Yes, my birthday was in January. Yes, it’s now March.

This is the way we do birthdays. We’ve always had trouble sending a gift on time. And to tell you the truth, two months later is pretty good. And I like it. Partly because it takes pressure of trying to send a gift by a certain shipping date. Partly because the gift is now expected late, so there’s no reason to feel guilty for forgetting to shop. But mostly because it’s super exciting to get something in the mail on some unexpected day.

Who wouldn’t like that?

The package was waiting for me when I got home. It was light. Felt like fabric. A shirt? A tablecloth? I tore into the envelope and saw creme colored fabric with sage green leaves. I love sage green leaves. My kitchen is covered in sage green.

My sister sewed me something. A homemade gift! I love homemade gifts. And would you look at that? Just look. She stitched in a bird. I love birds!

Oh! And there’s something else. What does that say? Ulla?

Ulla! It does say Ulla! There’s sage green leaves and a bird and now Ulla—wait a minute. Wait just a minute.

Is this what I think it is?

I reached in and found the card from my sister. “I hope Ulla enjoys her new dress.”

It is! It is what I think it is!

My sister…

…made my dear KitchenAid Stand Mixer…

…a personalized, sage green, leafy cover.

And I love it.

It’s a perfect gift. It hugs her ample hips just right. It keeps her clean and warm. What more could she ask for?

Thanks, Ann. You make for a nice sister.

Oh, and I promise. Your gift is on the way.

It’s okay, my husband was sad too.

But guess what? We have an excellent excuse to try something new. Ulla got a new outfit! It’s a shredder/slicer attachment. She’s loving the versatility, and the silver brings out her voluptuous curves. My mother had one of these attachments for her KitchenAid mixer when I was growing up. And you should know, I didn’t realize you could grate cheese any other way until I got to college.

It attaches right to her nose. Classy, asymmetrical lines. Subtle v-neck. Excellent choice to minimize the size of her belly.

So what should we grate? Cheese? Boring. Let’s try something healthy since we’re trying to avoid cookies. Carrots? Yes. Good idea. Plus Brandon just bought a multiple pound bag of carrots from Costco. I like carrots, but I don’t like them that much.

All you gotta do is drop them in the top and then push down on the handles.

Shredded carrots magically appear and spill out into a strategically placed bowl. Neat, isn’t it? Possibly my favorite birthday present this year.

So we have the shredded carrots. Now what should we do? We got to do something a little more healthy than cookies. Otherwise my sister will call me again and ask what I do with all the sweets. And I can only blame Brandon for so long. Wait! I know. Let’s look at Cooking Light. They’ll have something sweet and healthy. Yes, good idea.

Look, here’s a recipe. Carrot Sheet Cake with Creme Cheese Frosting. That sounds delish. Plus I may or may not have a secret love affair with carrot cake right now. What do we need?

For the cake:

• 9  tablespoons  butter
• 2/3  cup  brown sugar
• 1/2  cup  sugar
• 2  eggs
• 2  egg whites
• 2  teaspoons  vanilla
• 2  cups flour
• 2  teaspoons  baking soda
• 1  teaspoon cinnamon
• 1/4  teaspoon salt
• 3/4  cup  buttermilk
• 2  cups  shredded carrot

Yes, we can do that. Shredded carrots? Check! What about the frosting?

• 1/2  cup fat-free cream cheese
• 1/4  cup  butter
• 2  teaspoons  vanilla
• 1/8  teaspoon  salt
• 2 3/4  cups  powdered sugar

Well sure. Let’s try it. After all, one serving is only 306 calories. That’s healthy, right? And it has carrots. The more cake we eat, the better our vision.

We start with the basics. Butter. Sugar. Brown sugar. Whip it. Whip it good. As in really blended. Ulla worked up a sweat with how long I let her go at it.

But let’s not just twiddle our thumbs while she does all the work. Another bowl—that’s what we need. So we’ll lump the flour and the salt and the soda and the cinnamon together. My teaspoon of cinnamon may or may not have been heaping. It’s difficult to say. It’s probably a good idea for us to use a whisk to blend it. Although I’m not sure it makes a difference. But how often do you get to whisk? Whisks. Whisks. I like the way that rolls off my tongue. Say it with me: “whisks.”

When Ulla’s ready, we’ll start dropping the eggs into her belly. One at a time, to make sure each one gets a fair turn.

Don’t forget that two of the eggs should be whites only. But wait—isn’t this the month we celebrate unity? And we’re separating our eggs? Somethings not right about this.

VANILLA! And I capitalize it because we’re adding not one teaspoon, but two. TWO! It’s a party now.

So here comes the fun part. We’ll add the flour slowly. And we’ll take the same picture we take every time we add flour. And it won’t get old because the flour will look like a waterfall. And we’ll like it.

