So much of childhood is waiting until you are old enough. Because whatever the grownups are doing that you aren’t allowed to do yet, it must be fun, right? It must be super awesome and exciting, or else the adults – who seem omnipotent and are obviously allowed to do anything they want – wouldn’t do it.

Then you grow up and most of the adult world is pretty lame. Driving? Eh. No set bedtime? Eh. And if you eat cookies whenever you want, like you swore at age ten that you would, you get to eh eh eh your tukas on the treadmill. And that  is not the cool experience you thought it would be, either.

When I was growing up, the entire extended family gathered together at my Grandad’s house for Christmas. And every year in the evening I witnessed an alluring, mysterious tradition as the women gathered in the kitchen to clean up after the feast while the men commandeered the kids’ toys and gadgets. As the women talked and washed and laughed mugs of hot buttered rum were passed around. From the outside looking in, it seemed so warm and close, awash in female camaraderie and surreptitious hooch. I wanted very badly to be part of that. And by the time I was old enough the family had gone through a lot of changes and new traditions came to fill in the spaces where old ones used to be.

Now the gathering is at my in-laws’ place, and we and my folks and various strays gather to celebrate. As the women clean up and the men assemble the kids’ toys and gadgets, I break out a bottle of champagne to pass around the kitchen. And lo, there is much rejoicing.

Then last year I developed a nasty allergy to wine. I know. Words fail me.

Since there would be no bubby, I broke out the family HBR recipe and gave it a go. Mmmm. Isn’t it nice when something you wanted so badly as a kid turns out just as wonderful when you are finally able to take part? The only women around were my mom and me, but it was just as cozy and close as it seemed when I was a kid too young to be part of it and could only watch from the doorway. Now it was my kitchen (and my mess) and my mugs.

The reason I bring it up now in February is that the recipe makes a TON of batter. And I have found that it is not just for Christmas evening. It is perfect for the nasty, cold, clammy, brutish evenings of late winter when you are shivering and it is dark out and there are no merry holidays to look forward to.

Make a batch. It will thaw your shivers.

GrannyLyn’s Hot Buttered Rum

1 qt. Vanilla Ice Cream
1 lb. Butter (no margerine, please)
1 lb. Box of brown sugar
1 Jigger rum
Boiling water

Blend ice cream, butter, and brown sugar in a blender, mixer, or food processor. Place in an air tight container and freeze. When ready to use, place 2 or 3 tablespoons of batter in a mug. Add one jigger of rum and fill with boiling water. Stir and serve.

The cookie is the perfect food.

(Well, that and pizza. I could very well live on cookies and pizza.)

Cookies can be healthy or decadent, thrown together or labored over. And they are perfect for giving, since they are of such lovely, bite-sized proportions.

Cookie making and eating is one of my favorite Christmas traditions. This year I made eight different kinds…plus fruitcake.

I made chocolate orange biscotti with hazelnuts.

I made macaroons.

I made chocolate chip oatmeal with walnuts.

And salted nut bars.

I made no bakes, which are decidedly unfancy but are much requested so I make ‘em.

I make penuche nuts because my father in law likes them and his usual source doesn’t make them anymore. I’m so glad I was given the recipe.

And I made chocolate chip ginger cookies with little candied ginger people dipped in chocolate and stuck to the top. Chocolate and ginger may sound strange at first, but trust me, it is delish.

Oh, and I also made Kahlua balls which are dark and yummy.

Now if only I can get them all in tins and keep from scarfing them myself…

Actually, it started with Halloween, but now it’s really on: holiday season! HallowThanksMas Eve.

Here I am, still recovering from Thanksgiving, (and being a vegetarian didn’t help at all – my mother-in-law is a killer cook and nearly did me in with the side dishes) and now I have to get ready for everyone to come over on Sunday for the Princess’ (and my) birthday. Then eight days later Moo turns two. Then Mr MG’s birthday bash mid-December. Then Christmas, which is over here this year. Then we host New Year’s.

Basically, the extended family should just move in for the next month.

I’ve got three birthday cakes to bake, Christmas cookies yet to finish, and the tree isn’t even assembled yet. It’s just a post standing there all naked and embarrassed in the piano room.

Oy.

Yesterday I visited Korea, China, and England. Yup, all in one day. Man am I tired.

The Princess is working her way through Sonlight’s Eastern Hemisphere Explorer this year and with each country she studies, she gets to do a “Choose Your Own Adventure” project. Some are worth more points than others, all appeal to different interests, and they vary greatly on the “pain in the tukas” scale.

She has created a South Pacific island resort, folded a bazillion Japanese paper cranes, gone on an Antarctic expedition to feed our cats, and made New Zealander Pavlova (with kiwis). Somehow we fell behind and had to make up time on projects from the last couple of countries. Being my kid, she chose adventures involving food. And I felt pretty ambitious: Why not do kimchi and egg rolls on the same day?

