Rural Roots ~ The holiday cookie monster

I’m in the midst of a serious relationship battle.

This battle, if not won by me, could threaten the peaceful well-being in this household and will most certainly shatter all trust developed with my husband.

It all started about three weeks ago with a pledge to my mother-in-law. Since we would be traveling to her house in B.C. for Christmas, I promised to bring lots of baking. As I made this important ‘Christmas baking pact’ with her, I had visions of gingerbread men, shortbread cookies and almond roca dancing in my head.

The very next day, after the pact had been signed via email, I devoted my day to baking. With the wants and desires of my husband’s family in mind, I set to making unique and one-of-a-kind recipes that would suit everyone’s palate.

I made some shortbread, but in order to satisfy my father-in-law’s sweet tooth, I added a ribbon of dark chocolate that ran through the centre. My mother-in-law enjoys crunch in her cookies, so I lightly toasted some pecans and added those to the recipe as well.

Then I made some biscotti for my health-conscious brother-in-law and his family. I know they watch their weight and caloric intake, so I went with whole-wheat flour, honey instead of sugar and a host of health ingredients from roasted pumpkin seeds to dried cherries, chia seeds and hemp hearts. By the end, I had created a pretty tasty concoction that, when laced with orange zest and a sprinkling of Bernard Callebaut dark chocolate chunks, didn’t taste like health food at all.

I packed my precious creations away in a Tupperware container and stashed it in the basement freezer. All was well, I thought, until I spotted a strange thing in my husband’s hand one day.

‘What is that?’ I shouted from the rooftops.

‘Oh, this? It’s a cookie?’ he stammered.

‘Where did you get it from?’ I questioned as my eyes popped out of my head.

‘From the freezer,’ he sheepishly declared.

I saw all my hopes and dreams for a baking-filled Christmas flash before my eyes.

‘How many did you eat?’ I managed to ask.

‘Oh, we’ve been having them all week,’ said my husband.

WE … who was we? ALL WEEK … how many cookies could THEY possible eat in one week?

As I went down to the freezer and saw that most of the cookies had been eaten and all of the biscotti was gone, I began to question the relationships and trusts that had been formed in our household over the course of the last two decades.

I grabbed a piece of paper and quickly wrote, ‘How to stop my family from eating the cookies?’ This note was a reminder to myself for the topic of this column. I left it on the counter, only to look at it the next day to see that ‘the enemy’ put a big X through my words and had answered my question with big black letters that read, ‘I-M-P-O-S-S-I-B-L-E.’

At that point, I had a choice. I could fight a three-week battle. Or, I could join the enemy, eat the remainder of the frozen cookies myself and prepare for the second round of warfare.

I chose to join ‘em and eat myself silly.

My new battle plan is a simple one. I’ll bake some more, but this time, I’ll wait until the day before we leave.

How many cookies could we possibly eat in one day?

Email comments to LCfroese@sasktel.net and follow Christalee Froese’s Blog at 21days2joy.wordpress.com.

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