Once upon a time there was a girl who loved to be in the kitchen. Her favorite spot was cozying up next to her mom and grandmothers, and nudging her way into the process. Little did she realize that it would be the start to a lifelong passion of cooking and baking for the people she loves. This is a love story. A story about the joy that my mom and grandmothers instilled in me about filling a table with homemade, handcrafted food made from love and for the pure joy of making people happy. And they always did. There was and still is delight around our family table. My mom and grandmothers had amazing talents in both the cooking and baking departments. And although I developed my own style, (they tended to follow recipes, and I make up stuff as I go), they inspired me, and still do.
Me, in my serious puberty years, and obviously thrilled to be in the kitchen with my Grandma Majewski in her Brooklyn home. You know how much I must value that an image speaks volumes if I am willing to share THIS photo with you. P.S. that was one of my favorite shirts. Photo Credit: Paul Majewski
Grandma Perri making her famous Peach Shortcake with Whipped Cream. She was a master.
I think back on how much these powerhouse women accomplished in the kitchen. Being a good cook and hostess were simply expected back then. Nowadays a host is met with such kudos for doing the same or even less than what our mothers and grandmothers had been doing for decades.
My mom and grandmas preparing Christmas meal.
I can’t tell you exactly why I was so captivated by watching them, and helping them. Maybe it was seeing the excitement of the guests as they approached a table filled to capacity with yummy bites. I guess it created a sense of fulfillment for me that would run through everything I do. In writing this love story, I tried to reach back into my deepest memories of those times to tap into that exact feeling; the scheduling, the preparation, the mounds of ingredients waiting to be used, the display, the enthusiasm for good food, the anticipation of guest arrivals and then the family gathered around a table of ‘abundancia’, laughing and crying that our bellies were too full. Those memories are deep rooted, cemented with the gift of giving. I'm glad I learned from the best.
Grandma Majewski, probably making gravy in her Brooklyn kitchen. Photo Credit: Paul Majewski
When it comes to traditions, our family is not unique. Every family has their own set that they follow. Ours had both holiday traditions and ones we followed weekly. Given that we didn’t keep our Italian language alive, I believe our food traditions took on an even greater purpose. Food became our love language, so passing it down through the generations is what continues to bind us together.
My cousin, Karen, was much like me in wanting to be the guardians of traditions and recipes. Sadly, she passed and is so dearly missed. But many years before, she compiled our grandmother’s recipes and sent me a book, which, of course, now has even more sentimental value. Karen loved to cook and bake too, and was a master in her own right. In sharing these recipes she has now become an even greater part of the legacy.
I cherish this handwritten note from Karen, and am so grateful that she took the time to gather our family recipes.
Karen, my cousin on my father’s side, sitting in my maternal grandmother’s kitchen. That is what I mean about one big family.
I cherish those holiday moments of the past. But admit that I long for the days when all our families would gather together and celebrate, eat, drink and truly be merry. We literally all lived within blocks of one another, so stopping by was no big deal. What I loved most, and have come to truly appreciate, is how all sides of our family gathered together, in-laws from every direction, all together. When someone got married, it just meant that the entire family grew. We didn’t have to split up and go to separate places. We were one big family; relatives upon relatives upon relatives.
The Christmas dessert table. Filled with fruit, struffoli, cookies, pies, cakes and more. A gluttony of sugar. And both the Mildred’s. Yes my Italian grandmothers both changed their beautiful given names to Mildred. Do not ask, I have never understood why.
Nowadays, folks need to sit
in a car for hours or even
travel by plane. I vote for
just packing ourselves on
a sleigh and pushing our
way over to grandma’s
house. From the smiles
on our faces there is no
doubt that this was the
preferred method of transportation back then.
So, it’s no wonder that I’ve tried to keep those feelings alive. And the one way I know how; baking up a storm during the holidays. Each year, as many of my family as can join come to my house to help me make cookies and Struffoli. It’s a weekend long event, and then some.
Some stay the weekend, like my parents, happy to get up early and stay up late. Others come for a day, and sometimes if tempted with their favorite cookie, come back the next to continue to help.
Me, with my twin sisters, Jill and Alyssa.
My mom, happily rolling Butter Balls into shape.
My nephew, John, kneading the dough for Grandma cookies. Gianna eyeballing the cutters and which ones to use.
Gianna, my go to helper, always! That smile says it all.
Butter Balls, a delicate, buttery cookie with crushed walnuts.
Mounds and mounds of dough ready to be chilled before shaping.
There is so much nostalgia that builds around gathering with loved ones among stacks of butter, rows of eggs and mountains of flour. The debate about whether I should double or triple a recipe, then the gasps and laughs at the amounts we made. The wait to see who eats the most cookies as they come out of the oven.
It takes a ton of butter, and lots of other ingredients to make cookie magic.
There is never a shortage of flour in my home. Mountains of it.
My mom is notorious for eating cookies as she is finishing them.
Knowing that these treats are enjoyed and will be handed down to my nieces and nephew, is the best way to honor my mom and grandmothers’ traditions.
Gabrielle enjoying a Grandma Cookie
Michella and Nicolette, my cheerful little helpers.
