, right? And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. I had to stop myself. (For more, start here.)

Sometime around 2003, I decided to giddy-up and take advantage of all this stuff going on in my backyard. I started visiting exhibit halls and attending museum events, and I was ever so lucky to cross paths with Stephanie right about then. In addition to her sparkling personality, she also has a degree in art history, and to this day, I still somehow manage to persuade her to attend museum events with me. Which would probably be no big deal, except that she has to answer all my neophyte questions. Questions like, Err, what’s with all the naked nymphs? Answer: These artists wanted to study the female body, and they couldn’t very well paint a naked lady, because then she would cease to be a lady, right? Ohhhh, gotcha. (wink, wink)

With my visual arts tutorial sufficiently underway, I turned my attention to the performing arts. I decided to buy season tickets to the Alley Theatre one year, the Houston Ballet the next year, then the Houston Symphony. The only trouble was, I didn’t have a “Stephanie” for any of those. Ah, but that certainly didn’t keep me from dragging Matt along. And when I’d wrung every drop of art appreciation out of him and hung him out to dry, I finished my tour by subbing in a rotation of buddies. It was actually fun, all that artsy platonic same-sex serial dating. But I digress…

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Tags: cookie recipes, dessert recipes, holiday recipes, Houston, memoirs

Redemption Cookies

Sep 5

Posted by Laura in Baking, Lagniappe | 8 Comments

You may have noticed that I’ve been away for a while.

It’s not that I don’t love WFI, but Life has been more foe than friend lately, and I’ve needed some time to deal with her. She can be a real b—-, you know, and quite messy at times. Plus, she has absolutely no qualms about kicking you when you’re down.

Oh, but things aren’t all that bad, really. I’m just being pulled in lots of different directions. And when you get down to it, Life is really amazing. She’s kind of a tough love freak, but in the end, she’s a genuine friend.

To make up for my shortfalls in the blogosphere, all I can offer you is this chocolate chip-peanut butter cookie. It’s not much, I know, and honestly this cookie is a little too cakey for me – I like mine rich and ultra chewy. But it’s something, right?

This isn’t the first time I’ve given this cookie as a redemption offering. Recently, I confused a Saturday with Sunday, and basically no-showed on long-standing plans with Lisa, one of my very closest friends. At what age are schoolchildren taught to read a calendar? Second grade? I must have been sick that week.

Luckily, Lisa was still available the next day, and when I showed up at her door, I basically said, “Lisa. I am soooo lame. Hey look! Cookies!” I’m quite sure it didn’t work, but I’m also quite sure that she forgave me the second we figured out what had happened. That’s part of why she’s so important to me.

The bottom line for you, dear reader, is that I have a lot going on. We all do. So I’m going to make a small change from posting every Monday night to a more freestyle approach. That means that sometimes you’ll hear from me several days in a row, and sometimes you won’t hear from me for a couple of weeks.

I don’t particularly care for this change. As many of you know, I’m a weirdo about commitments, and I feel like I made a commitment to myself to write each week. But as my friend Joy taught me, when circumstances change, we must renegotiate accordingly. And as I have taught me, it’s important for me to be nice to myself. So I’m going to accept my own renegotiation and try this new format on for size. Hopefully we’ll all like it.

Tags: baking recipes, cookie recipes

Look to the Cookie

Jan 18

Posted by Laura in Baking | 13 Comments

Today we observe the birthday of the late Martin Luther King, Jr. – a man whose life, and death, changed the way we see the world. By now, we all know his story, but today I think we should stop and consider how incredibly young he was when he did all these amazing things.

Martin Luther King, Jr. finished high school at fifteen, and college at nineteen. He graduated from seminary at age 22, after being elected president of a mostly white senior class (even more remarkable when you consider that most of his classmates were likely older than him). By age 25, he was pastor of a church and a member of the executive committee of the NAACP. He finished his doctorate degree at age 26.

I’m not sure I remember what I was doing at age 26, but I can assure you that my house was never bombed and I wasn’t jailed for standing up for what I believe in, much less while trying to raise four kids. At the age of 35, he was the youngest man to have received the Nobel Peace Prize, and he donated the prize money to further the civil rights cause he’d dedicated his life to. He was assassinated in 1968, at age 39.

I am inspired not only by what he did, and his relative youth while doing it, but also by the sheer amount of work involved. In the eleven-year period between 1957 and 1968, King traveled over six million miles and spoke over twenty-five hundred times. Think about that. That’s well over a half-million miles and 200 speeches per year. (And I grumble about my commute from the suburbs.)

Here’s what I really find interesting, though. In just forty years since his death, the idea of a segregated society has become unimaginable. My parents’ high school was segregated – one single solitary generation ago – and here we are today with a black president. I would like to think that racism no longer exists, but heck, Harry Reid and Rod Blagojevich proved otherwise just this month. But while knuckleheads and their knuckleheaded thinking persist today, we’ve still come a looooong way as a society, and that’s just part of the legacy that MLK left behind.