Buttermilk? Why yes. I learned a long time ago that it makes sheet cakes (or any other cakes) more moist than it’s less spoiled aged counterpart: milk. At this point we’re supposed to alternate between the flour mixture and the buttermilk. Back and forth, back and forth. Honestly, I just think they tell you to do this to make more work.

Our batter will look pretty much like this. Fluffy. Sweet. Light.

And then we’ll make it healthy with our heaping gobs of carroty goodness.

Which we will then pour into a well-greased 9×13 baking pan. Doesn’t this look exactly like something you’d want to eat? Doesn’t it? Looks a little sloppy to me. You know what it makes me think of?

“Please sir. I want some more.”

And guess what? We’re done. All we gotta do is spread it out in the pan. Usually I shake it down and pat it a bit so it evens out and gets rid of air bubbles. (Usually? I’ve never made it before. But if I did, this is what I’d usually do.) Then we’ll stick it in the oven at 350 for about 25 minutes or until it’s spongy and browned around the edges.

But wait! Don’t go yet. We gotta do the frosting. It’s super easy. Hard to mess up. We just plop the cream cheese, butter, vanilla, and salt back into Ulla’s belly. She whips it up for awhile until it’s nice and creamy.

Then we pour a little bit of powdered sugar in at a time.

Then we get really excited because it is turning out so silky, so smooth. And it’s really cream cheesy. Carrot cake is the only time I like cream cheese. It looks kinda like this.

Right about now is when we would read the recipe for the 1,402 time and realize that we need about another 3/4 cup of powdered sugar in the frosting to finish it off. So we go to the container and discover we don’t have quite enough. No problem. Let’s look in the fridge. No? What about behind the cheese? Did you check the top shelf? Maybe there’s more in the pantry. We can’t be out. Right? RIGHT? We’re out of powdered sugar?! What? What do we do?

So then we turn to our handsome Italian husband who knows his way blindfolded around the kitchen.

“Bran? We’re out of powdered sugar. What do I do?”

Long pause. “Hmm?” He’s playing video games. Call of Duty. Very engaging.

“I’m out of powdered sugar. Can I just use regular sugar instead?”

“Um, yea.”

So we think it’s okay and realize too late that using granulated sugar instead of powdered sugar makes our frosting grainy and gritty. No longer frosting worth eating. But our husband? He asks us 5 minutes later why we added regular sugar to the frosting. And our eyes bug out and we get cranky because we realize that he was not listening to our powdered sugar plight while playing dumb video games and wouldn’t have actually told us to use regular sugar if he was paying attention.

Sigh.

Don’t do this.

Okay. Okay. Let’s finish up. The cake will look like this. Minus the hole in the middle. We must have gotten a little carried away with our toothpick. No matter.

And the finished product? Once it cools off? Is amazingly moist. Good flavor. Fresh because we shredded our own carrots. Oh, and it’s healthy too. Because it has carrots. And carrots are healthy.

There are three things my dad likes in the world of food. Three major things. Potato chips. M&Ms. And peanut butter.

Breakfast was consistently two pieces of toast with an unruly layer of peanut butter stretching to every edge of the bread. For a good part of my life, I didn’t know you could make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich without putting peanut butter on both sides of the bread. Which I think is actually logical because then the jelly doesn’t get the bread soggy. Don’t shake your head. It’s logical.

One of the most impactful memories of my childhood is the day he found out he needed to cut back on his peanut butter intake to help control his cholesterol. It was a very sad day. Very, very sad day. My dad mourned the loss. But he didn’t give up his toast. He still spread that peanut butter from side to side—only now he scraped it super thin. Enough to get a fix. Which is how I learned to eat peanut butter as a obsessive compulsive calorie counter. Sigh.

And so maybe that’s why I have an unnatural craving for heaping gobs of peanut butter to be put in my mouth. It’s in my genes. I can’t help it. I need it. And because of this craving, Ulla and I are prepared to show you how to make the most wonderful cookie in the world. Oatmeal. Chocolate chips. And best of all, peanut butter.

You can use any type of peanut butter you’d like. But allow me to make a suggestion. And don’t laugh. Don’t snub your nose. I have a love affair with generic Safeway-brand peanut butter. And believe me, I’ve tried them all. Safeway is perfect not only because I’m cheap (read: practical), but because Safeway is saltier than other brands. I like a little kick to my peanut butter. Although I am also the one who carries salt around in my purse. Let’s move on.

