This same time, years previous: brightening the dark, supper reading, on my to-do list, fa-la-la-la-la, how to have a dunging-out date, the quotidian (12.19.11), chocolate-dipped candied orange rinds, scholarly stuff, and walnut balls (and I’m not even being dirty).

Baked, so far: butter cookies, gingerbread men, lemon squares, cranberry crumble bars, peppernuts (made by my younger son whose desire to bake is so fierce that denied kitchen access makes him weepy), and this almond shortbread.

They’re not called shortbread, though. According to Luisa, they’re Heidesand, or Sandy Almond Sugar Cookies, but they don’t taste sandy to me, and they’re definitely not sugar cookies because sugar cookies are soft, HELLO. Hence, shortbread. (They could also be butter cookies, I suppose, but let’s not complicate things, ‘kay?)

I adore these cookies. Really, really adore them. The crunchy pearl sugar, the strong hit of almond, the dry richness: it’s all most satisfying. My husband, however, much prefers the leckerli and everyone (but me) was wild over the pfeffernüsse. Funny thing, taste buds.

But since I am cook and reign supreme of all things food, I made another batch (a double batch, actually) of the ones I loved. Being dictator has its perks (which is not a very funny joke, considering the current political shitstorm, Merry Christmas and Happy—Ha—New Year.) (Wow. I was in a good mood when I sat down to write this. Down, Subconscious, down!)

ANYWAY WHERE WAS I? Oh yes, cookies. Sweet, yummy, cozy-safe cookies. In order to make these cookies, one must have almond paste. I’d never used, tasted, or even seen almond paste before, but I trusted Luisa, noted the book’s high volume of recipes calling for almond paste, and shelled out forty-plus dollars for a bucket of the stuff. (And then this week, I saw teeny-tiny boxes of the stuff on the grocery store shelf for over five bucks a pop and I was like, Bulk buying rocks.)

After I opened the almond paste, I divided the paste into 8-ounce portions, wrapped them up tight in plastic, put the whole lot in a large plastic bag, and stuffed them into the freezer where they will last a short eternity. Seeing how much I love the one and only cookie I’ve made with the paste, I’m awfully glad for my stash. What can I say? I’m half squirrel and almond paste is my nutty security blanket. 

What Christmas treats have you made thus far? I have a few more on my list, and weepy boy is at it again. In other words: we’re not done yet.

Almond Shortbread
Adapted from Classic German Baking by Luisa Weiss.

No pearl sugar? Use demerara or granulated sugar instead, though it won’t be nearly as crunchy.

I used a kitchen aid to mix the dough, but these can be mixed by hand, using your fingers to crumble everything together.

14 tablespoons butter
¾ cup confectioners’ sugar
1/8 teaspoon salt
3 ounces almond paste, grated or broken into small pieces
¼ teaspoon vanilla
2 cups flour
1 egg yolk, beaten, and pearl sugar, for coating

Cream together the butter and almond paste. Beat in the salt, vanilla, and confectioners’ sugar. Add the flour. Roll the dough into logs, about 2 inches in diameter (though mine were smaller, I think). Wrap the logs in plastic and chill for a couple hours or several days.

When ready to bake, brush the logs with the beaten egg yolk (à la buttering corn on the cob) and roll the logs in the pearl sugar. Slice the logs into ¼-inch slices and place on a cookie sheet. The cookies will only puff slightly, so they can be fairly close together. Bake at 375 degrees for 8-12 minutes or until the edges are lightly golden. Cool completely before storing in a glass jar at room temperature, or, if wanting to keep them for longer than a week, bagging and freezing.

This same time, years previous: the warming, the quotidian (12.14.15), mini dramas, bits of goodness, the quotidian (12.16.13), soft cinnamon sugar butter bars, the quotidian (12.17.12), fig and anise pinwheels, my baby, and cranberry white chocolate cookies.

I’ve never taught my kids science. I’ve read them books about science-y things—the periodic table, human anatomy, erosion, whatever—but we never did straight-up science. I figured they could just read a book and learn it on their own time if they were interested. (Example: my older son decided to become an EMT, took a class that involved things such as insulin levels and blood vessels, and I was like, See? He’s learning science and I’m not even doing anything!)

But then my older daughter started making noises about being possibly, maybe, potentially, I-don’t-know-perhaps? interested in science. Vet work, maybe. Something with animals, vaccines, and well, science. Probably it was time to start laying a basic foundation, getting some of the terminology under her belt. However, since academics don’t come easy to her, I knew we’d have to be more proactive and intentional. But I really, really, reallyreallyreally didn’t want to do the teaching.

And that’s when it hit me: DAD. My father’s been a science teacher his whole life. Why not ask him to tutor her?

Right away Dad said yes. Ever since the end of this summer, my older daughter has been going over to my parents’ house twice a week for science lessons. It’s a serious matter, these lessons. There’s homework (Aim for an hour a day, five days a week, I instructed Dad) and charts, microscopes and real goldfish, diagrams and plants.

And then when my son, his EMT training complete (for now), decided he’d like to study Anatomy and Physiology, my dad said sure. Now both kids are trekking over for lessons. Sometimes they have their lessons individually, back-to-back, and other times (like when he shot a deer and they did an organ dissection) Dad lumps them together. My mother plies the kids with yummy treats, like toast and cake and entire dinners, and then they come home and do their homework.

Information is sticking, too. This morning while I was explaining Algebra problems, I noticed my older daughter was doodling an atom in the corner of her notebook, the electrons orbiting a blob of neutrons and protons.

Way to go, Dad, and thanks!

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (12.14.15), hot chocolate mix, constant vigilance!, sunrise, sunset, my elephant, crazier than usual, cracked wheat pancakes, Sunday vignettes: human anatomy, and ginger cream scones.