Maple Butter Cookies

The Nordic Ski team filed off of our yellow school bus and stepped out onto the snow covered parking lot. Several beginners, including myself, having not yet purchased our own equipment trudged up the hill to the rental shop. The cabin was small and quaint, a warm fire burned in the fireplace standing in the center of the room and the walls were lined with long wooden benches. The owner fitted us each with our own pair of skate skis and poles and, after tucking our bags beneath the wooden benches, we headed back out into the frosty air to meet up with the rest of our team.

We circled up and as our coaches discussed the plans for the day I took a moment to look over my equipment. Black wrist straps hung from the tops of my poles each with a large and small hole. Strap with small hole on the right goes with left hand, I thought to myself as I stuffed my gloved hand through the strap. This was my first time.

"V1, V2, V2 Alt. ..." One coach listed the different techniques we would be working on today and I leaned onto my poles, sliding my skis back and forth. It seemed easy enough.

We split into two groups: those who had skied for the team last year, and those who had not. The returnees wished us luck and glided off to the trails. I watched the rhythm and grace of their strides in anxious anticipation. 

When our moment came I stood tall on my skis, lifted my poles, and slid one ski forward. The other ski followed and it slipped out from under me sending me crashing to the cold snow. I stood up and tried again, and again, but the rhythm and motion that had appeared so easy and natural, just did not come.

While the others skied off onto the trails I stayed behind in the open field to work on my technique and to inevitably fall many more times. By the time the coaches called us over to pack up I was exhausted and still an embarrassingly poor skier.

Banana Cookies on Sunday

This time every year, when summer and freedom are just out of grasp and I can count the school days left on two hands, the weeks seem to stretch into eternities of stressful projects and late nights finishing homework. By the time I walk in the back door on Friday afternoon, and let my backpack fall to the floor, I'm ready to pass out on the couch with a chilled glass of juice and a good book. Friday afternoon always fades effortlessly into Sunday morning and assignments and their looming deadlines that were left behind, neglected, have to be faced head on and painstakingly started. It's the first step that's always the worst, especially when there are chocolate chips in the house.

To get through those final hours of homework, when I'd really rather be doing anything else, it always helps to have a little motivation and plenty of breaks in between. I set down my homework, preheat the oven, find that bag of chocolate chips, and dance through the kitchen with the carefree mind of someone who hasn't seen homework in years.

Making a batch of cookies is so perfectly rhythmic and peaceful, that the nagging homework can disappear for just a moment or two. Mashing up a ripe banana, gently cracking open an egg over a glass, beating chocolate chips into dough, allow all of my pent up stress to simply melt away. And of course, cookies and comics combine to make a fine Sunday morning too.

Hamantaschen

Most often I bake when I find a good recipe - whether it be from a cookbook, the paper, or on another blog - and it looks too delicious and amazing to pass up. Occasionally I'll plan ahead to make something, for a birthday, or per request from my dad; but most of the time of the time it's a spur of the moment decision, and during the week I try to juggle baking and homework. So as one could imagine, baking for homework was a wonderful change of pace.

In civics, as we've been studying Judaism, we partnered up and did a project on Jewish holidays. My partner and I didn't get any of our top three choices, instead we were assigned Purim. At first we were both a bit hesitant, having never heard of the holiday before, but we soon found out that it's known as the most festive and joyous holiday on the Jewish calender. And, get this, it comes with it's own cookie. Hamantaschen, meaning "Haman's ears" or "Haman's pockets", are best explained by the story of Esther, the event commemorated by the holiday Purim.

Esther was a beautiful Jewish woman who, after winning a beauty contest, was married to the king of Persia, King Ahasuerus. The king was not aware that Esther was a Jew, as her guardian, a Jewish leader named Mordecai, had advised her to keep this from him. The king's prime minister, Haman, hated Jews, despising Mordecai especially for refusing to bow down to him. Haman went to the king, and convinced him that the Jews needed to be eliminated from his kingdom. Once Haman was given permission to do as he saw fit, he made arrangements for the Jews to be massacred, and built a gallows where he planned to hang Mordecai.

When Mordecai discovered this he convinced Esther to talk to the king about Haman's plans. At the time, for Esther to go to King Ahasuerus without being summoned was serious crime that was punishable by death. Nevertheless she approached the king, and told him her story. Hearing of Haman's terrible plan, King Ahasuerus was furious, and he had Haman hanged in the very gallows he had built to hang Mordecai. 

Even though Haman was killed, the king's orders had already been given so the massacre could not be stopped. So King Ahasuerus gave the Jews permission to fight back, and on the 13th day of Adar they fought.  

Gingersnaps

As a kid, gingersnaps were a favorite treat of mine. They were right up there with the animal crackers that came in the little cardboard zoo boxes that I would swing around the grocery store by its string handle. We bought bags of gingersnaps often; the cookies were great as a small dessert or an extra special snack.

But as I got older we bought other kinds of of cookies at the store and my love of gingersnaps began to fade.  

By 7th grade I didn't care much for those crunchy cookies. I remember we had a party in math class with the normal array of sweets and junk food.  One girl brought in a small yellow bag: Mi-Del gingersnaps. I didn't touch them.

I didn't hate gingersnaps; I just wasn't interested. They were left forgotten among a variety of more popular name-brand cookies.

But when I came across a recipe for gingersnaps from Elissa at 17 and Baking which she had dubbed her "favorite cookie EVER" I decided to give gingersnaps another chance. With such high praise for the cookies I was eager to once again embrace the spiced cookie of my childhood.

Not surprisingly, these homemade gingersnaps were much nicer than any kind we used to buy at the grocery store. Which made me think - had I been eating warm, spiced gingersnaps from the oven I don't believe that I ever could have lost interest.