The damage (As determined by Better Homes and Gardens. Who else?):

3/4 cup butter (mmm, butter)
1/2 cup peanut butter (mmm, peanut butter)
1 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. baking soda
2 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
2 cups rolled oats
1 cup(ish) chocolate chips

I’m not sure there’s much in life that pleases me more than a heaping gob of peanut butter. And that could very well be the reason why these cookies are my most favorite ever. It all starts here—with a spoonful of creamy goodness. But oh dear, peanut butter is very messy. Your spoon will be covered. You better clean it really well. And you shouldn’t let it go to waste. Go ahead. Put it in your mouth. You’ll thank me later.

Wait a minute. Peanut butter and butter butter? Really? Could we be that lucky? Why yes. Yes we are.

Mixing until it’s whippy light would be best. I could probably stop here and be perfectly happy. But I realize that’s just me—not everyone can handle a spoonful of butter on butter. And let’s face it, sugar makes everything better. Sugar. The stuff of champions. Or maybe just the stuff of strapping vikings. This is your cue to add the regular sugar, the brown sugar, the soda and the powder. Blend, blend, blend.

Eggs! Vanilla! Because what are cookies without eggs and vanilla? And be sure to add a little of the egg shell into the mix and spend 6 minutes trying to fish it back out without success. You want the full experience, trust me. The egg shells really add to the overall experience of the cookie. Um, Brandon? Sweetie? Honey? Your cookies are a little more crunchy than expected.  Ahem. Cough.

Mixy, mixy, mixy. Dump in the flour. Go ahead. Dump it all in. All I have to say here is that I really like taking pictures of falling flour. It’s like a game of chance. You never know when a clump will fall. And also, please notice the fluorescent fuchsia is no longer painted on my fingernails. I’m a little sad about that. But it started chipping. And I may have had a brief panic attack in the time it took to peel the rest off. I don’t want to talk about it.

And guess what? Time for oatmeal. Toss it in. Toss, toss, toss. And best of all? The thing that keeps me coming back? The chocolate chips. These get to go in now as well. The recipe calls for 1 cup. I put one heaping cup and then a handful or two on the side. And a couple in my mouth. I have to make sure they’re not stale or anything. I have to. It’s only right.

And that’s it. You now have the most perfect dough ever. Slightly wet. Slightly chunky. Perfectly gritty on your teeth. I like to feel the dough between my fingers. I have to make sure it’s the right consistency. And then I have to taste it. Because it’s absolutely necessary that it be right. And I taste it again.

This is about the time I asked Brandon if he wanted to lick the flat beater (Ulla’s beloved attachment).

It’s also about the time he looked at me and said, “Is a frog’s bum water tight?”

He really likes the dough.

A happy teaspoon of dough should do it. I like my cookies a bit bigger, but it doesn’t matter. It should be a couple inches apart on an ungreased cookie sheet. It takes about 10 minutes to get the edges lightly golden at 375 degrees. And this is where I tell you something else I learned from my Dad:

If you allow the cookies to be a little underdone when you finish baking them, you can store them in the freezer. By leaving them a little doughy, the cookie is still soft and chewy when you take them out of the freezer. This little fact has saved us many a wasted cookie in our subtropical Hawaiian weather.

Just trust me. Frozen cookies. Excellent.

Oatmeal. Peanut. Butter. Chocolate. Chip. I don’t know any other words that go together quite so well.

Fact: A frog’s bum is actually water tight.

It was so freeing. So liberating. So empowering.

And it happened because I had a couple of overly ripe bananas and a sudden distaste for banana bread. I wanted something else. Something easier, or at least more exciting. A cookie. There’s nothing I love more in the world than a cookie.

Well, that’s not entirely true, but you get my point.

I had hardly a starting place with the recipe. No instructions. No advice. This was all I found:

2 1/4 c. flour
1 c. sugar
2 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. soda
3/4 tsp. salt
2/3 c. butter
2 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
1 c. smashed bananas

So I decided to wing it. To discover the adventure as I went along. Ulla was entirely supportive. Bless her heart.

It all began with the butter. Delightful, melting, stick-to-my-rear butter. I’ve followed other cookie recipes, so I know it’s a good idea to whip it up real nice. So I did.

And how about the sugar? Because Ulla thought is was a good idea to get it going. And I trust her entirely.

So when Ulla did her business, I had a fluffy buttery sugary goodness like this.

Now I’m not sure why, but most recipes require you to mix up the dry ingredients separately. So that’s what I did.

But this is also where I started getting creative. I threw all reason out of the window and decided to follow my gut. I actually added elements. Can you believe it? Me. Not following a recipe. And do you know what this means? You’re now officially reading my recipe. My own. I invented it. I did it. It’s mine. Your welcome.

I dumped the flour, the soda, the powder and the salt. And then to make it my baby, I dumped just a titch of cinnamon. And then a titch more of cinnamon. And some cinnamon on top. Because you can never have too much cinnamon. But if you’re worried, about a teaspoon is perfect.

