Columns

Love in Every Bite

For many years, I’ve written an annual zucchini column for The Spokesman-Review’s Food section.

It started when my husband planted our first garden and made the rookie mistake of planting three zucchini plants.

The abundance of zucchini prompted me to delve into my cookbooks and recipe files. It also led me to give the gift of a gourd to friends, neighbors and random strangers who offered to take some squash off my hands.

This was when our two youngest sons were still at home. They resignedly ate the resulting side dishes, casseroles and soups, and happily devoured the breads, cakes and cookies that resulted from our garden abundance.

Flash forward to our empty nest and more manageable zucchini crop. Manageable because we’ve reduced the size of our crop, and I learned how well the resulting baked goods freeze.

My Norwegian brother-in-law is a big fan of my chocolate zucchini bread. He and his wife have a beautiful saltwater swimming pool in their backyard and graciously allow us to swim on sweltering summer days.

A tasty homemade thank-you gift is always ready in my freezer. This year, I upped the ante with chocolate zucchini cupcakes studded with chocolate chips.

Earlier in the summer, a friend had ankle surgery. Her husband is in my writing group. Zucchini isn’t the only garden goodie that lends itself to baking. Our bumper crop of raspberries became a decadent coffee cake. I served some to my group and sent the rest home for Sarah.

Twice a month, we host a family dinner. I never have to worry about dessert because I’ve got plenty of zucchini peanut drop cookies or zucchini chocolate chip cookies on hand. All that’s needed is a carton of vanilla ice cream.

I may have read too many “Little House on the Prairie” books as a child, because nothing makes me feel more accomplished than having homemade goodies on hand. I’m like Laura Ingalls Wilder, but with an upright freezer instead of a root cellar.

Where does it all go?

Well, this summer I served lemon zucchini bread with lemon glaze to a former member of my writing group and his wife.

They’d moved to Montana a few years ago. When I had the opportunity to interview them about their new ministry, I invited them to our backyard gazebo. When they left, I sent the leftover dessert with them to sweeten their journey home.

My Norwegian brother-in-law is a big fan of my chocolate zucchini bread. He and his wife have a beautiful saltwater swimming pool in their backyard and graciously allow us to swim on sweltering summer days.

A tasty homemade thank-you gift is always ready in my freezer. This year, I upped the ante with chocolate zucchini cupcakes studded with chocolate chips.

Earlier in the summer, a friend had ankle surgery. Her husband is in my writing group. Zucchini isn’t the only garden goodie that lends itself to baking. Our bumper crop of raspberries became a decadent coffee cake. I served some to my group and sent the rest home for Sarah.

Twice a month, we host a family dinner. I never have to worry about dessert because I’ve got plenty of zucchini peanut drop cookies or zucchini chocolate chip cookies on hand. All that’s needed is a carton of vanilla ice cream.

Every season, I find new recipes to try, and during my weekly phone call with our Texas son, I told him I’d been baking chocolate chip zucchini bread.

“You should send me some,” he said.

I’ll be popping a loaf in the mail soon.

Last week, I got a text from one of my closest friends. Her only sibling had died unexpectedly.

Stunned and saddened, I pulled a loaf of orange chocolate chip zucchini bread from my freezer. On the way to her house, I stopped at the store and bought a sympathy card and an Uber Eats gift card.

I know she appreciated the gifts and my presence, but it was the zucchini bread she mentioned more than once.

When forced to swallow the bitter pill of loss, a taste of homemade sweetness sometimes offers a moment of respite.

All I know is my freezer full of baked zucchini goods makes me feel prepared for whatever celebration or sadness lies ahead.

Over the years, I’ve cut these breads and cakes into wedges, rectangles and squares. I’ve served it on glass trays, porcelain saucers and paper plates.

Anyway I slice it, it all adds up to love.

Columns

Brown sugar cookies bring sweet memories

Chocolate chip cake bars, cowboy cookies, gingersnaps, snickerdoodles – on most Saturdays, Mom’s kitchen was filled with the fragrance of fresh-baked cookies.

When my youngest son started kindergarten and I returned to work, Mom assumed my children might never get a homemade cookie again. So she baked. Cookies were her love language.

Mom didn’t drive, so one of us would stop by her house to pick up the goodies. See what she did there? A Saturday visit from her daughter, son-in-law or a grandson was guaranteed.

Of all the treats Mom baked, brown sugar cookies were my favorite. Sweet and chewy with an added spark of cinnamon. It’s impossible to eat just one, so I often secreted a stash away from Derek and my boys.

In August, I came across her handwritten recipe.

My future daughter-in-law was coming to meet the wedding florist in my home to choose flowers for the bouquets and boutonnieres. I planned to serve them tea and cookies, and as I thumbed through my recipes, a flash of Mom’s tidy penmanship caught my eye.

Brown sugar cookies.

I hadn’t tasted them since she moved into an assisted living community seven years ago. I’ve baked a lot of cookies over those years, but I didn’t have the heart to make my favorites.

I wanted to remember how they tasted when she pulled them from the oven and placed a warm cookie in my hand.

I wanted to picture Mom in her element – stirring dough with a wooden spoon in the sunshine yellow mixing bowl and scooping dollops onto her battered and bent cookie sheets.

If I’d known that long ago batch would be the last one she’d be able to bake, I would have savored each bite, feeling her love in the sweetness of every mouthful.

Now, Mom’s memories are jumbled and fragmented. The details of hundreds of meals and thousands of cakes and cookies she churned out are lost somewhere in the depths of dementia.

It felt like it was time to fold new memories into the richness of the old. So, I affixed the recipe to the range hood and assembled the ingredients.

While they baked, I spread one of Mom’s lace cloths on the table and warmed a teapot for my guests, just like she showed me.

The timer rang, and I pulled a pan of cookies from the oven. As usual, I couldn’t wait for them to cool. I juggled one from hand to hand and finally sank my teeth into the deliciousness of brown sugar and cinnamon. They were every bit as wonderful as those that came from Mom’s kitchen.

I shouldn’t have waited so long to make them.

When Naselle arrived, I served the cookies on the glass dessert plates we used at my wedding 38 years ago.

Of course, she loved the cookies.

For her bridal shower, I created a cookbook filled with favorite family recipes. I included Mom’s piecrust and a copy of her handwritten brown sugar cookie recipe.

I hope the memory of the day I finally made Mom’s cookies will be as sweet as the ones I have of her baking for my boys.

But if that moment fades or is lost to me in the haze of age or illness, perhaps my daughter-in-law will bake a batch and remember for me.

Brown Sugar Cookies

1 cup shortening

2 cups brown sugar

2 eggs

2 tablespoons water

2 teaspoons vanilla

3 ½ cups flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon cinnamon

Cream shortening and sugar. Add eggs, water and vanilla. Sift dry ingredients and mix well. Take small balls of dough and mash down with a glass dipped in sugar and cinnamon.

Bake at 350 degrees for 8-10 minutes on a greased cookie sheet.