Asta's Danish Brown Cookies, Part I
I started typing out the Danish spice cookie recipe for Broos and it kept growing because it's a recipe that is more than a list of ingredients. It's is a story of friendship and female bonding. So, first the story. Tomorrow the recipe. Anticipation is part of the holiday season. :)
When I lived in Hawaii, I led the leisurely life of a young officer's wife with small children. I stayed at home, did volunteer work and chatted with other wives who were similarly situated.
Cheryl and I bonded instantly when we met. Our husbands were in the same unit. Her son Ryan and my son Phil are only months apart age-wise so when she and I met, we were both at that carry-a-child-on-the-shoulder stage. We were adept at doing everything with only one hand, since the other one was supporting the diapered bum of one of our children. We both owned 2-door Isuzu Troopers. To strap our children in, we'd push open a sliding window and slip the baby into his seat through that; when we traveled together, we'd have Ryan's seat beside one window and Phil's by the other so we could get them in and out at the same time.
Chris remembers Ryan as "the boy who got glass in his eye," owing to a store's stupidly placing a bin of fluorescent tubes beside the kids' toys and me and Cheryl not noticing until too late. Ryan wielded one like a light saber and it shattered, splashing him with the tube's innards. He didn't really get glass in his eyes but the way he was yowling we were sure he'd done something (this is one of the few trips I made to the ER without one of my children being the patient). Some nights, Cheryl would show up at my house after our families were asleep and she and I would eat Skor bars (I kept a stash in the fridge) and play the original Legend of Zelda. We talked on the phone for hours, stopping only when the batteries died or our husbands came home from work.
One day before Thanksgiving 1990, Cheryl told me to send Phil to a babysitter as she and I were going to Asta's house for cooking lessons.
Asta was a feisty, elderly woman who taught cooking to supplement her income. The lessons were held in her airy kitchen, which was filled with plants, pots, cookie jars and a big table that was perfect for gathering around on a cool morning to learn the art of layered gelatin molds, which is why Cheryl and I were there. For five bucks, plus bringing your own ingredients, you would go home that afternoon with a beautiful rainbow layered concoction with designs that would be revealed upon un-molding.
((For those who need to know, the idea is to make about a ½ inch layers of Royal gelatin in various colors the night before in cake pans, then cut designs out of those pans using tiny cookie cutters. On this day, Cheryl and I each created turkey designs in the bottom of our Tupperware gelatin ring molds, lightly oiled with liquid Crisco, with a Cool Whip lid instead of the one that creates a tube (Asta insisted that we could only use Cool Whip lids and fretted when my Cool Whip Lite lid wouldn't fit properly - so she gave me one from her own collection) then covered them with a very thin layer of lemon Royal gelatin mixed with cream cheese and Knox gelatin. "Do not use Jell-o!" admonished Asta, "It doesn't melt fine enough!" Take cream cheese (that's been left on the counter overnight; Asta's recipes were big on sitting things out overnight) and use a wide spatula to press and mix it gently into lemon gelatin, pressing and stirring so as not to get "fleas," as Asta called the floating, unmixed particles of cream cheese. Carefully pour this onto the cut-outs. While it sets, make clear lemon gelatin and carefully pour it onto the partially set cream cheese layer. Repeat with layers of orange, lime and finally strawberry Jell-o. The red is the only layer made with Jell-o brand and Asta would rant about it was the whole time we mixed it. The chief delight of this whole process, which takes an entire day and is best suited to two people, is the un-molding, after which you get to see the little cut out bits of gelatin like stained glass atop the mold. The rainbow layering is an added visual delight when viewed from the side. But I digress….))
When we arrived, Asta was not quite ready for our class and told Cheryl to get down some coffee cups so we could relax a moment before beginning. "You can tell how often I've come here; I know where everything is," Cheryl laughed as she headed straight to the correct cupboard to get the cups. Asta set out a plate of various cookies and as Cheryl and I praised them, Asta rooted around and gave us photocopies of the recipes upon which I scribbled notes as Asta explained the various steps. "I teach classes on these too, but it's too late in the year to make the brown ones. They have to sit. Come next year and I'll teach you."
Over the course of the day, as Cheryl and I layered gelatin, Asta talked about the cookies enough that I felt brave enough to try them at home. They do need to sit. Over time, the flavor blossoms into something like a gingersnap, although there's no ginger in these. What I remember as I make them is being in Asta's kitchen on a sunny morning with my best friend while we learned about the hardships in World War II that brought Asta to America; about her late husband who had been a cook for the Sheraton (he had made a Matson liner out of sugar that Asta kept in a glass case in her living room); about her "Wednesday ladies" that came each week and had already learned everything Asta could teach, but kept coming back -- "They're driving me nuts!" -- and about cooking. Cheryl and I were in Asta's kitchen from 9AM until 1PM. We later did these gelatin molds at my place for other holidays, but this first one is my favorite memory.
