These cookies are awesome.

At least, I think they’re awesome because I have A Thing for sweets made with brown sugar. The caramel-y, butterscotch-y sweetness just does something for my soul.

These cookies have history. They go all the way back to when I was a tall, lunky, little (but not really little—only my veins have the privilege of being called “little”) girl with long, straight blond hair. My parents stuffed me and my two brothers into the back of the banana yellow Camaro with sticky-hot black plastic seats—

Wait. Right now’s a good time to show you a picture of my two little brothers, but about 23 years after they got stuffed in the back of the Camaro with me.

They still look like little boys though, don’t they? Little boys, chasing each other at breakneck speeds. They just happen to be bigger now, that’s all.

[hits the resume button]

—and drove us to a small town in PA to see my mother’s friend, an elderly woman named Elizabeth. I took to calling her “Aunt Elizabeth” because I had to find a way to lay claim to someone who had a gold fish pond and acres of manicured lawn and a little kitchen with a jar of iced brown sugar cookies sitting on the counter. I thought they were wonderful, and my mother must’ve, too, because we now have the recipe. End of story.

Except there’s one more thing. When I called my mom to doublecheck my memory regarding the source of the cookies, she said that Elizabeth threw a baby shower for my mom when she was pregnant with me. Isn’t that sweet? Elizabeth was taking care of my needs before I even entered the world, so it’s only natural and right that today my soul should be set to singing upon eating her brown sugar cookies.

My son made the cookies one morning last week. I was in the midst of a cooking rampage, making all manner of edibles. I flew about, issuing invaluable words of wisdom, and he heeded them and it was all sorts of pleasant. But I didn’t take any pictures of the cookies so I had to make them again today.

And thus concludes the tale of the brown sugar cookies.

Old-Fashioned Brown Sugar Cookies
From my “Aunt” Elizabeth via my mom

Mom says that Elizabeth baked these cookies in a wood stove. That, and the lard, made them seem extra old-fashioned. I did not bake mine over a wood stove, and I only used half lard, so I guess that makes them only halfway old fashioned?

Also, Mom says these cookies are supposed to be soft and cake-y, but mine are more soft and chewy, with a bit of crunch around the edges. If you’d like the more cake-y version, add another ½ cup (or so) of flour to the dough.

2 cups brown sugar
½ cup butter
½ cup lard
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla
½ cup buttermilk
4 cups sifted flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 recipe brown sugar icing, but with some changes (see below)
coarse salt, optional

Cream together the sugar and fats. Beat in the eggs and vanilla. Beat in the buttermilk and then the dry ingredients. Drop spoonfuls of dough onto greased baking sheets and bake in a 350 degree oven for 9-12 minutes.

Once the cookies are cooled and ready to be iced, make the icing. (Don’t make the icing ahead of time as the icing thickens once it cools.) Increase the confectioner’s sugar from 1 cup to 1 ½ cups for a thickly pourable icing, or 2 cups for a more spreadable affair. Omit the pecans.

Drop a spoonful of icing on a cookie and then spread it around with the back of the spoon. Sprinkle the freshly iced cookies with salt, if using, and allow them to sit at room temperature for a few minutes until the icing has hardened. Store the cookies in a plastic container with pieces of wax paper between layers, and store in the freezer. Because if you leave them out at room temperature you’ll eat them all and blow up like a big red balloon.

This same time, years previous: Mr. Handsome’s birthday of 2010, anticipating the mothballs

This same time, years previous: apple pie (I made two today)

Our tomatoes never quit producing, but I did.

Here we are almost to the middle of October, and the patch is filled with straggly vines, heavy with rotting fruit, the ground squishy with tomato goo. I’m sure I could’ve harvested at least several more bushels, but I didn’t have the need for them, let alone the interest. Even the occasional tomatoes that do find their way to my kitchen windowsill to await Death By Serrated Knife more often than not die the slow tortuous Death By Rot. My taste cravings have changed with the seasons, switching from tomato sandwiches and fresh tomato salad to stews made with chunky canned tomatoes and roasted tomato sauces. Bottom line? I’m tomatoed out.

I do, however, feel sort of guilty about all the tomato carnage out there in the garden, so last weekend I marshaled my resolve and attempted to make a little kitchen magic with the hard green tomato. Red tomatoes are so last season, you know?

A year or five ago—my aged memory fails me—my friend gave me a quart of her canned green tomato curry. Maybe it was when we moved into this house? Maybe it was when my last baby was born? Maybe it was just a random act of kindness? In any case, I liked it very much, but even though she shared the recipe and eventually posted it on her blog, I never got around to making it—probably because, like this year, I was always tomatoed out by the time I finished with the tomato mayhem, or perhaps because we’ve had a couple bad tomato harvests and there were never any end-of-the-season green tomatoes to turn into curry. Like I said, I don’t remember.

But this year, after a lot of constant staring out my kitchen window at the tomato-loaded vines, I got to thinking about that jar of green tomato curry. I thought and thought and thought, after which I (finally—good grief, it takes a lot of thinking to get me actually doing something!) clicked over to her blog to see how much sweat and toil it would cost me. What was this? I thought, staring at the recipe. Only six cups of green tomatoes? Goodness, this wasn’t some insurmountable undertaking. This I could handle.

I made the curry last Saturday when my parents were visiting. I had spent the morning feasting on donuts and the afternoon running errands, so by the time I got home, I was hungry and tired, as were the seven other souls under my roof. So I sent my husband out to the patch to pluck a bowl of hard green tomatoes, put a pot of rice on to cook, and thawed a bag of leftover roasted chicken. A chop-chop-chop later and supper was on the table. Really, it was that quick.

We topped the curry with coconut, chopped almonds, and plain yogurt. It was a feast, and the best kind, too—flavorful, filling, and classy in its elegant simplicity.

Green Tomato Curry
Adapted from Jane’s blog, Thy Hand Hath Provided

Jane says you don’t need to core the green tomatoes, but I did. Old habits die hard.

You can use chicken broth or water in place of the coconut milk.

If canning the curry, use canola oil in place of the butter and water in place of the coconut milk, and don’t add the chicken. Jane says one recipe yields 5 pint jars—process the jars in a hot water bath for 30 minutes.

2-3 tablespoons butter
2 large onions, chopped
4 tablespoons curry powder
1 tablespoon cumin
3 pounds (about 6 cups) green tomatoes, washed and chopped
½ cup brown sugar
1 cup coconut milk (see head note)
1 cup raisins
4 cups roast chicken, roughly chopped
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
2 tablespoons lemon juice

condiment suggestions: chopped almonds, coconut, plain yogurt, toasted sunflower seeds, green onions, chutney, etc.

In a large saucepan, saute the onions in the melted butter till translucent. Add the curry powder and cumin and cook for another minute. Add the chopped tomatoes, brown sugar, coconut milk, and raisins and simmer until the tomatoes are fork-tender, about 20-30 minutes. Add the chicken, salt, black pepper, and lemon juice and heat through. Taste to correct seasonings and serve over rice, with condiments.

This same time, years previous: pie pastry, with lard and egg (by far my favorite quiche crust), green soup with ginger, happy pappy-style cornbread