Nutty Mixed Memories
My husband wants grandma’s hazelnut cookies. There’s only one problem: no one remembers the recipe
I n late September and early October, my husband collected new fallen green hulled nuts under the heavy canopy of long growing trees. The local park expeditions served a dual purpose. In addition to satisfying my husband’s call to create, four-month-old puppy legs joined the hunt. Exercising body and snout, our lab pup Henrietta was of little help. Oh well — any puppy outing is a good outing right? Guided by her own instincts and interests, her search for goose droppings was quite successful.
Several plastic trays segment our basement table, filled with nuts in various stages of undress. Some still wear hulls that have turned from green to dark brown. Others look ready for a holiday table, tan shells waiting to be cracked and picked by hands looking for something to do. One tray holds splintered shell fragments. The sweet, maple-flavored, hard-won halves and pieces await their fate in the refrigerator.
The first attempt to recreate grandma’s cookies produced heavy, unattractive balls of nut filled dough. Although the treats had good flavor, they missed the memory mark and cried out for a complement of coffee to aid in their consumption.
Back to the drawing board….
Fog from melting snow trapped between land and sky hovered outside our Sunday window. My husband was busy with house projects.
“Anything I can help with?” I asked.
“No, not really. Interested in trying ‘operation hazelnut cookie’ round two?”
“Uhhhh, sure,” I said. “Do you want me to use the same online recipe we used last time? Or…can I try something different?”
He hesitated.
He wants the cookies to match his memories.
He’s worked hard — collecting and shelling.
I could almost hear the click of turning gears.
“Okay,” he finally said. Was it trust….or simply a recognition that if he wasn’t baking the cookies, he had to let go?
Pulling my burgundy recipe binder from a bottom drawer, I turned the clear plastic file folders until I found the one titled “Cookies” printed with black Sharpie from my own hand. Rifling through recipes for molasses, oatmeal scotchies, gingerbread, chocolate mint, and white chocolate craisin dreams, I finally found Barbara’s delicate script — a note along with a recipe card — Pecan Cookies.
Reading the note from my friend who left this world a decade or more ago, I wondered: Why have I never attempted this recipe? And, did I send her information about E.L. Doctorow as she asked? 2006? Thirteen years and I never once made Pecan Cookies? No time like the present to try! Let’s see if I’ll accept, reject, or embrace Barbara’s generous offering.
Froth egg white? Frothy — Not Stiff!
Roast and pulse nuts in processor?
Roll dough between waxed paper to 1/4 in thickness?
No wonder I never made Barbara’s Pecan Cookies….too fussy.
Not so long ago, I watched Julie and Julia. The movie about a blogger who cooks her way through Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking not only reminded me of my relationship with Barbara, but also left a can do stamp on my culinary memory. If blogger Julie could debone a duck and recreate Julia’s boeuf bourguignon, I could certainly froth, pulse and roll!
And…I did!
It was as if Barbara herself found her way into my kitchen, placed a weathered hand atop mine, and guided me through every step. At one point she whispered, “The dough is too crumbly. Add a tablespoon of water and it will be more workable.”
So wise, my dear friend who I’ve grown to appreciate more as I age. I only wish she were here for me to tell her.
“Have you tried a cookie?” I called down to my husband.
“Just about to,” he called back.
I waited.
“Well?” I asked leaning over the balcony railing. “What do you think?”
“They’re alright,” he replied with the diplomacy of Henry Kissinger. “More of a shortbread than a sugar cookie, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I suppose so. Not what you remember….”
As I entered the bathroom, steam accumulating on the vanity mirror from my inviting shower, I understood. Pecan Cookies are not Grandma’s Hazelnut Cookies.
The good news is, we have enough nuts to try again!
Like this piece? You can read more of Barbara’s food legacy here:
Gail Boenning is a Wisconsin-based writer who explores her humanity through stories. Also an avid reader, she believes a writer’s greatest accomplishment is nudging a reader to think outside of their normal patterns. This is her first submission to Third Course.
