{"id":1244,"date":"2008-04-29T01:15:00","date_gmt":"2008-04-29T01:15:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/elitemporaryblog.wordpress.com\/2008\/04\/29\/because-of-the-cookies"},"modified":"2008-04-29T01:15:00","modified_gmt":"2008-04-29T01:15:00","slug":"because-of-the-cookies","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/orangette.net\/2008\/04\/because-of-the-cookies\/","title":{"rendered":"Because of the cookies"},"content":{"rendered":"
I have a confession to make. I haven\u2019t finished writing the thank you notes for our wedding gifts. It has been nine months – nine months tomorrow – and though no one has been brave enough to confirm it, it is becoming quite clear that I am the worst bride ever<\/span>. I wish someone had warned me about this when we got engaged. Maybe I would have held off on the wedding thing, or chosen a man who has legible handwriting. Instead, once all the fun stuff was over, the whole party part, I had 93 thank you notes to write. Ninety<\/span>. Three<\/span>. And as of today, I still have 18 more to go.<\/p>\n I am genuinely thankful – really, so<\/span> thankful – but even gratitude has its limits. I would much rather gather all the people around one night, all the people we want to thank, and bake a big batch of cookies, make some lemonade, and climb up on a chair and thank them. That would be much better. We could even spike the lemonade with a healthy dose of vodka, so that they would understand that we were very, very grateful. Anyway, the pen I was using to write the notes ran out of ink today. Or, rather, it dried up. Because Brandon left it uncapped on the coffee table last night, after he helped me double-check the envelopes. I do still love him, but for a minute there, it was touch and go.<\/p>\n The happy result is what you see above, cookies like oversized coat buttons, scented with lemon zest and glazed with buttermilk and sugar. They\u2019re light and tender in the center and daintily crisp at the edges, simple but unspeakably delicious. They\u2019re the type of cookie that grandmothers in fairy tales are supposed to make, the kind that look like nothing much but over time become legend. I am almost always a chocolate cookie person, but for these, I am willing to make an exception. I ate four of them after lunch today, and all I can say is thank goodness they\u2019re small, if you know what I mean. With a plate of these by my side, I think I could come to feel good about pretty much anything, even the 18 thank you notes that remain. Miss Lewis seems like the kind of lady who always kept up with her correspondence, and between you and me, I\u2019ll bet it was because of the cookies.<\/p>\n<\/a>
So I made an important decision. If we can\u2019t throw a party to thank everyone, the least I can do, I figure, is eat cookies while I write thank you notes. With my dried-up pen.<\/p>\n<\/a>
A couple of Saturdays ago, I had the dreamiest day. It was warm, almost hot, and I pushed all the windows up and opened the side door. It felt so good to be warm <\/span>for the first time in months, and it made me feel a little sleepy, so I decided to sit on the couch for a while. I rounded up all the unread food magazines that have been lying around the house for the past few months – a couple next to my desk, one beside the bed, one still in its plastic sleeve by the mail slot, all dusty and ignored – and put them on the coffee table. And then I spent the afternoon sitting there, thumbing through them, flaaaaaap, flaaaaap, flaaaaaap<\/span>. That was when I found the recipe for these sweet little buttermilk cookies.<\/p>\n<\/a>
Published in the January issue of Gourmet<\/span>, this recipe was inspired by none other than Edna Lewis<\/a>, by an essay in which she mentions serving buttermilk cookies with ice-cold lemonade. The editors at Gourmet<\/span>, eager to find a recipe for said cookies, apparently combed through her books and came away empty-handed, so they decided to create one themselves.<\/p>\n