After writing that last post and slurping down a thermal mug of coffee, I dug into the Halloween candy (Mr. Handsome hadn’t taken it with him to work that day), and, thus fortified, stepped into my kitchen where I proceeded to debone two chickens and turn their bones into a thick broth, trim and steam three heads of broccoli, cook a big pot of sausage and beans, whip up some cornbread, and make these cookies.

I got the recipe for these cinnamon cookies from a cookbook I checked out from the library. I was flipping through the pages on a leisurely, rainy (sick and miserable) afternoon, searching for cookie inspiration, when these cookies jumped right out at me and stuck a wooden spoon in my hand.

I don’t consider myself a huge cinnamon fan. I am fond of buttered toast with cinnamon sugar on top, but beyond that, baked goods that try to replicate that flavor have always fallen short—either the cinnamon flavor is peripheral or the cookie isn’t buttery enough.

These cookies, however, do not fall short. Quite the contrary. In this case, o happy day, Buttery, Snappy-Crisp marries Cinnamon Sumptuousness and they live happily ever after.

For about 12 whole seconds before they go—wheeeee!—down the hatch.

Crispy Cinnamon Cookies
Adapted from Great Cookies: Secrets to Sensational Sweets by Carol Walter

That there is no salt or leavening is not a typo.

1 cup butter
1 cup sugar
1 egg, separated
1 3/4 cups flour
1 tablespoon cinnamon
Demerara sugar, or sparkling white sugar, for garnish

Cream the butter. Add the sugar and beat some more. Add the egg yolk and mix well. Add the cinnamon and flour and mix to combine.

Chill the dough for about an hour before rolling into small balls and placing, well spaced, on lightly greased cookie sheets. Using the smooth bottom of a drinking glass, smoosh the dough balls flat. You may need to dip the bottom of the glass in flour to keep it from sticking to the dough.

Mix the egg white with 2 tablespoons of cold water and brush it on top of each of the cookies before sprinkling liberally with coarse sugar. (Regular granular sugar will work fine—it just won’t provide as much of a crunch.)

Bake the cookies at 350 degrees for 9-11 minutes, or until the edges begin to turn golden brown. Allow the cookies to rest on the hot baking sheet for a couple minutes (to set up) before transferring them to the cooling rack. As they cool, the cookies will crisp up.

Store the cookies in an airtight container for a couple days, or transfer them to the freezer for longer term storage.

Yield: about four dozen cookies, give or take a couple dozen depending on the size of your dough balls.

This same time, years previous: homeschoolers have it tough

I’m getting old and thith ith how I know: the common cold hath laid me flat.

Ithn’t that awful? Thinthe when did a ‘notty nothe keep me glued to the thofa? Thinthe never, that’th when. But now that I’m 35, I thniff onthe and collapthe in a heap. It’th pathetic.

Would it drive you much crazy if I wrote through my nothe for the entirety of thith potht? Yeth?

Yeah, well, me too. I’ll stop now and talk like a normal, non-stuffy person even though I’m a decrepit, congested, blow-my-nose-so-hard-my-ears-pop woman. A veritable Wimp O’ Woman, if you will.

In case you haven’t already gathered this, I don’t handle being sick too well. Resting for several hours is fun and wonderful, but resting for two days is torture. There’s nothing to do! It’s boring! I wasn’t sick enough that I could stop thinking of all sorts of things that I wanted to do but not well enough that I could muster the energy to do them. It was a limbo-ing place to be and I hate being in limbo.

The good thing was that my mom had Yo-Yo and Sweetsie at her place for much of the time (not because I was sick—it just happened that way) so I was able to rest up real good. The bad thing was that I didn’t get done all of the stuff I wanted to do during my 50% kid reduction days, things like bake and sort clothes and read books and write and bask in the half-empty house.

So I focused on the one thing I could control: getting better. I drowned myself in cups of tea and quart jars of very diluted juice, transforming my solid-rock tummy into a distended, jiggly, gurgly mess. I steam bathed my head in tea tree oil-infused water. I nixed the Halloween candy (sent it all to work with Mr. Handsome just to be on the safe side) and dairy products (minus some Provolone cheese to go with my crackers to go with my weak juice. I slept.

