The Spice Cookie Story

The Spice Cookie Story

      When I was fifteen growing up in the Chicago area, I felt it was very important to learn the necessary cooking skills to carry on the family’s culinary traditions.  For example learning how to make the super thin, crisp, Christmas Spice Cookies was paramount.  So I nagged my grandmother sufficiently to allow me to be part of the annual production and learn under her wing.  I loved the smell of cinnamon and cloves while I rolled out the dough until it was paper thin, cut out the shapes, and ate the extra scraps.

     It happened that the deep cold came before Christmas that year, and the wind chill was, of course, below zero.  We called Grama’s house “the country”, because she lived in an area where the ranch style houses had larger lots, and was surrounded by meadows and farms.  While rolling out the spice cookies, there came a ring at the door.  My grandmother invited a lady inside who I did not recognize.  She was probably in her late twenties or early thirties, and she wore a green tweed coat which had a distinctive odor.  She had been walking, but from where?  They made small talk about the cookie preparations etc. and the woman said she had not started her baking yet.  “Yes, it was very cold ,” and there was some talk of oil furnaces not working right.  She could not stay, and had to go.  Then I saw Grama discreetly slip some cash into her gloved hand without drawing any notice to it.

     When she left, I asked, “Who was that?”  “Oh, that is the couple who moved into the abandoned farm house down the street about a mile,” she answered.  I asked what she wanted, and she told me that she came to beg.  I said, “But she did not ask for anything.  She was talking about cookies.”   “Yes she did, it was obvious what she needed,” was her only reply.  I later realized that the lady would probably not be making cookies that year, and my grandmother probably knew that too, yet carried on conversation with her to help make her feel whole. 

     Christmas Eve came with all the usual anticipation of family, presents, and food.  At some point during the day Grama decided it would be a good idea to get together some groceries, oil, and my Grandfather (the man who could fix anything mechanical in the house - really).  The plan was: they would drop off the food and while there, PaPa would fix the furnace to make sure the couple had heat.  Poor PaPa, his futile response was, “Now?  On Christmas Eve?”   Off they went, and later they returned, their mission successful.

     Now over 30 years later, as I teach my son to roll out the super thin Spice Cookies, I tell him the story of how his great grandmother Tessem honored the dignity of a stranger in need.  Her Exceptional Spirit brought Exceptional Comfort.