Once that was all good and mixed, I went back to the fluffy buttery sugary goodness and threw in a couple eggs and some vanilla. Churnin, yearnin, hurnin. (Hurnin? I don’t know. It just rhymed.)

Because this is a recipe for banana drops, it was time to add the bananas. I figured it was a good time since bananas aren’t quite a dry and probably more likely a wet. But I didn’t mix it much. You know, left some chunks.

Ulla and I took turns dumping and whomping until the dry ingredients were mixed.

It was sticky. And a little runny. So I was worried, but Ulla seemed to think it was okay.

I dropped some clumps of dough onto an ungreased cookie sheet. Dropped because they’re banana drops. Get the reference?

I’d like to interrupt this session to bring your attention to my left thumb. Fluorescent fuchsia. Do you like it? Isn’t it wonderfully feminine? Enchanting? Charming?  It’s the first time in at least a couple years I’ve had anything but naked on my fingers. I’m not normally inclined to paint them, particularly because once I get the tiniest little chip, I pick away until all the paint is gone. It cannot be uneven. Imperfect. Haggard. I’d perseverate. But this was for a good cause. I was supporting a co-worker’s 10-year-old daughter in her efforts to raise money for a band trip. I have a weakness for band. And making a statement. Fluorescent fuchsia in the name of music is a statement I’m willing to make.

Plus, everyone should have pink nails when they make cookies. It builds confidence.

Ahem. Let’s continue.

Because we’ve established that nothing can go wrong with cinnamon, I sprinkled some cinnamon-sugar over the top. It made me very happy on the inside. Very nice. Very pretty.

So now they go in the oven at about 375 degrees. The first batch took about 10 minutes to cook. Golden around the edges. You know, the usual “done” factor. The second batch took about 12 minutes. And the third batch took 15. But that’s when I realized I had accidentally turned off the oven completely, and the temperature was about 214 degrees. Don’t do this. Do as I say, not as I do.

If kept to temperature, they’ll come out looking something like this.

Something like snickerdoodles, right? They aren’t. Far from it. And I’ll be honest with you, they don’t really taste much like cookies. They’re kind of like really small, really thin individual banana muffins. But slightly sweeter. The texture of the cookie leans more toward bread than cookie. But in all, not bad.

But not good enough for me either. Because I was being adventurous. And inventive. And because they were truly missing something. Something warm. And dark. And slightly bitter but awesomely decadent. Chocolate chips. So I added a mess of them to the dough. Less than I wanted, but just enough to hear Brandon say, “the chocolate takes away from the banana flavor.” Take that how you want. I take it just right.

]]> http://sunbookclub.com/2010/01/22/ulla-and-the-banana-drops/feed/ 7 carrieconsalvi IMG_1340 IMG_1344 IMG_1347 IMG_1350 IMG_1351 IMG_1357 IMG_1360 IMG_1363 IMG_1369 IMG_1374 IMG_1378 IMG_1381 http://sunbookclub.com/2010/01/15/ulla-and-the-sugar-cookies/ http://sunbookclub.com/2010/01/15/ulla-and-the-sugar-cookies/#comments Fri, 15 Jan 2010 19:00:08 +0000 Carrie Consalvi http://sunbookclub.com/?p=1171 Continue reading →]]> Sugar cookies are my favorite cookie in the world. Minus peanut butter oatmeal chocolate chips. Minus snicker doodles. But I’m Swedish, so I’m allowed to have more than one favorite cookie. Please don’t argue with me.

I’ve never actually made any sugar cookies, partially because I’ve never had “creme of tartar” in my house. Do you know it’s not actually a creme? And I’m not exactly sure where you’d find a tartar. Probably in some dark, dank, underground cave where only small children and spiders can fit. That’s why they have to charge you $9.95 for 3 tablespoons. But I was lucky. A friend of mine moved away a short while ago and emptied out her spice cabinet into my willing arms. Tartar? Sure. Why not. You never know when you’ll have a bad week and need a little tartar to perk you up.

I figured it was time to try a recipe for sugar cookies. I’ve loved them my whole life, after all. And it seemed easy enough. Plus I care about cookies, so there’s less chance for me to mess up. I found this recipe in the Better Homes and Garden cookbook, which is where you should go if you want a straightforward, sensible recipe to follow. But I’m probably a bit more exciting.

You’ll need:

1/2 cup butter (Mmm. Butter.)
1/2 cup shortening
2 cups sugar
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp cream of tartar
1/8 tsp salt
3 egg yolks
1/2 tsp vanilla
1 3/4 cups flour

Before we begin, there’s something you need to know. It’s important. It’s the secret of the entire cookie. It’s what holds it all together. Are you ready? Shortening. I mean it. And you all know I am very fond of butter. But it just won’t come out the same. So don’t snub your nose. Just do it. Oh, and of course—dear Ulla. She’s the real secret. And she agreed to partner with us on the recipe. I told her you wouldn’t mind. She’s just so helpful and all.