Today all the kids are back (goodness, they’re loud). I oversaw an abbreviated version of lessons, put two chickens on to boil, watched an episode of I Love Lucy, and am now, at this very minute, drinking my first cup of coffee in three long days. Glory be!

This same time, years previous: living history

Last Thursday we had a potluck with the Up With People folks and all the host families. It was a standard North American potluck—pasta, pizza, and donuts and hardly any vegetables or whole grains. I couldn’t complain too much, though, since my two contributions—I took this and this—didn’t help boost the green factor.

The good thing was, most people ate like North Americans (sorry to be so negative, fellow Americans, but when it comes to food, we have A Problem)—this means that even though I was at the end of the line, the salads were mostly untouched. There was also this bland looking casserole dish—a mound of white rice on one half and a mound of dry-looking brown lentils on the other—of which I, expecting the worst but trying to be responsible nonetheless, took a small serving.

Back at my table I tasted the lentils and promptly turned to a stranger lady sitting beside me, jabbed my fork in the air, and exulted mightily, “Oh my word! These lentils!”

“Yes, I know,” she said. “I had some of them and they are good. I want to know who made them.”

As soon as my plate was empty, I went back for seconds of lentils. So did the stranger lady who, I learned, was named Susan. Then we sat back down, elbow to elbow, and began scrutinizing our lentils, taking small bites and murmuring to each other: Vinegar? Yes. Sugar, of course. Fruit juice of some sort? Apple or pineapple? Yeah, I think so. Onions? Yes, we can see those.

We sighed happily, “We have got to get the recipe.”

Our husbands, sitting across from us, shook their heads. Please don’t, they whimpered. Susan’s husband couldn’t eat lentils for health reasons and my husband, well, you know all about how he feels about lentils.

When I went back for thirds, another woman was helping herself to the lentils. “Did you make these?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “But I’d like to know who did.”

It came time to leave. We gathered up our dishes and kids and started moving towards the door, but when we came to the table of food, I stopped. “You go on,” I said to my husband. “I want to see who claims the lentil dish.”

And then I spied my midwife standing off to one side with her family and I knew immediately that she was The One.

Because it’s a common known fact that all midwives live on lentils and herbal tea.

“Melanie!” I called. “Did you make the lentils?”

She nodded and I pounced. “What’s in them?” She rattled off the ingredients: brown sugar, vinegar, apple juice, onion, cloves. “The recipe is from the More-With-Less cookbook,” she added.

I was dumbstruck. I had the recipe for this incredible dish at my fingertips for my whole entire life and didn’t know it? Holy freakin’ cow!

I thanked Melanie, pointed her out to Susan, and then scurried out to the car.

Last night I made the lentils for supper. I asked my husband, in Spanish so the kids wouldn’t understand, what he thought of the lentils. Eyes all shifty and downcast, he mumbled sheepishly, “They’re good.”

Need I say more?

Sweet and Sour Lentils
Adapted from More-With-Less Cookbook

You may use beef broth or water in place of the chicken broth. Also, I suspect that this would be wonderful with maple syrup in place of the brown sugar.

Updated January 2019: to a double batch of lentils I added two dried lemons. Used less of vinegar (a couple splashes) and brown sugar (a couple scoops), and added a scoop of caramelized onions along with the regular ones. Before serving, I stirred in a handful of chopped dates. Served over rice, with kalamata olives and feta. Yum.

1 cup lentils, rinsed
1 bay leaf
2 ½ cups chicken broth
1 small onion, finely chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
1 tablespoon butter
1/4 cup brown sugar
1/4 cup apple cider vinegar
1/4 cup apple juice (or pineapple, peach, or pear, etc)
1 teaspoon salt
1 pinch ground cloves

Simmer the lentils and bay leaf in the broth for 20-30 minutes, or until tender. In a separate kettle, saute the onion and garlic in the butter till translucent.

Remove the bay leaf from the lentils and stir in the sauteed onion and the remaining ingredients. Heat through, taste to correct seasonings, and serve over rice.

Yield: 6 servings

This same time, years previous: lemon squares, blessing hearts