Tis the season.
The season for baking, that is.
Every year, December harkens a period of sugar, chocolate, and sprinkles so decadent it is amazing the world doesn’t combust in a flurry of red and green sprinkles and settle into one ginormous, wool-sweater-shrouded food coma.
It’s no secret Christmas has become nearly synonymous with tasty treats and sinfully scrumptious morsels. This time of year, families around the world congregate in the kitchen to satisfy their sugar cravings and whip up some true holiday magic. Yes, many of us have internalized this custom as a natural part of the Christmas season, but where did this beloved tradition come from[1]?
Notably, modern Christmas cookies trace their origins to biscuits commonly made in Medieval Europe. During this time, popular ingredients such as cinnamon, ginger, black pepper, almonds, and dried fruit first arrived in the western world and thus prompted individuals to find inventive ways to get cooking. Kitchens everywhere erupted in baking frenzies, and by the 16th century Christmas biscuits established popularity across Europe. While the ingredients largely remained consistent, each country put its own spin on the decadent dessert: Germans developed lebkuchen, the Swedes whipped up pepparkakor, and the Norwegians finetuned krumkake. Yum!
In this tradition, the Dutch brought the earliest examples of Christmas cookies to the United States in the early 17th century. Shortly thereafter, a wide variety of cookie cutters proliferated in the American market due to an influx in cheap products imported from Germany. From holly leaves to flying reindeer to frosted snowflakes, these imported cookie cutters often resembled festive shapes one might use to decorate a Christmas tree. Because these tools were abundant and readily available, many cookbooks crafted recipes designed to use them. As a result, “designer” cookies of the sugar and gingerbread varieties began to pop up in American kitchens at an almost alarming pace. The tradition of leaving cookies out for Santa solidified in the 1930s, and, from there, the rest is history: These sweet treats naturally secured a place in American holiday lore, and the baking tradition we know and love was born.
For has long as I can remember my mom has upheld the tradition of making rollout sugar cookies for every holiday or special event. From Valentine’s to Easter to Notre Dame football games, Mom’s sugar cookies are beloved fan favorites we have all learned to crave and look forward to. And while of course we are ready and willing to enjoy Mom’s treats at any time throughout the year, nothing makes these cookies shine quite like Christmas. In fact, to me there is something inherently intertwined about Christmas and Mom’s cookies; you can’t have one without the other, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. Each bite takes me back to a specific moment in time—usually a moment from my childhood—where I feel particularly loved, nurtured, and made to feel as if all is right in the world. It’s funny how a little sugar can do that to you.
Yes, these cookies are mouthwateringly delicious, but, make no mistake, they certainly are a labor of love. Indeed, each individual cookie is the product of countless hours of careful attention broken down through an intricate multistep process. Yet, perhaps it is this painstakingly laborious progression that makes them so delicious: You can practically taste the love, diligence, and careful commitment with every bite[2]!
One of the things I love most about Mom’s sugar cookies is not how beautifully magnificent they taste (which—it’s true—they do!), but how they possess an uncanny knack and innate ability to bring people together. Many a-family Christmas gathering has featured Mom’s cookies as a pivotal point in the evening festivities.
Specifically, I fondly recall many years connecting with our friends, the McDonalds, and gathering around the table to decorate cookies after dinner. Mom’s friend, Lori, adores these sugar bombs, and as we frosted, she’d crack numerous jokes about her insatiable desire to consume as many cookies as humanly possible. “You stop eating when you’re full?!” she’d notoriously quip while nudging us to indulge and reach for another. “Who does that?!” With that, we would erupt in laughter, sprinkles flying everywhere as tears streamed down our faces and pure cookie-prompted joy permeated our atmosphere.
However, my favorite “Lori cookie quote[3]” centers around her clever ruse to maximize as much square footage as physically possible while still only (technically) consuming one cookie. Mom has some pretty large cookie cutters, but Lori always gravitated towards the gingerbread house. Roughly the size of an index card, “the house” has the largest footprint of any shape in Mom’s cookie arsenal. Knowing this, Lori would make a point of feigning interest and acting like she didn’t know which cookie shape to choose. Then, she would carefully mull over all the cookies and “ambivalently” pluck a house from the cookie lineup while nonchalantly commenting: “I’ll have a… (dramatic pause)… house!” And with that, the house would be hers, and Lori would have successfully maximized every square inch of frosted doughy goodness while still technically consuming only one cookie.
Pure genius.
This game quickly became a challenge Mom worked to propagate and fully indulge, and whenever we spotted an obnoxiously large cookie cutter while shopping, into the cart it went! The bigger, more outlandish, and improbably massive, the better. A giant “pine green” Christmas tree cookie standing roughly eight inches tall and five inches wide? Seems like it falls under the “I’m only having one cookie” rule to me! To this day, Mom and Lori constantly banter over who can bake and consume the largest “single-serving” cookie, joking, laughing, and jingling all the way.
I call that Christmas cookie magic.
And then there was that time Cocoa, our family Corgi, consumed multiple tubs of cookies while we were away at Christmas Eve mass. Upholding customary tradition, Mom had baked her cookies with plans of frosting them later that evening at my Grandma’s house. Consequently, she packed the pre-baked cookies in tote bags so we could easily grab them on our stop home to let Cocoa out before heading off to Christmas Eve dinner. Gone only a few hours, we returned to find the bag upturned, the cookies gone, and Cocoa jumping up to greet us with an extra sugary pep in his step. Naturally, we feared the worse and went into straight panic mode, however, by some Christmas miracle, Cocoa didn’t so much as appear ill let alone even think about tossing his cookies[4]. Indeed, his only symptoms included a visibly bloated stomach, a saccharinely sugary glee, and the smug satisfaction of a devious job well done. I don’t know how a thirty-pound dog consumed over thirty (thankfully unfrosted) cookies, but the little man made it happen. And I suspected he loved every minute of it.
Striving to uphold this celebrated family tradition, last
weekend I baked cookies to bring into my team at work. I spent hours mixing ingredients, rolling
dough, and frosting what felt like thousands upon thousands of cookies, and throughout
the process our apartment nearly resembled a Hallmark movie cookie
factory on steroids. It was exciting and
exhausting in the best of ways, and I decorated each treat with patient anticipation,
eager to see how this Puszka family tradition would resonate with my
coworkers.
Let me tell you: The result was worth it. My team hasn’t stopped raving about my cookies since I brought them in Monday morning, and these tasty treats have fostered countless instances of camaraderie and joyful connection throughout the week. Perhaps it’s a secret ingredient[5], or perhaps it’s just part of that magic that is Christmas.
Whether lebkuchen, krumkake, or sugar cookies are your thing, this Christmas choose to bake something you love with someone you love and share the JOY throughout the holiday season.
And, while you’re at it, why not treat yourself and consume “the
entire confection.” I promise it’s so
worth it.
[1] I’m so happy you asked that! Because I’m about to tell you…
[2] Or as Mom and I like to joke, you can taste the “sweat and blood” with every bite. Ring any bells? Try Matilda. As in: “[Cookie’s] sweat and blood went into this cake, and you will not leave this platform until you have consumed the ENTIRE CONFECTION!” Disclaimer: Fear not! My cookies are “sweat and blood” free. At least to the best of my knowledge…
[3] And there are many.
[4] Pun most certainly intended.
[5] Ask and you shall receive! No secret ingredients here. Just a well-loved smattering of ordinary ingredients that produce an extraordinary result. Feel free to give it a go, with love from our kitchen to yours!
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