Peanut Butter Blossoms
- 1/2 cup granulated sugar
- 1/2 cup brown sugar, packed
- 1/2 cup vegetable shortening
- 1/2 cup peanut butter
- 1 large egg
- 1 tsp vanilla extract
- 1/2 tsp baking soda
- 1/4 tsp salt
- 48 Hershey kisses
If there was a single recipe to encompass the relationship between my grandma and I, this simple cookie recipe would be it. When I was a kid, she would invite me to her house every year for a Christmas cookie baking day. We’d pick out the recipes, gather the ingredients, and spend all day baking dozens and dozens of cookies to give out for the holidays. This recipe we made every year. I cannot remember if she gifted me this cook book in 2005 or 2006, but every year we baked together she would write a note inside. The first note is from 2006, and she mentioned these specifically. I had originally planned on making a lot more Christmas cookies this year, but free time is scarce, so I only got around to making these and the classic Tollhouse chocolate chip cookies.
This recipe is fairly simple, using just the creaming method. Blending fats and sugars, egg and vanilla, then adding your dry ingredients. Once your dough is formed, you’ll roll these into small balls (about once inch in diameter), coat them in sugar, and bake at 375 °F for 10-12 minutes. Mine took exactly 12 minutes to be done.
This recipe comes from the Cookies! A Cookie Lovers Collection cookbook, which provided my grandma and I with 7 years of recipes that turned into memories I am holding so close now. While I have no doubt that most people have had these cookies before, to some varying degrees, and they even could be considered a staple holiday cookie, these truly hold such a special place in my heart. My grandma loved our cookie baking days, and she was so proud of me at 12 years old for being able to make these on my own.
As I made these cookies yesterday, I was reading through her inscriptions in my cookbook and cried. Grief is a hard subject to talk about. I think most of us have issues just expressing, or even understanding what we’re feeling. And when someone around us is grieving, it feels like you just never know what to do or say. Grief feels like being lost at sea, some days the ocean is calm and the sun is so bright, and hope feels tangible. Other days, there is a storm and the sea is pulling you under. It’s so hard to explain how grief comes in waves, and even months and years later you can be flipping back and forth between bargaining and denial and acceptance.
My biggest struggle with grief has always been the rabbit hole of “I should have” thoughts. I couldn’t help myself from spiraling while reading my grandmas messages. I should have seen her more often. I should have called. I should have made time to bake with her every year. I should have tried harder. I should have. I should have. I should have.
But I know it’s too late for I-should-have’s.
Instead, I will keep baking. I will keep cooking. I will make her recipes, and our cookies, and new recipes. I’ll type them, and post them online. I will continue to make more memories with my family, and find new favorite foods and look forward to our staple holiday recipes. I’ll think of grandma sitting at the kitchen table unwrapping a bag of Hershey’s kisses, listening to me talk about school and answering my cooking questions. I’ll think about my grandpa and how excited I used to be to offer him the very first cookie of the holiday season. I’ll make her jello ribbon salad every year, and inhale deeply to remind myself of her kitchen that always smelled like warm pineapple and melted marshmallows. And I’ll cry, because that’s okay, and I’ll keep baking.
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