Grammie Cookies

I promised you cookies last week and gave you a gutshot deer instead. That’s just like life sometimes, ain’t it?

Forgive me.

A few weeks back, I shared with you an invitation to a poetry night, hosted by my friend, Bryan Cassidy. He welcomed us into this gorgeous yurt, built way back in time by a handful of people who were with us that night, which really sent the sweetness of the space through the roof, but I think it’s designed for just that. It’s a single round room with bench seats built into the wall all the way around - made for everyone in the room to be with everyone else in the room. There was an integrity lent to the gathering by the space that I haven’t stopped thinking about. I sent this message of thanks to Bryan the next day that kind of says how it felt:

“… It is so good for me, and too rare, to be in a beautiful room with people devoted to and engaged with beauty. I don’t mean beauty in any trivial way, but in an essential one. I think beauty might be, with our complex but limited human faculties, our most reliable compass toward goodness and truth, which are what we ultimately want, but are more slippery to discern than beauty. Everyone recognizes beauty, and last night was made of and for it…”

There were poems, songs, stories, myths, jokes, tears, nerves, synchronicities, spontaneities, surprises, and moments of understanding, glee, peace, and silence that called and responded in the round between friends and strangers. A few of you readers showed up and made me smile from ear to ear for a few days. There was lamb and cider from right there, and a whole table laid with potluck from people’s homes, including these cookies I promised you.

I shared two short poems of my own in organic response to others that had just been read, which was fun. I brought a special few by other writers, but the conversation was lively, and I didn’t feel a natural opening for these, so I thought I’d share them here. The first is Jim Harrison, and I chose it for no other reason than it felt good and right to read it in my kitchen to myself that morning. The second is a short sweet by Fanny Howe, who died a few months ago. Feels like the right time for this one. Read them out loud for me, with me. For them. For everyone in the round.

Someone suggested that I paywall this recipe and other recipes to incentivize paid subscriptions, and maybe they’re right, but I don’t want to talk about money in a place like this, and what kind of hellscape-Grammie charges for cookies? Here’s the recipe card for my Grams (and her mom’s, maybe? I don’t know who the original Grammie is) Grammie Cookies. Not sure why it’s purple. Something ‘90s photocopier related, I think. I also removed the paywall on everything in the archives for the rest of the year, so if you want a story, poem, or pictures of Sal with your cookies, you’ve got almost three years of weekly letters in there for holiday leisure reading. Most have audio readings, too, if you’d like to close your eyes a little.

I would always sub in butter for shortening, but this time, I made them a little more special to rise to the occasion, and I subbed in 3/4 C acorn flour (hot-leached), and I rolled the dough balls in maple sugar from our trees instead of cane sugar. I considered using bear fat in place of shortening instead of butter because it is actually a closer analogue, but I had reservations about serving bear fat, potluck style, to an unknown and unknowing crowd. People, throughout the world and history, tend to have strong feelings about eating bears. I think that’s an appropriate instinct and an interesting one to interact with, but I didn’t necessarily want to force that interaction onto people on this particular night. Butter is divine and gets the job done. 10 minutes for chewy, 12 for crisp in my oven. Share photos and notes here if you make them in any iteration. XO.