Alright. First things first. Drop the butter and the shortening into her silver belly. Whip ‘em up good. Smoosh ‘em together. Get it all creamy and fluffy and perfect.

Then comes the tartar. And the baking soda. And the salt—please don’t skip the salt. It’s vital to neutralize the overwhelming power of the sugar. Don’t roll your eyes. Are you listening to me? When you’ve got all those things lumped in the belly of your dear mixer, go ahead and add the heaping gobs of sugar. And then more sugar. And topped with some sugar. Because that’s the whole point of this cookie. Let ‘er rip. Get ‘er going.

You should have the pre-dough that looks something like this.

And now for my favorite part of the whole recipe. Get a hold of your eggs. The chicken kind. I’m sure there’s a more official way to do this, but let’s be honest. I like the goop. The slime. The snot. Handling the yoke makes me feel real. Alive. Rebellious. Crack open that bad boy.

And slip the yolk into your hands. It’s the easiest way I know how to separate egg yolks. There’s probably a more sophisticated way. And I’m pretty sure Better Homes and Gardens would get a little ruffled if they saw me doing this. But this is it. I’m doing it. You’re not the boss of me.

Toss the egg yolks in the bowl. Oh, and the vanilla.

It’s probably a good idea to scrape the sides of the bowl at some point. But from here you can mix it up nice and good. Yes, I said “good.” Because “well” just doesn’t fit here. We’re roughing it. Getting our hands dirty. Rolling up our sleeves. We don’t need no grammer. And when you’re finished mixing, it will have a fuzzy yellow chick tint to it.

The last thing to do is to throw in the flour. Ulla was a little over excited on account of all the sugar, so she started up a little fast and tossed out half the flour. But it’s okay because I just added a little more. My point? Go slow. Soft. Gentle. You should end up with malleable dough.

I suggest you try it. I love the crunch of sugar in my teeth.

If you didn’t already, you should probably think about setting your oven to 300 degrees. Take the dough into your loving fingers and roll up some balls about 1 or 2 inches diameter. Probably closer to 1 inch, because it’s less calories. Which means you can eat more cookies. Plop ‘em down on the cookie sheet a couple inches apart.

From here you’re pretty much done. I left mine in the oven for exactly 13 minutes. But there are two ways to tell they’re done:

1. They haven’t browned but the sides are firm.
2. They’ve started to crack on top.

If you’re like me, you’ll want to stuff them in your face as quickly as you can. But don’t. Wait a minute or two until they harden up a bit. If you try to move them off the cookie sheet right away, they crumble. Which is a foreshadow of wonderful things to come.

As a sugar cookie baking novice, I am extremely pleased—delighted—in the ease of this recipe. I surprised my Brandon with a couple of these babies and a small glass of milk. He proceeded to dump heaping buckets of love and undying affection all over me. It was a big mess.

]]> http://sunbookclub.com/2010/01/15/ulla-and-the-sugar-cookies/feed/ 7 carrieconsalvi IMG_1092 IMG_1095 IMG_1112 IMG_1114 IMG_1115 IMG_1139 IMG_1146 IMG_1142 IMG_1148 http://sunbookclub.com/2010/01/08/ulla-and-the-cake-donuts/ http://sunbookclub.com/2010/01/08/ulla-and-the-cake-donuts/#comments Fri, 08 Jan 2010 19:00:29 +0000 Carrie Consalvi http://sunbookclub.com/?p=1065 Continue reading →]]> Last week I had the worst hankering for a frosted cake donut. Not one of those airy sweet donuts from Krispy Kreme. Yuck. Way too sweet. I want a traditional donut that fits in the palm of my hand and crumbles in my mouth. It’s just about the only deep-fried goodness I’d allow myself to get sick over. There is something about a cake donut that calls to me. I even make a point of scanning the bakery every time I’m in the grocery store. Ask my husband. He’ll tell you. It’s a weakness. Aren’t they delightful?

We don’t even have a donut shop here in Hawaii. Can you believe that? Oh sure, there’s Leonard’s. But does that really count? Those are malasadas, which I equate to really oily cream puffs. It’s not the same. Though my father-in-law may disown me for saying so. (A dozen malasadas are required every time we see him. Which means toting the box from Hawaii to South Carolina, usually on multiple planes.)

No, donuts have to be purchased from Safeway or Foodland and I find something terribly wrong with that. They just aren’t great. No cake donuts, and usually stale. Yuck. Can’t a girl get a real breakfast?

