I frittered away most of Thursday in a state of slow-motion panic. The majority of the day was spent sitting at the kitchen table, trying to make sense of the five pages, front and back, of scrawled notes spread out before me. I had to come up with a final menu and the corresponding to-do list, as well as the grocery list, or rather two or three grocery lists since I couldn’t buy all the produce on Thursday because it would be starting to rot come next Tuesday and Wednesday when I would finally be ready to use it. I struggled through though, and by the time I went to bed that evening I had not only made my lists, but I had also gone grocery shopping, after which I picked over my Nicaraguan red beans while simultaneously attending a church council meeting.

I’m a skilled woman. Or else obsessed. Or else just skilled at being obsessed.

Right now there is a lull in all the craziness. My family (most of it) is here, the kids are resting, and everyone is lazing around, chatting and snoozing. In another hour it will be time for Mom’s little birthday bash, but for now, I have my coffee and my computer and all is well.

So, would you like another cookie recipe?

I said I would try to write up the recipes for all the Christmas cookies I make, but sadly enough, I’ve fallen short of my goal. That doesn’t stop me from trying to catch up though.

Like I said, I’m skillfully obsessed.

These little cookies are oh-so-dainty, but yet they have Great Presence. They are a complete piece of dessert. You can’t cheat with them, cutting one piece extra big, or secretly nibbling away at the edges. Which is kind of sad.

But what it lacks in snitching availability it makes up for in flavor. Each cookie stands on its own, and each cookie demands to be lingered over, savored, and enjoyed. And for the obsessed, that can be a pretty tall order. You know, repeated tastings and all that jazz.

Sometimes it pays to be obsessed.

Lemon Cheesecake Tassies
Adapted from The All-American Cookie Book by Nancy Baggett

For the dough:
3/4 cup, plus 2 tablespoons, flour
5 tablespoons butter, cut into smaller chunks
1 large egg yolk
½ teaspoon vanilla
2 ½ tablespoons sugar
½ teaspoon lemon zest, finely grated or chopped
pinch of salt

Combine the flour and butter in a food processor and pulse until it has turned into fine crumbs. In a small bowl, mix together the remaining ingredients and then pour them into the processor. Pulse briefly, just until combined.

Using your hands, gently press the crumbly dough mixture together into a ball of dough. Divide the dough into 24 equal pieces.

Grease a 24-cup minimuffin pan, and press each little ball of dough into the muffin cups, shaping it so the dough rises up the sides. Bake the crusts in a 350 degree oven for 12-20 minutes, or until lightly browned.

For the filling:
1 8-ounce package of cream cheese
1/3 cup sugar
1 large egg
1 1/4 teaspoons lemon zest, finely grated or chopped
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
½ teaspoon vanilla
About 2 tablespoons seedless raspberry jam, well-stirred

Process all the ingredients, except for the raspberry jam, in the food processor until creamy and smooth. Scoop the mixture into the pre-baked crusts (there may be a little filling leftover—pour it into a little ramekin and bake it separately), making a slight indentation in the batter. Return the tassies to the oven and bake for 10-12 minutes. Put a little dollop of jam on top of each tassie and pop them back in the oven for another 3-5 minutes, or until the filling is puffed and brown.

Leave the tassies in the muffin pans to cool, though you may want to run a knife around the edge to loosen them up (especially in the places where some of the jam is touching the edge of the pan). Once the tassies are completely cool, remove them from the pan.

To freeze: Place the tassies in a plastic container, putting wax paper between the layers.

I told you I would tell you about this bread, Chocolate-Sour Cherry, but I just haven’t gotten around to it till now.

The truth is, I don’t like this recipe, and I feel guilty for not liking it. I mean, who in their right mind doesn’t like chocolate-sour cherry bread? I imagine that long-legged, long-necked, black-boot-wearing French women eat it all the time. Probably even for breakfast.

Maybe I need to put on my black boots and try it again. It might taste different then.

But I can’t fix the long-neck deficit.

The other possibility is that I’m not making it right. But this last time I followed the recipe exactly. I used my own dried cherries and good chocolate. But still, I just don’t like it. It’s too dry. And I don’t like the sourdough-bread-turned-chocolate flavor.

I guess I’m just not sophisticated enough.

However, I know there are others out there who have longer necks than me, so I’ll take the time to type up the recipe for you. You’re welcome.

Chocolate-Sour Cherry Bread
Adapted from Breads from the La Brea Bakery by Nancy Silverton

½ cup (4 ounces) cool water
2 teaspoons yeast
2/3 cup (6 ounces) white starter
5 ½ tablespoons (1 ounce) dark cocoa powder, unsweetened
1/4 cup (2 ounces) sugar
2 cups, plus 2 tablespoons, (10 ½ ounces) bread flour
4 tablespoons (2 ounces) butter, cut into smaller pieces
1 ½ teaspoons salt
2/3 cup (3 ounces) dried sour cherries, unsweetened
4 ounces bittersweet chocolate, cut into ½-inch chunks

Put the first six ingredients (down through the flour) in the mixing bowl and mix for three minutes. While the mixer is still running, add the butter, a tablespoon at a time. After the butter has been incorporated, add the salt and mix for about nine more minutes. Add the cherries and chocolate and mix for just a couple minutes, until it is well blended.

Transfer the dough to a clean, oiled bowl, cover with a shower cap let sit at room temperature for a couple hours. At that point, cut the dough into the desired sizes and shape into loaves (I made four mini-loaves, but you can also make two regular bread loaves, though they will be small). Cover with plastic and refrigerate overnight.

The following morning, remove the loaves of bread from the refrigerator, take off the plastic wrap, and cover the loaves with a cloth. When the dough has reached a temperature of 64 degrees, dock the tops (I think I forgot to dock mine), and bake at 400 degrees for 30-40 minutes.

I like to give little gifts to our neighbors at Christmas time. Yes, it’s cliche. Yes, everybody else does it. Yes, I know I’m not original. But that’s okay. The Christmas season provides a window of opportunity to show people that I care for them. I like that—it’s a good thing, in my mind. Besides, I’m already in the over-do-it-in-the-kitchen mode, so just putting myself out a little further is not that much of a stretch.

We don’t know many of our neighbors, at least not well. Many of them are elderly (I rely on the fact that they are probably hard of hearing—helps me to feel less guilty about all the screaming and hollering that emits from our living quarters), and the rest are mostly adults who have jobs and stay indoors when they are home. We kind of rule our neck of the woods.

I know our neighbors are kind folk, deserving of a little plate of Christmas goodies. I know this, merely because they have not turned us in, yet. I’m hedging my bets that one little plate of orange-cranberry sweet rolls or some chocolate-covered toffee to buy us one more year of goodwill.

I’m such a pragmatic person.

This year I’m giving little loaves of Country-White sourdough bread. I have a bunch of the little loaves stashed in our freezer, destined for our neighbors’ gullets. (And then I went above and beyond my intended giving-plan and sent some little loaves with Mr. Handsome when he ran into town the other afternoon—those loaves went to our pastors and church elders and church secretary. No, I am not buying my way into heaven! I can’t believe you just thought that! Come on, people, it’s Christmas. Can’t a body just want to give a gift without their motives being scrutinized? Geez.)

The way the plastic wrap stands up on top of the loaves, it makes them look like they just stuck their doughy fingers in a light socket and got electrocuted. It makes me feel rather quaint, giving electrocuted baked goods away as Christmas gifts.