Everybody gets their hands in there to pitch in. Some pick the tasks they love, others are forced by me to help out even if it’s not their favorite part.
My mom’s hands. Expert dough roller.
Chopping walnuts, the old fashioned way, by hand.
It’s an assembly line production and I will admit that sometimes I can be a task master. I like perfection.
You know I’m a master of efficiency.That method of using two tiny spoons to fill the Swedish Butter cookies was replaced by a piping bag. DUH
Swedish Butter Cookie recipe. Handwritten with crusty brown edges but still going strong.
Melt in your mouth butter cookie filled with raspberry jam.
Sometimes apricot jam
Chocolate Drizzled Shortbreads These shortbreads have the perfect texture and the drizzle of chocolate hits the spot.
The funny thing about me making cookies for the holidays is that due to my wheat intolerance I can’t eat a single one. I feel like that is the absolute best proof of how much I love bringing joy to others.
Lime Zest - Raspberry Jam Sandwich Cookie This cookie is buttery with a zing of lime followed by the tart of raspberry finished with sweet from the powdered sugar. What more can you ask from a cookie?
It may be hard work. But we always make time for wine.
When it comes to holiday traditions, we have several cookies that are main stays every year. But two are at the absolute top of the heap: Struffoli and Grandma Cookies.
Struffoli are a traditional southern Italian Christmas treat, that originated in Naples which is near where my Grandma Perri was born (Salerno). They are basically fried dough balls covered in melted honey and sugar, mounded up and finished with sprinkles. (Who the hell cares about calories or if these are healthy. They are good for you because they are delicious and put a smile on your face. That’s health, my friends.)
It is a laborious job that takes time and patience. You have to make the dough, knead the dough until it’s baby bottom smooth, cut the dough into small pieces and roll them into long ropes, let dry, then cut into tiny bits, then fry, then cook to coat them with sugar & honey. Believe me when I say it’s a process, but one I do with absolute love for those you relish picking one ball off at a time. For years my grandmother never let me knead the dough. And she watched over me as I rolled the ropes. Too thin, too thick. Ok, that’s just right. And while she was alive, I think I was only allowed to fry them once on my own. It was a decades long apprenticeship.
The other stand out fav is the Grandma cookie. I guess every family has their own version of a Grandma Cookie. For our part, we have no idea where our recipe originated, or if my Grandmother invented it herself. My Grandma Perri made them, without any written recipe. It was simply all kept in her head. Finally, one year we got smart. We carefully watched he, measured what she tossed in the bowl, and wrote it all down in order to preserve the legacy forever. She called them Grandma Cookies. So we called them Grandma Cookies. And that is how they will remain. The cookie made by my Grandmother.
Just as with the Struffoli, it was years before she allowed me to do certain tasks. I had to earn my level of involvement, proving that I mastered the previous task. And to be honest, there are still times when I wish they were both right behind me so I could ask them questions or have them tell me that I’m doing it right.
The texture of these are more like a mini cake/scone than a cookie. And the way my grandmother made them was not a beautiful work of art. No, no, the icing was and still is simply brushed on willy nilly, and sprinkles are spooned over top. And to be honest, I’m all for that method. True, that those immaculately glazed cookies are a thing of beauty but all that work destroyed after one bite. Heck, it tastes the same no matter the decoration.
For anyone who has had these cake like cookies they know what I’m talking about. They are so darn good. And because they are beloved… We literally make a table load.
Yards of Grandma Cookies.
It has always been a family affair but when some family members can’t make the trip, they join in by FaceTime.
Nicolette calling in from NC and marveling at the amount of Grandma Cookies we made. Those are her favorite, as her sisters Gabrielle and Michella, too.
It’s a tradition I try hard to fulfill each year. No matter what is going on, or how crazy the season gets I do my very best to bake up a storm. But this tradition took a turn these past several years due to the pandemic. I have been making everything by myself and then ship them to family. It was quite the adjustment. The other big change was that I starting selling my baked goods, so certain protocols and procedures are taken for customer orders. You can check out my SHOP PAGE to see what’s cooking.
Head covering, gloves are always used.
However, Grandma Cookies and Struffoli are still purely a family tradition. And this year I was looking forward to welcoming back my crew of apprentices. But as luck would have it, schedules shifted and we are making a big move for my parents from Long Island to Westchester smack dab in the middle of the holidays. Thus the cookie manufacturing plant has been postponed until they get settled and we can all reconvene again. Maybe that’s why I decided to write this post. I wanted desperately to get back to the holiday traditions I know and love. So sharing this holiday love story will have to do until my parents are settled in, and back right by my side.
I can always count on them for any task. I love having them help me.
No matter how these cookies are packaged, they come from deep in my heart, and made with pure love.
I end as I began with my mouth wide opened laughing in the kitchen, with my Grandmothers on my spiritual shoulders.
Thank you for indulging me this trip down memory lane. Sharing the abundance of togetherness, laughter and holiday cheer is the best way of honoring the past, living in the present and ensuring the future.
From my family to yours, I wish you all the very happiest of holidays. Joyous of years filled with peace and bliss, adventure and wonder, laughter and giggles, health and more health all stirred with the largest amount, and only ingredient that matters… LOVE.
