This past Christmas, for the first time since I had kids, I managed to bake Christmas cookies in sufficient quantities to share. Usually I’d get one batch made, the family would eat them all, and that was the end of that. I was so pleased with my cookie trays that I think I tore my rotator cuff patting myself on the back.
The cookies didn’t go quite as far as I’d planned, however, because we had a slight incident here. The heater in our garage apartment had been acting up, and one day while I was out shopping I got a call from the police that our alarm company notified them that our smoke detector had gone off and the temperature in the garage apartment was 120 degrees. I raced home to find 3 firemen and 2 policemen in my garage apartment, playing with my worthless watchdogs. It really was 120 degrees — they said they’d never seen a room that hot that wasn’t on fire. I think it was too hot even for hot yoga. It turned out to be a broken heat relay (maybe) or thermostat (maybe) — we replaced both just in case. Anyway, after shutting off the heater, we all came downstairs, and as I stood there in my kitchen surrounded by 5 very nice policemen and firemen, all I could think to do was offer them the Christmas cookies I’d been baking for the past two weeks, which to my delight, they gladly accepted. So I packed them up a HUGE tin, and sent them off with profuse thanks and warm wishes.
Clockwise from the top: Favorite Ginger Cookies, Pistachio Cranberry Icebox Cookies, Split Seconds, Double Coconut Macaroons, Cinnamon Pinwheels, Chewy Double Chocolate Cookies, Cream Cheese Spritz, and Golden Pecan Balls in the center.