So then Ulla comes barreling into my life with all her bulky glory, and I start to think: what can a good little Swedish girl like myself make with her new KitchenAid? Savory obviously wasn’t working for us. Sweet was the only logical thing to do. And strapping girls need their sugar. It’s a fact. Ask my grandmother. The logical side of my stomach made a very persuasive argument last Saturday morning that 4 years is entirely too long without the delights of cake donuts.

I found a recipe in one of my cookbooks that didn’t seem to hard. Throw in some flour, some salt, some sugar, some baking powder. Oh and cinnamon. There’s never enough cinnamon. Then mix together some butter, some milk, some more butter. Only the butter was supposed to be melted. And nobody tells you that your cold milk will make your melted butter harden up again. I guess they assume I’d figure it out. Aren’t they considerate not to hurt my feelings?

So Ulla got to it. She’s a pretty good whipper, even if she does spit flour at me. But she’s doing it, and I’m not, and that’s the important part.

The dough was super sticky, but oh boy was it heavenly. I took a few bites and then stuck it into the fridge for a couple hours to cool. Then came the fun part. The part that makes a donut a donut. The rolling and shaping and holing and dunking that tiny piece of dough into a golden bath of boiling lard. My lower intestines rumble just thinking about it.

It was my first time frying anything ever. Usually I’m the one that measures and counts and weighs the costs of using oil. It’s just a policy. A policy that keeps my girlish figure. A policy that mostly just keeps me out of the bathroom. But this time, just this once, I was willing to sacrifice myself for the health of my tongue.

I dropped in the first few donuts. Bust. Total failure. The oil was way to hot. Brown on the outside, gooey on the inside. But slowly, slowly, playing with the temperature, a taste here, a taste there, they started to take shape. Perfect shape. I found a rhythm.

Wow, did I find a rhythm.

But what is a donut without frosting? I found a quick recipe for a chocolate glaze using chocolate chips, butter, and water. Yes, water. I thought that was weird, too. So Ulla quickly whipped it up before the donuts could cool completely. I carefully picked up each little round of goodness and dipped it in the glaze.

And before I knew it, I had donuts. Real donuts. Nearly perfect, nearly round, completely fried donuts.

I was entirely proud of myself. This was way better than the pizza dough episode. Row after row of chocolaty, sugary lumps. And how did they taste?

“It’s like a super dense pancake. Too much cinnamon. And the frosting tastes like Hershey’s syrup. But they’re good. Good effort,” said my husband. So he only ate two out of the whole batch. The two I gave him to try that same day.

No matter. I just need to find a better recipe. With that said, my girlfriend and I ate the most of them that afternoon.  But don’t worry, we split them. Because 6 halves of a donut has less calories than 3 full donuts. It’s a fact. Ask my grandmother.

I decided Ulla needed something special to mix for her inauguration into my kitchen. (Oh yes, Ulla. That’s her new name. It’s Swedish. And because she’s robust and strong and powerful, she obviously needed a strapping viking name.) But the recipe couldn’t be just anything. Not cookies. Not a cake mix. It needed to be something that would really demonstrate her usefulness. Something that would ease my burden. Something that would impress. Something that would please my Italian husband. And then I knew.

Pizza dough.

I scoured the internet for a recipe and settled on one that called for sugar. (Because I’m Swedish, and we Swedes like our sugar.) I then pulled her out of the corner, admiring her sparkling metal. Her smooth curves. Her matted beauty. Selecting the bread hook so she could do the kneeding for me, I linked her pieces together and snapped her belly into place. I won’t pretend like I knew what I was doing from there. I just had faith she’d do it for me.

I read and re-read the recipe. I carefully measured the temperature of the water to proof the yeast. Added some olive oil. Checked the measurements. Put in a pinch of salt. Reviewed. Rechecked. Remeasured. Timed it perfectly.

And look at her work. She was a beautiful helpmate. Never missed a beat.

But then I started to run into problems.

The dough was fine at first, but then it seemed like there was too much flour. That’s not possible. I put in a whole cup less then it called for. So I added some water. It helped the dough mix a little better, but it was getting stiff. And less and less elastic. And I decided to add a little more olive oil, to see if it would smooth out. No luck.

And then I checked the package of the yeast. Did you know yeast expires? Think the dough would still rise if the expiration date was September 09? All I could do was wait. It couldn’t be a total bust, could it?

Don’t tell anyone, but I may have made a second batch of dough using a different recipe. And it may have come out worse than the first.

Because Brandon is the Italian in this house, he made the pizza. The dough was softer once the yeast worked its magic. But it didn’t rise as much as it should have. It also wouldn’t stretch without making holes. But I think Brandon sensed I was losing hope, so he tried to make it work. I love him. I love him a lot.

On a side note, if you’re going to make pizza, you should probably make sure you have enough cheese. And marinara. And pepperoni. But if you don’t, you can always work with what you have. For example, Barbecue Sauce and chicken.