Asta passed away earlier this year. I wish I'd gone back for more classes.
When I lived in Hawaii, I led the leisurely life of a young officer's wife with small children. I stayed at home, did volunteer work and chatted with other wives who were similarly situated.
Cheryl and I bonded instantly when we met. Our husbands were in the same unit. Her son Ryan and my son Phil are only months apart age-wise so when she and I met, we were both at that carry-a-child-on-the-shoulder stage. We were adept at doing everything with only one hand, since the other one was supporting the diapered bum of one of our children. We both owned 2-door Isuzu Troopers. To strap our children in, we'd push open a sliding window and slip the baby into his seat through that; when we traveled together, we'd have Ryan's seat beside one window and Phil's by the other so we could get them in and out at the same time.
Chris remembers Ryan as "the boy who got glass in his eye," owing to a store's stupidly placing a bin of fluorescent tubes beside the kids' toys and me and Cheryl not noticing until too late. Ryan wielded one like a light saber and it shattered, splashing him with the tube's innards. He didn't really get glass in his eyes but the way he was yowling we were sure he'd done something (this is one of the few trips I made to the ER without one of my children being the patient). Some nights, Cheryl would show up at my house after our families were asleep and she and I would eat Skor bars (I kept a stash in the fridge) and play the original Legend of Zelda. We talked on the phone for hours, stopping only when the batteries died or our husbands came home from work.
One day before Thanksgiving 1990, Cheryl told me to send Phil to a babysitter as she and I were going to Asta's house for cooking lessons.
Asta was a feisty, elderly woman who taught cooking to supplement her income. The lessons were held in her airy kitchen, which was filled with plants, pots, cookie jars and a big table that was perfect for gathering around on a cool morning to learn the art of layered gelatin molds, which is why Cheryl and I were there. For five bucks, plus bringing your own ingredients, you would go home that afternoon with a beautiful rainbow layered concoction with designs that would be revealed upon un-molding.
((For those who need to know, the idea is to make about a ½ inch layers of Royal gelatin in various colors the night before in cake pans, then cut designs out of those pans using tiny cookie cutters. On this day, Cheryl and I each created turkey designs in the bottom of our Tupperware gelatin ring molds, lightly oiled with liquid Crisco, with a Cool Whip lid instead of the one that creates a tube (Asta insisted that we could only use Cool Whip lids and fretted when my Cool Whip Lite lid wouldn't fit properly - so she gave me one from her own collection) then covered them with a very thin layer of lemon Royal gelatin mixed with cream cheese and Knox gelatin. "Do not use Jell-o!" admonished Asta, "It doesn't melt fine enough!" Take cream cheese (that's been left on the counter overnight; Asta's recipes were big on sitting things out overnight) and use a wide spatula to press and mix it gently into lemon gelatin, pressing and stirring so as not to get "fleas," as Asta called the floating, unmixed particles of cream cheese. Carefully pour this onto the cut-outs. While it sets, make clear lemon gelatin and carefully pour it onto the partially set cream cheese layer. Repeat with layers of orange, lime and finally strawberry Jell-o. The red is the only layer made with Jell-o brand and Asta would rant about it was the whole time we mixed it. The chief delight of this whole process, which takes an entire day and is best suited to two people, is the un-molding, after which you get to see the little cut out bits of gelatin like stained glass atop the mold. The rainbow layering is an added visual delight when viewed from the side. But I digress….))
When we arrived, Asta was not quite ready for our class and told Cheryl to get down some coffee cups so we could relax a moment before beginning. "You can tell how often I've come here; I know where everything is," Cheryl laughed as she headed straight to the correct cupboard to get the cups. Asta set out a plate of various cookies and as Cheryl and I praised them, Asta rooted around and gave us photocopies of the recipes upon which I scribbled notes as Asta explained the various steps. "I teach classes on these too, but it's too late in the year to make the brown ones. They have to sit. Come next year and I'll teach you."
Over the course of the day, as Cheryl and I layered gelatin, Asta talked about the cookies enough that I felt brave enough to try them at home. They do need to sit. Over time, the flavor blossoms into something like a gingersnap, although there's no ginger in these. What I remember as I make them is being in Asta's kitchen on a sunny morning with my best friend while we learned about the hardships in World War II that brought Asta to America; about her late husband who had been a cook for the Sheraton (he had made a Matson liner out of sugar that Asta kept in a glass case in her living room); about her "Wednesday ladies" that came each week and had already learned everything Asta could teach, but kept coming back -- "They're driving me nuts!" -- and about cooking. Cheryl and I were in Asta's kitchen from 9AM until 1PM. We later did these gelatin molds at my place for other holidays, but this first one is my favorite memory.
Asta passed away earlier this year. I wish I'd gone back for more classes.
Labels: cooking
posted by Owl Chick at 12/18/2001 02:47:00 PM
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