Tradition, Tradition

Traditions Have Their Ups and Downs

How many cookie monsters do you know?  Thirty-seven years ago (or maybe thirty-six, I can’t be sure) I became one.  I know who set it in motion—it was Jane.  She shared a gift and with it a recipe.  Since that Christmas, we have prepared countless batches of them.  They have marched with us from Indiana to Atlanta to Savannah and beyond.   They became a Christmas tradition of which we grew quite fond. 

It became mine alone (for a time, at least) more than thirty years ago.  Our schedules at work set most of this in motion.  I worked days (some of them long) during the week, she worked retail—and that meant nights and weekends.  We couldn’t do it together, but it had to be done, so it became mine to do—with the help of our two little elves.   By the time we made our next corporate move (to Savannah), the elves had both outgrown what we never could--one was away at college, the other in high school.  Neither thought much (or as much as we did) of our tradition.  Some of this is explained by age—before I say it was their ages, perhaps it was ours. 

The explanation might just turn on how much older we were.  The young do not instinctively respect traditions, while olders cling to them.   We continued to make the traditional treats for the next seven years, then moved on to the Lowcountry of South Carolina.  Not two years into our stay there, we started a tradition ourselves.  For thirteen years, we adults have gathered to make them ourselves, even giving them to the youngers who have chosen not to keep it up that we know of. 

Last year, we added two of our contemporaries to this older sort of event.  There were a couple of bumps in the road this year.  First, we noticed as we broke things up and divided our production (I would never call them the “spoils.”), that the production was much darker in color.  We shrugged, and headed home.  The next morning, we noticed these darker-hued products were harder, too.  In fact, they were more rocky than crisp.  That morning, I had two more batches to cook, so I set to work, turning on the oven and setting the preheat temperature. 

 

It was then I noticed it, the previous day, when I arrived, I had asked our baker to raise the temperature.  I was sure the recipe called for a higher cooking temp.  As it turns out, I was wrong.  Looking at the recipe (written on an old card more than thirty years old), I realized I had caused the overcooking of the prior day’s output.   I sent out a note to the prior day’s participants, explaining my mistake, and promising to replace it all, which I did. 

In taking the additional steps that required, I had to prepare two new batches of dough the next day to replace the batches I cooked to keep my commitment to replace the bad batches.  Are you with me so far?   I couldn’t even follow it all.

Consequently, I made a mixing mistake on one of those batches, which I realized that afternoon, and was able to correct by doubling the size of one of these new batches.  When they rolled out of the oven, it all worked out (as far as I know so far).  So what’s next?  Will the mistakes become traditional?  Stay tuned