Wednesday, December 11, 2013
My good friend Anna convinced me a while back to take part in the Great Food Blogger Cookie Swap. My thought process was essentially: So...I bake cookies. Then other people send me cookies. WHERE DO I SIGN UP FOR THIS MAGICAL COOKIE CONTINUUM.
So yeah, I signed up for a cookie exchange, on a whim, and it was great fun. I spent a day whipping up these gingery cookies, one of my all-time favourites. They're filled with gingery goodness, and the hint of lemon adds just the right punch to an already bold cookie. Then I packed them away in tins and taped them shut before sending them off in the mail. (My apologies to my swap matches for my less-than-stellar wrapping job.)
In the last few weeks, I've received several delightful little packages in the mail, including some chewy & delicious whole wheat chocolate chunk cookies from Warm Vanilla Sugar, sweet & crumbly lavender shortbread from Food Mamma, and spicy, snappy chai tea shortbreads from Baking, Butter & Happiness. Seriously, this has been a great month for mail. I need to find more ways to get cookies sent to me, clearly.
I am, frankly, too exhausted in this moment to form any insightful or funny thoughts, so instead I'll simply leave you alone with this delicious cookie recipe. The rest is up to you.
Monday, December 9, 2013
This cornbread is not perfect. It's crumbly, and leaves trails of golden crumbs after each bite, scattered across the plate and, quite possibly, your lap. I wouldn't have it any other way, though. Whatever points it loses in messiness, it makes up for in deliciousness. It's nutty, slightly sweet, and has just enough of a trace of butteriness to make it both hearty and comforting.
It's just what you want next to your bowl of steaming soup, with a dab of melting butter, the exact kind of meal I'm craving these days. Outside, the street is wet and covered in the remains of the first real snow of the season. It's been one of those drab days, where everything appears to be shaded in grey and the sun is just a muted light in the sky, like a lamp with a curtain over it.
I took my roommate's dog to the park, and in less than twenty minutes my feet had turned to ice inside my rubber boots. We ran back to the apartment, where I threw my boots off and began stomping around and cursing (with my usual elegance and grace) as the blood flow slowly returned to my toes. There always comes a day when I realize I cannot wear nice shoes anymore, that the few stylish pieces of footwear I own must go into the closet for hibernation, and out must come the heavy winter boots. It's that very day that I suddenly become aware of what the coming months will entail - the slogging through slush, the inevitable wet feet, the chill that creeps in under your collar as you're walking home at night, the days bookended by dark mornings and pitch black evenings.
Clearly I'm a bucket of joy.
But winter isn't without its merits, one of them being the experience of coming out of the cold and into a warm house, and sitting down to a bowl of soup and crumbly cornbread. It's not much, but sometimes it's the joy of such small moments that bring us the most happiness.