It’s the holidays, the time to dream about holiday treats freshly baked from mom’s oven. That’s what popped into my head when I spotted some Italian Wedding Cookies on the grocery store’s bakery shelf. They looked like mom’s Mexican Wedding Cakes, those powdered sugar-dusted gems of my childhood Christmases. (Despite being called cakes – they are actually cookies). So I bought them for a half-time snack at our weekly Mexican Train game, assuming they must be similar to my favorite childhood Christmas treat.
I was disappointed in the store-bought Italian Wedding cookies. Mom’s Mexican Wedding Cakes crumbled in your mouth like buttery snowflakes. They were soft, delicate, and rich; thanks to the absurd amount of butter. (Half a cup per cup of flour. Bakers, you know that’s serious business.)
The store-bought cookies were neither buttery nor crumbly. They bordered on being crunchy. Ugh. So I was compelled to show my friends how a real Mexican Wedding Cake tastes.
In my recipe hunt, I discovered a fun fact: Mexican Wedding Cakes, Russian Tea Cakes, and Italian Wedding Cookies are practically cousins—same family, slightly different flavors. The Italians toss in a whisper of star anise, while others use different kinds of nuts or add a splash of liqueur. A Portuguese friend added Amaretto.
To confuse the issue even further, my British friends call these treats biscuits. That leads to biscuit/cookie confusion. When I watch the Great British Baking Show and its biscuit week, my ½ southern brain immediately jumps to visions of buttery, flaky pastry smothered in sausage gravy. My hopes crumbled when I realized they were making what we Americans call cookies. Sigh. (See Paul Hollywood’s Jammy Biscuits. (1)) Blame the Dutch. The word “cookie” comes from the Dutch koekje, brought to America in the 1600s. Ever since we North Americans have been constantly confused about biscuits and cookies.
Speaking of name confusion, my Canadian friends recently asked if “Christmas Cake” is popular in the US. It took me a minute to realize they meant fruitcake—that dense, candied fruit brick some Americans love to joke about. I think you either love Fruitcake/Christmas Cake or you hate it. I’m in the hate-it camp. IMHO, cake should be fluffy and fruit should be juicy.
For years, my in-laws sent us Fruitcake from Collin Street Bakery in Texas at Christmas. I used to eat the pecans off the top and leave the rest. If I was desperate, I’d dig out the candied cherries and leave a crumbled mess of the rest of the cake. Johnny Carson once joked, “The worst gift is a fruitcake. There is only one fruitcake in the entire world, and people keep sending it to each other.” Collin Street Bakery said their sales drastically declined after Carson’s joke. (2) To me, Carson had a point. Fruitcake is so dense it seems like it’s been sitting on the shelf for decades and has dried out.
But my Canadian friends seemed to ask the question as if Christmas Cake was a real treat. So they must be in the like it category. Hubby is a fan as long as it has good candied fruit, “You’ve gotta have good candied fruit or you’re screwed.” If you ask me, good candied fruit is an oxymoron.
One good thing about those annual Fruitcakes is I have a nice collection of tins for my sewing supplies.
Holiday treats weren’t just about eating — they were about making memories. I enjoyed helping my mom decorate sugar cookies. I wanted the cookies to look pretty. Not everyone is as serious about their cookie decorating. In high school, some boys got suspended for making anatomically correct gingerbread men and women. I wonder if they would get suspended nowadays.
I had home economics classes starting in the 6th grade. The first thing I remember was making candy. With a spoon, we pulled hot sugar syrup out of boiling water and tested it—thread stage, soft-ball stage, hard-ball stage. Thinking of it today it seems crazy that a bunch of hyperactive sixth-graders would be scooping syrup out of boiling water and poking it with their finger to see if it was soft-ball or hard-ball.
Snow cream was another winter delight. Growing up in southern Indiana, we didn’t get much snow, so when we did, it was a special treat. When we lived in Chicago you could make snow cream several times a year.
To make snow cream gather new, clean snow, preferably the middle couple of inches after a heavy snowfall. As Frank Zappa says, “Watch out where the huskies go, and don't you eat that yellow snow.” Once you have your pristine snow act quickly to add an egg (or milk or cream), sugar, and a dash of vanilla and you have snow cream. Yum.
Back then we didn’t worry about sulfur, nitrates, mercury, or formaldehyde from the air clinging to the flakes or about salmonella or bird flu from raw eggs. Ignorance was bliss. (3) Maybe we were immune because we sometimes used raw eggs. Speaking of raw eggs, my mom used to make another Christmas treat – eggnog – Milk, raw egg, and nutmeg whipped. These days, parents would probably faint at the thought of serving kids raw eggs, but back then, it was just part of the season.
So whether you call them cakes or cookies, cookies or biscuits, or love or hate Christmas Cake / Fruit Cake, enjoy the treats that make your holiday special. Happy Holidays.
References
Paul Hollywood’s Jammy Biscuits, The Great British Bake Off, Season 12
Caitlin Scott Hart, Johnny Carson’s Infamous Fruitcake Joke, CollinStreetBakery.com, Oct 4, 2021
Stacey Lastoe, Is it Safe to Eat Snow Cream?, allrecipies.com, December 27, 2021
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