And then came the final test of my dear Ulla’s work. Did she complete her task? Was she efficient? The dough wasn’t bad. It also wasn’t good. No flavor (and yes, we seasoned it before baking). A little sticky. A little flat.

But not bad. Which means that she did exactly what she needed to do, and nothing more. Maybe we Swedes weren’t meant for Italian recipes. You can give a girl a mixer, but you gotta make sure she can cook.

After all our presents were opened yesterday, I went in the kitchen to make our traditional breakfast, “Dutch Babies.” In order to make this dish, you have to have a lot of eggs. And butter. And flour. And butter. And milk. And heaping gobs of butter. But you also need a 9 x 13 baking pan. But when I went into the cupboard to find it, there was something in my way. Something big.

Something heavy. And wrapped. Another present? But we already opened everything. There wasn’t supposed to be another one. But yes! It’s for me. Another present. I pulled it out of the little nook where all my pots and pans were supposed to be.

And then ripped into it. What could it be? What could it be? Is this what I think it is? Wait a minute. It couldn’t be.

What does that say? Kitchen? KitchenAid? I’ve got to get a better look!

KitchenAid! That’s what it says! Are my eyes fooling me? Is this even possible? But right there, you can read it for yourself: KitchenAid Stand Mixer. Right here. In my house.

I had to step back and look at her. What just happened? Could I really be the proud owner?

I can’t believe it. There she is. In all her glory. My very own KitchenAid Stand Mixer. After all these years of waiting—all those entries in giveaway contests—I finally get to mix my cookie dough without the strength of my own arm. My kitchen has officially arrived. I can now claim my right of passage into the world of baking. I’ll hear the pleasant hum of her motor. Taste the fruit of her work. Eat cookies without biting into clumps of powder. And I am so excited.

Wait a minute. Wait a minute! Does this mean we’re moving?

Yes, I’m talking about Brandon’s birthday yesterday. I tried—and I mean I really tried—to make his day special. You know, the whole birthday gig. Leaving love notes around the house, surprise visit at church, random phone calls throughout the day, breakfast in bed. But it was hard. Really hard. Especially since I’ve never made bacon before and I had to figure it out in the wee morning hours before work. Not good. Not good at all.

I’m the type who reads the recipe 4 times before I even start and then 2,956 times while I am cooking. I check and recheck. Measure and remeasure. Did you know bacon doesn’t come with instructions? Yea. That doesn’t seem right to me either.

I’m also the type to ask a 632 questions during the process. What pan do you use to cook the bacon? Do you have to grease the pan first? Do you cut your bacon in half so it fits better? Do you trim off the fat? What temperature? Medium-ish? Is the oil supposed to collect like that? How long do you cook it on each side? How brown is brown enough? Could you get sick from this if I don’t cook it right? Do you put salt on it? Is this too crispy? Will you come check?

I am not a bacon eater.

I was so preoccupied with the bacon I forgot I was cooking the eggs at the same time. And yes, they burned. But being the impatient—but practical—non-morning person I am, I didn’t start over. I just plopped it on the plate with the overly crispy bacon and whipped upstairs to bring my dear husband his breakfast in bed. But you should know, I made a seriously great piece of toast to go with it.

He smiled and praised my efforts and choked it down anyway. Because he likes me.

And you know what? I actually liked making breakfast for him. Okay, okay. Settle down. Don’t get too excited. I’m just saying it was nice, not that I want to do it every morning. But I guess I just realized the value going to all that work to bless the person I love. It was satisfying to actually be the one serving instead of being served. Brandon does this kind of thing all the time, and I’ve never understood why he loves doing it so much. There is a certain something you feel when you’re sacrificing your time and efforts for someone else. So I think my heart grew yesterday morning as I stood there chopping the peppers for his omelet. I felt how he feels. Content to be doing something nice for that had nothing to do with me.

Um, you should know, it didn’t stop me from complaining just a little bit about making him a quesadilla when we got home late from church last night. I said I understood it. Not that I want to do it all the time. But I think he had a good day all the same. We’re going to celebrate again tomorrow when we both have a little less work to worry about. I’ll get a second chance to be a little less whiny and a little more sacrificey.

Forgive me. I try.

I owe it to you—to myself—to dive into the delight that is cookies at least once this December. And with it being the Monday of a week that will be so busy I’ll be lucky if I can see straight, I thought it was a good idea to pull out a recipe. Not just any recipe.  My family’s traditional Christmas cookie recipe.

One time somebody told me that he only watches his favorite movie once a year so that he doesn’t get sick of it. He said it built anticipation and excitement if he only allowed himself one viewing. And it totally works. Especially with cookies. I wait all year for these babies. I can hardly wait to get these gooey, cherry-filled heeping gobs of chocolate in my mouth.