Now for some honesty. When I was considering what to write today, my thought process went something like this:

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Tags: baking recipes, cookie recipes, dessert recipes

The Longest Night

Dec 21

Posted by Laura in Baking | 1 Comment

I stumbled upon a magazine article once, in a waiting room. It was about a service a particular church was offering on December 21st, the winter solstice. It’s the first day of winter and the longest night of the year.

I had never heard of such a service. As far as I knew, there was no Christian element relating to the changing of the seasons. To be honest, it sounded a little squishy and new-age to me.

Turns out, it’s sort of like a specialized Advent service for folks who are in a rough spot in life. We all know that for many people, the holidays are a difficult time. Death, divorce, job loss, regrets, and old hurts seem especially painful this time of year. Memories of holiday celebrations during happier times seem like salt in the wound.

Everyone is just so… cheerful. And some people just… aren’t.

That’s where the church service comes in. It’s designed as a time for like-minded folks to come together and acknowledge their pain. It’s a cathartic moment for people who need it, amidst the sometimes-saccharin cheerfulness of the holidays. A time to look among the pews and see that wow, I’m not alone after all. There’s an entire service for people like me. And the service focuses on the Christ child, pointing out that He, too, was an outcast in many ways. If nothing else, it eases the loneliness.

When someone loses a loved one, their life comes to a complete halt, but the rest of the world has the audacity to keep turning. That stupid reality show still comes on at the same time every week. The grocery store still mails out their circular. Kids still ask you to come watch their ball games at school. Life goes on. Pretty soon, it starts to feel like the world never cared that your loved one existed, while you’re still stuck, struggling with darkness and grief.

What a great idea for people to come together on the longest night of the year to address their sorrows head-on. That way, four days later, they have a shot at actually celebrating.

But you know what’s more powerful than even that? You.

If everyone avoids the topic of loss, it starts to feel like the whole world has forgotten about that loved one. And that’s a low, lonely feeling. It means a lot to express condolences and sympathy when the loss happens, but in some ways, it means even more if you remember to follow up and ask months/years/decades later.

If you know someone that is facing a difficult time this holiday season, ask them how they’re doing and specifically mention their loved one. It’s okay if it’s a little awkward – how can it not be? In this case, the cliché holds true: it really is the thought that counts.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Paper thin sugar blobs with absolutely no resemblance to trees whatsoever.

This subsequent attempt turned out much better, probably because Abby was supervising.

From the beginning, I envisioned a this blog having a lot of honesty about my adventures in the kitchen. I enjoy a lot of Martha Stewart’s ideas, but one of the things I like least about her shows and magazines is that everything is sickeningly perfect. I say if you’re not screwing up, you’re not trying hard enough.

In that spirit, here is a photo of a recent effort to make holiday sugar cookies, using the recipe posted below. Nice work, Laura! What happened, you ask? I got distracted while measuring the flour, and added 1 1/3 cups instead of 2 1/3 cups. They turned out like those paper thin lace cookies whose name I can’t recall at the moment. I felt like walking silently to my front door, opening it, and hurling the cookies out on the lawn – cookie sheets and all – and slamming the door. Grrrr!

The easiest way I’ve found to break the ice when checking up on someone is to take them food. Ah yes, it all comes back to food. And what better food to take this time of year than traditional holiday sugar cookies? Below is the recipe I use from Joy of Cooking for all sorts of occasions, but especially Christmas. Break out all those cookie cutters and have a ball (with a kid?) and then share the love (and calories). The clean-up is pretty easy, because the dough stays between sheets of wax paper and never actually touches your rolling pin or the counter top.

Rich Rolled Sugar Cookies
From Joy of Cooking

1/2 pound (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
2/3 cup sugar
1 large egg
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla
2 1/3 cups all-purpose flour
Colored sprinkles or colored sugar (optional)
Royal Icing (optional)

Beat butter and sugar on medium speed until very fluffy and well-blended. Add the egg, baking powder, salt, and vanilla and beat until well combined. Stir in flour until well blended and smooth.

Divide the dough in half. Place each half between 2 large sheets of wax or parchment paper. Roll out to a scant ¼-inch thick, checking the underside of the dough and smoothing any creases. Keeping the paper in place, layer the rolled dough on a baking sheet and refrigerate until cold and slightly firm, but not hard, 20 to 30 minutes.

Position rack in the upper third of the oven. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Grease cookie sheets.

Working with one portion of dough at a time (leave the other refrigerated), gently peel away and replace one sheet of the paper. (This will make it easier to lift the cookies from the paper later.) Peel away and discard the second sheet. Cut out the cookies using 2- or 3-inch cutters. With a spatula, transfer them to the cookie sheets, spacing about 1 inch apart. Roll the dough scraps and continue cutting out cookies until all the dough is used; briefly refrigerate the dough if it becomes too soft to handle.

If desired, sprinkle the cookies with colored sprinkles or colored sugar.

Bake, one sheet at a time, just until the cookies are lightly colored on top and slightly darker at the edges, 6 to 9 minutes; rotate the sheet halfway through baking for even browning. Remove the sheet to a rack and let stand until cookies firm slightly. Transfer the cookies to racks to cool. If desired, decorate with Royal Icing.

Makes 2 ½ to 3 ½ dozen cookies.

Tags: baking recipes, cookie recipes, dessert recipes