The Christmas Cookie, a personal history

If you stumbled into my parents’ home around the Christmas season, you’d be forgiven for thinking my father is obsessed with baking. Since I can remember, there’s always been a festival of sheet pans, cookie doughs, icings, and cookie toppings around December. The kitchen constantly smells of fresh bakes, and there’s always a treat or two waiting in the kitchen for whenever anyone gets the munchies (which was often).

Some may look at his kitchen and think it’s all a bit excessive. Not us. In our household, no matter what the year, Christmastime was the season of abundance and celebration. 

What was more, our cookies have always been unique. We had the three wise men (sugar cookies cut into wise men shapes) decorated with blue, green, and yellow sprinkles. There were the Christmas wreaths (green-dyed corn flakes bound together with marshmallows and decorated with hot tamale candies). We also made springerles representing our German heritage, Mandelflarn representing our Norwegian heritage, molasses sugar cookies, krumkake, peppermint bark. 

Even though the cookies I make might look vastly different from the ones my father baked when I was a child (and that he still bakes, in fact), those cookies still mean something to me. Without realizing it, these cookies were a reflection of our uniqueness as a family. Something that showcased who we are, where we came from. 

Baking Christmas cookies then becomes a time for reflection, a time to remember my roots, but also what’s changed in the last year for me. Giving them is of course an act of kindness, but also a way to showcase the things that matter to me, the things I want to share with others. 

And there’s always much to share.