On the Meaning of Cookies

If cookies have a raison d'etre beyond pure self indulgence, it is to carry various related messages.

Benign, independent, cheerful, self-contained little morsels, they are articulate in the languages of love: We know you like chocolate, they say. We love you, too. You are not forgotten when you are away.

On the home front, they are swift and easy mediators, inclined to preaching at times: Stop fighting, be quiet. Here, share these.

Come in, they can coo, your presence is joyfully welcomed. Sit down, let's talk this over with tea and treats.

They are the buoyant habitués of the lunch box, sturdy reminders of hearth and home to the student and worker. Everyone loves to find a cookie tucked away with the more sensible foods.

Boxed cookies, prepared by machine miles away and weeks ago will do, of course, but they usually convey the advice that the shortening was cheap and the shelves have been dusty. Next to a real live cookie , they are pallid and silent.

Whether they are served on doilies and silver, or smacked down on the table in a gallon jar, homemade cookies are a part of the season of Christmas, as ingrained as the tree and the lights and the reunions.

Fancy cut outs, jeweled,jelly filled, studded with nuts, drizzled over with chocolate, rich with butter, laced with rum, wheat germ, crystallized ginger, Snickerdoodles, Sand Tarts, Turtles, they all express the true feelings of the baker regarding both pleasure and whimsy.

I have seen cookies made into dangerous looking cathedrals; I have received little molasses drops, hard as stones a cappella, but properly dunked into coffee, blooming into lovely crushy gems. I have rolled warm lacy brandy snaps around the handle of a wooden spoon and then filled the tube with whipped cream. Hedonistic.

I have been a nutritional zealot and loaded regular frivolous cookies with wheat germ and polyunsaturated oils and freshly ground whole wheat flour. They were always politely received and were my mainstay for years.

I have formed and painted gingerbread men and women and children and puppies and bears and airplanes and watched as the cats dragged them excitedly off the tree.

And lemon squares that melt in your mouth, so alarmingly sensuous, yes indeed.

But this year, when I will so happily be surrounded by my dearest ones, I will have on hand, among the fancy stuff, the recipe that follows.

It was my favorite throughout my childhood for its sweet simplicity and its message of Christmas--and now I am passing it on to my children.

Therefore the humble cookie becomes a torch between generations.

Plus these have an intriguing shape, like little hats with stitching around the brims, hats that might have swallowed something delicious.

These are ordained Mother's Trilbys.

Cream together:

1 C. softened butter

1 C. brown sugar

Add, gradually:

2 C. oat flour*

2 1/2 C. wheat flour

Then mix together and add:

1/2 C. thick sour cream

1 tsp. soda.

Chill this mixture thoroughly before proceeding.

To make the filling, remove pits and chop:

12 oz. top quality nice sticky dates

Place in a small, heavy saucepan and add:

1/2 C. brown sugar

1/2 C. water

Bring to a simmer and cook slowly for about 10 minutes, or until good and thick. Allow to cool.

Bring out the pastry. It is easiest to handle after it has rested awhile. Roll it out fairly thin and, using a 3" cutter, make all the dough into circles. Use up the scraps, the sour cream keeps it pretty tender.

Put spoonsful of the date mixture on half the circles and use the other half for tops, using a fork to pinch the edges together.

Bake in a preheated 375 degree oven for 8-10 minutes. They should stay light in color. You're actually setting the pastry, not much more.

*Oat flour is hard to find but easy to make. Use a blender or food processor, clean coffee/seed grinder to pulverize regular rolled oats.

If you are in the habit of nabbing one of the first cookies out of the oven "to test it"--a practice I consider to be based on sound reasoning--let it cool; the dates get hot. You don't want to go through the next two weeks with no taste buds.