Sound delish? They are.

This recipe can be found in the Better Homes and Gardens cookbook. And if you really want to get it right, you should probably look there. But I think I’m more fun. You’ve got to take a few risks in life, right? Ahem. Let’s begin:

If you’re going to make a cookie, you’re going to need some ingredients:

1 Jar of Maraschino cherries

1/2 cup butter

1 cup sugar

1/4 tsp baking powder

1/4 tsp baking soda

1/4 tsp salt

1 egg

1 1/2 tsp vanilla

1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder

1 1/2 cups flour

1 cup semisweet chocolate chips

1/2 cup sweetened condensed milk

Now, I should note, you probably should have a gigantic bag of chocolate chips like the one in this picture. It’s the Costco size. Because you need to be able to taste test the chips to make sure they’ll be good for baking. And you want to make sure you have enough.

Okay, so the fun part first. Grab the jar of maraschino cherries (phew! is that hard for anyone else to spell?) and a small bowl. Drain all the juice out of the jar. No, it’s not formaldehyde, although I’ve had my doubts. Be sure to spill some on your counter. You’ll want the full effect of freaking out when the juice makes a bright pink stain. Or is that just me? Whatever you do, don’t dump the juice. You’ll kick yourself later.

Cut up the cherries into halves. And if you’re skittish about using maraschino cherries, don’t be. Brandon doesn’t like them usually, but the chocolate dulls the sugary flavor and adds a nice texture to the cookie.

Now grab a nice sized bowl. To make the dough, dump the cup of sugar, powder, soda, salt, and softened butter in the bowl and start a churnin’. Now, you could probably beat this with your 90th anniversary limited edition candy apple red Kitchenaid stand mixer. If you were so lucky to get one. But we strapping viking women beat our own dough. We do it with vigor. And passion. And love. Or something like that. These cookies come together by the strength of our arm. We don’t need no stinking mixer. (Except seriously. When’s my turn to get one?)

Throw in the egg and vanilla next. And beat some more.

Then throw in the cocoa powder and flour. Don’t be afraid to heap in the cocoa powder. It’ll just be a bit more chocolatey. This part is tricky because you’ll want to mix in the flour really well.

And excuse me, but I’m tired. I don’t have a mixer. So I’ll use my hands.

Don’t worry, they were clean. And now the dough is really well mixed. But oh no! I’ve got chocolate cookie dough all over my fingers! What am I going to do? Probably should taste it. It would be the responsible thing to do. And I’m all about responsibility. Don’t worry, I washed my hands again. I’m no double dipper.

If everything goes well, you should be able to pick up the dough and roll it into small balls. Stick them about 2 inches apart on an ungreased cookie sheet.

Mmmm. Chocolate balls. Try to at least make one full cookie sheet. It can be difficult to get it from the bowl to the tray, but I believe in you. I know you can do it. Once this step is done, you’re ready for the awesomeness that is this cookie.

When we were kids, this next step was the best part about the entire recipe. Because you get to stick your fingers in the dough. On purpose. And your mom wants you to do it. Go ahead. Try it.

Take your thumb and press the center of each and every little ball.

Wasn’t that fun? Now grab the halved cherries and stick one half in the center of each cookie. It should fit perfectly.

Now comes the extra chocolatey part. Get out a small sauce pan and throw in a bunch of chocolate chips. Put it on low-ish medium-ish heat. You’ll pour the sweetened condensed milk right in the pan to make sure the chocolate doesn’t burn.

Oh, and remember the formaldehyde—I mean, cherry juice I told you to keep? Yea. Put in about 3 or 4 teaspoons of the juice into the melted chocolate. This will bring out a delightful cherry flavor to the chocolate. It basically ties the whole cookie together. So don’t mess this part up—I mean, you’re doing great! Keep it up! Eat a chocolate chip!

When it’s good and chocolatey and melty and perfect, lower the heat a bit and grab a spoon. This is important. Are you listening? Be generous. This is the season of giving. Of love. Of love handles. Don’t be stingy, get a big glob of chocolate and spread it all over the top of that cookie. There is always more (we’ve got the Costco bag, right?).

And you’re almost done! Stick these bad boys into the oven at 350 degrees for about 8-10 minutes. Be sure not to overcook them because they’ll dry out. And these cookies are meant to be chewy. Otherwise, your husband may eat one or two and pretend like he’s not hungry every time you offer one to him. I’m not saying that happened or anything. But it could.

And that’s about it. These cookies make it really feel like Christmas. I know what you’re thinking. What do these have to do with Christmas? Um, absolutely nothing. Except I’ve been making these every year since I could tie my own shoes and poor my own milk. I’m pretty sure you can’t risk December without them.