Sugar Cookies a la Grandma

Another goodie from the treasure trove that is my grandma's recipe box. This is from the back of a product box (Crisco and Arm & Hammer are my educated guesses) from, I believe, the late 1940s. The last step before baking involves putting sugar on the top, so the traditional thing to do in my family is to make these for Christmas with red and/or green sugar, but obviously they can be made with white sugar for color-neutral occasions. Like last night's occasion, which was me wanting cookies.

Sugar Cookies
Sift together 2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour (presifted), 1/2 teaspoon baking soda, and 3/4 teaspoon salt. Set aside.

Cream 1/2 cup softened unsalted butter and 1/2 cup shortening, then add 1 cup granulated sugar, and 1 teaspoon vanilla and cream again. Add 1 egg and cream until fluffy.



Do not announce "I'm making this recipe because it's the only one that only needs one egg," in case this happens to your only egg before the preceding sentence has even finished leaving your mouth.

Wait for boyfriend unit to go to grocery store for more eggs.

Stir in dry ingredients until mixture is smooth. This will be difficult. Then blend in 2 tablespoons milk.

Drop by teaspoons onto an ungreased cookie sheet...




Then flatten the tops with the bottom of a water glass dipped in sugar.



I would recommend--if you didn't already figure this out for yourself--removing any stray sugar from the cookie sheet before baking. The dough is pretty adhesive, so I usually just tip the sheet over the sugar bowl and brush it back in with the end of a paper towel or something.

Bake in a 400-degree oven until the edges are very lightly browned. The recipe says this will take 10-12 minutes, but I was taking cookies out after 8.5 and my oven is not particularly fast. The cookies are no good if you let them get too brown, so keep a close eye on them. Makes between 3-5 dozen, depending on how big your teaspoonfuls are.



While I'm typically a purist with these cookies, last night I went experimental. Here they are with cinnamon sugar on the top.




They were good that way.

And here they are with homemade butterscotch sauce drizzled on the top.



The homemade butterscotch sauce is pretty freaking amazing. There's a lot of it left over, in a bowl in my fridge, and I am exercising a lot of self-control right now. It's really hard not to just grab a spoon and eat the damn stuff on its own. I didn't have kosher salt, so I used sea salt, which created a delightfully salty/sweet combination if you're one of those salted caramel folks. I think I might be.


FYI, today I made an awesome breakfast of poached eggs over cornbread with a sun-dried tomato spread. Then I made a batch of super-healthy vegan chili, which even has organic green chard in it (on sale at Whole Foods), and will hopefully combat the effects of the butterscotch-drizzled sugar cookies...

Media Pairing: This came up when I searched YouTube for "butterscotch," and combines my loves of butterscotch, late-night television, and ponies. Well, sort of.

I found a cookbook.

It's a cookbook I purchased myself, in 2003, in Greece. It's called The Traditional Greek Cookery Book. Did I buy it for someone as a gift, and forget to give it to them, and by "them" I probably mean Leslie? We'll never know, because I've completely forgotten. The book was still in its shrink wrap. I unwrapped it. I'm stuck in Grandma's house with what appears (mercifully) to be a 24-hour bug, the Television of Endless Bowl Games, and the World's Loudest Little Brother (tm). What else was I going to do, read one of those quals books I dragged across the country with me?

Sweet zombie Jesus, this is an awesome cookbook. No, I haven't made any recipes from it yet, but there are many reasons that I already believe in its awesomeness.

1. It has no credited author, but was either written by a Greek who speaks British English in a charming second language sort of way, or was written in Greek and translated oddly.

2. The measurements are given mainly in kilos and soupspoons.

3. The recipes all have calorie counts, because "there are few things worse than cookery books which do not help one stick to one's daily programme of nutrition." One recipe calls for 2.5 cups of oil. It is not anomalous.

4. There are some accompanying illustrations, without indication as to which dish is being illustrated. This is particularly problematic in all the dishes incorporating offal and mince. It's less problematic for recipes such as Roast Suckling Pig. I can tell that that's what that is. I can't tell why it's posed on a bed of twigs and a tree stump, or why someone has made it a Dr. Seussean hat of a carved tomato stuffed with kale and perched atop a carved grapefruit rind. But then again, I've never been very good at presentation.

5. Many recipes call for the use of an oven. Nary a one specifies what temperature said oven should be. Similarly, many simply call for one or two kilos of lamb or beef, without specifying which cut is preferable. It's like when I make an apple pie--I don't need a recipe to do pie crust or filling, really; I just need a vague reminder of how much flour goes in the dough. One fish recipe begins: "Fry the fish in the usual manner." Oh. Okay then. I'll just consult the Greek grandma I don't have.

6. It does go into great detail on how to prepare your lamb for roasting on a spit. Also on how to remove a lobster brain and then incorporate the brain into a sauce.


I showed my grandfather a picture of the most colorfully illustrated recipe, Octopus with Macaroni. If you saw that episode of Top Chef All-Stars a couple of weeks ago, where they ate at top NYC restaurants and the chefs were served a crown roast of octopus, it looked like that combined with macaroni and cheese. Before I could even offer to prepare Octopus with Macaroni for Grandpa, he said, "I will decline your invitation." Should I instead offer to cook one of the many dishes calling for lamb intestines?

One thing I remember about Greek cuisine, from my brief time there, was being absolutely bombarded by kumquats. Fresh kumquats, pickled kumquats, candied kumquats, kumquat jelly, kumquat liquor. There is no mention of kumquat in this book. I call foul.

Media pairings: Well, you know. I offer a selection. (The first film relates more to the cookbook topic. The second film is better.)