But it is also coming on Christmas (they’re cuttin’ down trees…) and I need to get going on the cookie tin baking. Always the first thing out of the gate is my extremely delicious, fairly flammable fruitcake. Why not throw that together, too? I asked myself.

So I began chopping cabbage. The Princess salted and rinsed the cabbage five times and chopped scallions. I finely diced approximately fifteen ingredients for the egg rolls. I measured and zested and grated and boozed the fruitcake into the mixer. Into the oven with the fruitcake (in mini loaf pans for a change) and continued prepping egg roll fillings. Mix the other stuff for the kimchi cabbage. Garlic and brandy and pepper flakes, oh, my.

Somewhere in there the kids all three had dentist appointments. Also, I had to feed these hooligans lunch or they won’t stop whining. (“Mama, you’re mean! Why do you always starve us?!”) Then the fruitcake batter ran over and hardened all over the sheet pan.

When Mr. MG walked in the door, the kitchen was an international disaster area. Bowls, peelings, splatters, and burned fruitcake bits were strewn everywhere. There was no counter space left. The baby had developed the highly useful habit of picking up scraps off the floor and throwing them in the trash. And I was exhausted to the point of slurring.

But I had six salvaged loaves of fruitcake, a jar of ripping hot fermented cabbage, and a stack of about fifty egg rolls to show for it. Plus, a very happy daughter who felt that much closer to the cultures she was studying.

Oh, and I had a hubby who washes dishes. But that wasn’t my doing. He’s just sweet like that and appreciates a good egg roll.

I think I’m going to lose my mind. How can it be possible that I love cooking, but I can’t figure out what I’m going to put on the table tonight?

Let’s start at the top, and narrow it down to what my possibilities are. So we begin with… everything. Curry. Cheeseburgers. Enchiladas. Casseroles. Stir fry. Pizza. Ostrich steak. Okay, not really that last one.

Actually, that last one is just fine by Mr. MG, who is an omnivore. The man likes just about anything no matter how weird. During his Naval globetrotting he has eaten – and liked – balut, various goat and pig parts, and a lot of stuff he can’t identify to this day. (He passed on the kangaroo in Australia, though.) The one thing he won’t eat is cilantro, which is sad because I adore it. I have tried sneaking it in things but he can taste it five minutes before it passes his lips. So no cilantro, unless it’s added after his portion is dished up.

 The rest of us are vegetarians-plus-fish. Yup, it’s a strange family dynamic, but it works for us. I don’t have a beef (har, har) with Mr. MG’s eating preferences as long as he cooks it for himself, and he doesn’t have a problem with mine as long as I knock it off with putting cilantro in everything. So our pool of supper possibilities is everything minus cilantro and anything with feet. Okay, no snakes either.

But! The Bear is violently allergic to fish. He will paint the walls with it after only a couple of bites. Also, anything with avocado or eggs genuinely gives the boy the willies. Now we are down to: Everything, minus any animal, minus cilantro, minus avocado and eggs. Fine.

Then we get to Moo. When she finally gets to potty train, a whole new world of food will open up to her. But until the days of flaming diaper rash are history, we have to say goodbye to tomatoes, citrus, anything spicier than catsup, and now the new irritant – dairy! The poor baby has had to give up her beloved cups of milk and her cheese sticks. Since she still breastfeeds, I have had to drop acidic and spicy foods, too, although I haven’t had to drop dairy yet. Please, God…

What’re we at, now? Everything, minus animals, minus cilantro, minus eggs, avocado, tomatoes, citrus, anything spicy, and the biggie – minus cheese, milk, cream, yogurt, or any of that ilk. That eliminates almost everything on the list of possibilities I began with.

I’ve already made stir fry twice this week. Scratch that.

Looks like bread and water for the lot of us.

I love just about everything about food. I love to cook. I love my kitchen. And then there’s the whole eating thing – I really, really love that part.

But I have a deep, dark confession to make. Are you ready?

I hate cooking with my daughter.

I want so badly to have fun with her. When she was a toddler, I envisioned cosy afternoons spent baking and chopping. We would stir and giggle and have tea. She would discover the magic of chemical reaction and heat that turns lowly ingredients into nourishment and pleasure and a tangible way of showing love. And even better, she would have memories of our happy times together. I wanted to carry on the tradition my mom gave me; I loved helping her cook and it launched my love of food.

But the reality of the Princess and I together in the kitchen is much different. She hates to get messy. So I do the mature thing and smear whatever we are making all over her hands. Then the whining about the whole thing taking too long sets in. (From who? Depends on the day.) Then my muttering about perseverance through gritted teeth. She’s tired, she’s bored. And when it’s all done – gasp! – I have the nerve to hand her the dish scrubber and soap.

“What? I have to wash this stuff?!”

That’s an actual quote.

So I have to say, helping her make cookies for her AWANA leader today took a double portion of patience. I wish we had had a good time. But in the end, we were both relieved to get it over with.