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Yesterday I made a Swedish Christmas cookie called "mandelformar", which makes me think of my mormor. And now I am going to share my favorite story. A thread. (1/n)
This particular cookie, at least in my family's incarnation, is made in little fluted cookie tins. When I was a kid, I distinctly recall my mother's efforts to get unbroken cookies out of the tins. It was a "DONT GO INTO THE KITCHEN" experience for the kids (2/n)
In a batch of 24 she would get maybe 3 good ones, with the rest little broken (delicious! but broken) pieces. She would carefully save them in a special tin for Christmas day.
On Christmas Eve we would go to Mormor's house, where she would have dozens of perfect cookies. (3/n)
On Christmas Eve we would go to Mormor's house, where she would have dozens of perfect cookies. (3/n)
"How do you get them out?" mom would always ask.
"Oh, you know, lots of butter in the tins." Mormor would say, waving her hands.
Every year, more butter in tins. No progress on broken cookies.
I want to be clear, Mormor had for sure seen mom's attempts (4/n)
"Oh, you know, lots of butter in the tins." Mormor would say, waving her hands.
Every year, more butter in tins. No progress on broken cookies.
I want to be clear, Mormor had for sure seen mom's attempts (4/n)
This went on for my entire childhood. At least 20 years, probably more before I was born.
(5/n)
(5/n)
Finally, one year, shortly before she passed, she finally gave it up.
You have to smash the tin down on it's bottom, and then the other way. The cookie comes right out. EVERY TIME.
She was like, "Oh, I didn't mention that?"
I miss her. (n/n)
You have to smash the tin down on it's bottom, and then the other way. The cookie comes right out. EVERY TIME.
She was like, "Oh, I didn't mention that?"
I miss her. (n/n)
