Baking Across the Generations: Sugar Cookies I

I've been baking with Owen since he could stand next to me on a chair at the counter. I think he was 1.5; in my estimation he is officially the fourth generation of cookie-dough eaters - with only recent awareness of the necessity of baking with fresh eggs his hesitation is only a fraction of a millisecond.

I promised Owen that we would make another batch of sugar cookies; continuing the endeavor started before Christmas to find the perfect sugar cookie recipe. Maybe I should have started with Grandma Burns's Sugar Cookie recipe, it's been the staple sugar cookie in my life for as long as I can remember, instead, I tried three other recipes without satisfaction.

This Saturday afternoon, reading a photocopied version of my mother's notebook page recipe, her cursive writing textbook, it is faded and barely legible on the page; the original recipe is just as faded and the butter and vanilla stains mark the 38+ years since it was written by Maxine's daughter-in-law, Mary Elaine, my mother. The original recipe made 6-7 dozen, not bad when you have 16 kids, but I'm following the one-half recipe my mom added to left-hand margin of the page (that was enough for 6 kids) and that should be enough for Owen, Matt and I.

As I start the recipe I realize that the technique is completely different from any other recipe I've made - cutting in soft butter - What!?! I make biscuits and scones often so cutting in cold butter is one thing, but soft butter? I call my mother. She doesn't think it makes a difference, but I think it does. I've read too many Test Kitchen recipes, watched too many episodes on Food Network; Alton Brown would describe the science of the bonding and the reaction when baking. I really want to eat some perfect sugar cookies this afternoon so this is a major hiccup in my plan. Luckily Matt comes home from the grocery store and when I suggest throwing the butter in the Kitchen Aid and adding the remaining wet ingredients asks, "you're just going to disregard your ancestor's recipe?"

The truth is, I'm not, and I didn't. That is what I set out to do actually, make my grandmother's recipe and honestly, up until the point when I started to over analyze the technique, it felt right and honest and I was physically following in the steps of my paternal grandmother and my mother. So I cut in the softened butter and Owen added the egg, cream and vanilla. While not coming together at first, the warmth from my hands shaping the dough into a ball was enough to bind the dough into the color and shape I often saw resting in my parents fridge as Christmas approached. A pinch for me, and a pinch for Owen, it tasted the way it was supposed to; the way I remember.