![]() ![]() That was pre Amazon (Prime) days (Dave!) so it took some time before I found a replacement. Bernard dog) decided that Cooky Book looked good enough to eat. One day Dancer (No, not the Reindeer, but our St. We had a low shelf in our kitchen on Mifflin Street where the cookie book took its place next to Fannie Farmer. I was thrilled to see the recipe for Russian Teacakes inside those glossy pages. On your second Christmas (when we had a tree so big it didn’t fit in the living room, and your Dad had to take it outside to saw off a section of the lower trunk) Dad bought me my first copy of Betty’s Cooky Book. After I married your Dad, Polly shared the recipe with me and they quickly became his favorite, too. When my older sister came home with her own cookie tin filled with tiny snow balls, they quickly became my favorite. Christmas cookies were something my family really looked forward to at the holidays. Back then at our house, sweet treats were only enjoyed on special occasions. In those days, our Mother lovingly filled large tins with chocolate chip, peanut butter, and oatmeal raisin cookies for Christmas. She lived in Philadelphia and had gotten the recipe from one of her “big city” friends. My 21-year-old sister – your Aunt Polly – introduced Russian Teacakes to us. The first time I had these melt in your mouth goodies was in the late 50s, pre Betty Crocker’s Cooky Book. Here is my Russian Teacake tale for you and your readers. My memories took me back to Christmases past. I was delighted and a wee bit emotional to read your tale of Russian Teacakes today. I liked what she wrote so much, I’ve added it here so you don’t miss it. My mom read this post, then added more to the story in the comments below. Russian Teacakesįrom Betty Crocker’s Cooky Book, with improved instructions from me because the original directions assume you make cookies all the time and know, inherently, how to do it. My family baked their Russian Teacakes yesterday, too, and I can imagine the powdered sugar cloud wafting in the air and the sweet smiles all around after that first bite. We change, and we may be miles apart, but a little butter and sugar, mixed with love, brings us together in an instant. That’s the thing I love most about a beat-up, stained cookbook – telegrams from the past, love notes to the future, a light-up strand of memories that connects us to every version of ourselves and the people we love. He wrote, start checking at 8 m, followed by also: keep being awesome. Yesterday, I asked Dave to add a note about baking time. My Russian Teacake recipe says, in my familiar scrawl (though I barely remember writing it), *make these smaller than you think you should. Over the years, we’ve added notes in the margins of well-loved (so, stained and torn) pages. (Who could resist something named “Dream Bar”?!) Almost every cookie has its own glamour shot, and the colors are a marvel of technicolor. But I love the delight of considering the options: Lemon Snowdrops, Christmas Jewels, Dream Bars. Who knows if I’ll ever get to them? I bake cookies just once a year, and Russian Teacakes are a must. I found an original copy in a vintage store somewhere along the way, and its pages are now marked with hot pink, star-shaped post-it notes, pointers to recipes I’ve yet to try. You can buy a new reproduction of this classic on Amazon. And we always always always made Russian Teacakes because those are my dad’s favorite. It was originally published in 1963, and although I remember my mom and I also baked cookies from other sources – recipes torn from magazines or written on index cards in my mom’s perfectly-looped, precise cursive handwriting – our cookie baking list always started with the Cooky Book. )ĭid any of you also have this book in your house when you were growing up? I can’t remember a time when this book wasn’t part of my life. With that in mind, here’s the story of Russian Teacakes, my favorite cookie of all time – and the one treat that I make every year to celebrate the magic of Christmas (in the form of butter and sugar rolled into little balls. ![]() It’s true to my philosophy that if I’m going to eat something that’s not paleo-compliant, it’s going to be the very best version of that thing on the planet. Particularly on Christmas, I take advantage of my year-long deposits in the good health bank, and make the original versions of my favorite family treats. In our house, our holidays are Traleo: half treats, half Paleo. You know how some people in dual-language households speak Spanglish (English + Spanish) – and at this time of year, lots of families celebrate both Hanukkah and Christmas because they’re lucky enough to have both under one roof? ![]()
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