Magnificent Sugar Cookies

Amalia Dayle

  I woke up at 7:00 AM  determined to have an amazing Christmas Eve. I was sitting on the sofa the cold air brushed on me. I stopped and thought. What is something I can do to make this day special ? People have countless traditions, things people do that are really significant to them and their families. Suddenly, a burst of inspiration came to me.My brain filled with excitment. “Come Davida !” I shouted to the other room so my sister was able to hear me. She turned off the movie she was watching on her ipad and came to see what was going on. I quickly explained my plan to her. “Amalia, making sugar cookies is an amazing idea!”

   Together we paraded into the kitchen. It’s a small part of my living room with a stove, an oven, a fridge, cupboards, and a sink. “But wait, how are we going to find the recipe?” I thought. “Davida grab your ipad” I say. She went in the bedroom and got her Ipad. She came back with her Ipad in her hands. Quickly I took it and searched up “sugar cookie recipe”. We searched and searched until we found the perfect recipe. “ Chewy Christmas Cookies,” the website stated. “Ok,Davida get the ingredients” We both opened  the fridge and got the flour,sugar,baking soda,butter eggs and vanilla. Then we brought out our tools,measuring cup, measuring spoon, two big bowls and a whisk.

    We measured all the of the ingredients and put them in separate containers so we could easily distinguish them. My sister turned up the oven to preheat it to 350°. I could tell she was extremely happy and excited because of the huge smile on her face. I went to get a bowl from the pantry and mixed the flour, baking soda, and salt. Then my sister took another bowl and began creaming the sugar and butter. Her hands were grabbed the whisk and spun the batter. She took the eggs cracked the shell,“crack crack” and the gooey egg spilled out.She added brown vanilla extract, which gave the batter a brownish color. We then blended both mixtures and mixed it thoroughly. Then we put the dough in another bowl and put saran wrap on top of it. I waited for an hour to let the dough chill. In the meantime we sat on our couch and watched YouTube on my sister’s Ipad.

    An hour later,  “Davida,get the roller and the cookie cutters.” I said. She took the roller and with all her force rolled the dough to flatten it. Sweat poured down her face like water from a water spout. She then went to the bathroom to wash it off. Then, I took an ungreased cookie sheet and placed it on the counter. “Come on, it's time!” she told me. This was the moment we were waiting for. The most fun part. We took our cookie cutters and gently pressed them into the flattened dough. First the Christmas tree, then the star… The shapes looked beautiful and would surely stand out. We continued until our dough was done. As team, we placed the cookies on the cookie sheet each two inches apart from another. Then we carefully opened the oven. The hot brushed air my face. It felt as if the sun was blowing on my face. I then put in the cookie sheet. While they were baking, we sat down and envisioned  how amazing our cookies would turn out. We wafted at the sweet scent of baking cookies. I tapped my fingers on the table waited for time to come. The smell made me feel like I was in paradise.After patiently waiting for 10 minutes it was time to see if they were cooked. My sister took a toothpick and gently poked at the the cookie. It was solid. No batter went on the toothpick which meant it was cooked.

     We put on our oven gloves and took the cookie sheet out of the oven and set them on the plate. We repeated everything for the leftover batter until all the cookies were made. Finally, I looked at all of the cookies. They were missing something, I thought. I went to see what I had in the pantry and found some colorful sugar. I sprinkled a little sugar on each of the cookies. Perfect, they looked amazing. I grabbed the first cookie, excited to taste it. As I look a bite my teeth sunk into the cookie. The cookie was moist and had the most delicious taste. That night we all sat at the dinner table and after eating, my sister and I pulled out our special treat.

“Tada!” We said in unison.

“Amalia, Davida! They are amazing,” my mom said.

My dad grabbed a cookie. “And they taste fabulous!” he said.

“Merry Christmas Eve!” we said. That feeling made me always treasure that Christmas Eve because it reminded me of the most delicious cookies I ever made.

• 2 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 1/4 cups margarine
• 2 cups white sugar
• 2 eggs
• 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
• 1/4 cup sugar for decoration       
• a whisk
• two big bowls
• saran wrap            

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). In a medium bowl, stir the flour, baking soda, and salt (together); set aside.
2. In a large bowl, cream the margarine and 2 cups sugar together until light and fluffy. Beat  the eggs in one at a time, when done add  the vanilla. Gradually stir in the dry ingredients until just blended.
3. Cover and let the dough chill for an hour
4. Place cookies 2 inches apart onto ungreased cookie sheets.
5. Bake for 8 to 10 minutes in the preheated oven, until lightly browned at the edges. Allow the cookies to cool on a baking sheet for 5 minutes before moving to a wire rack to cool them completely.

                                                                                                                                                     

A Sip of Summer

by Prof. Hill

The sun beats down, summoning tiny beads of sweat to the back of my neck.  My hands are stained a bloody red, augmented by the July light. The further I wade in, the more the sharp tiny snares catch my skin. Despite the constant scratches, I persevere.  After all, I’m on a mission, and I’m determined to reach my treasure.  I awkwardly hold back a long, snaking branch in my right hand and twist my left underneath to where the bounty awaits: three more sweet, juicy, perfectly ripe berries.  No – four. Five! Definitely worth it, I think, clutching them gently in my palm and just ducking to miss the chain reaction snap! of a branch toward my face as I retreat. 

            I drop the berries into the quickly-filling colander and look up.  It is a blue sky, white cloud day, and in a tiny moment of silence, the buzz of busy insects creates an audible murmur in the still, humid air.  I look down at my hands; the little splotches now drying to a deep pink are accented by a thread of blood, a battle wound thanks to the scratch of the bush’s claws.  Up my wrist, another scratch has settled in, this one thanks to an attempt at dressing Boo in doll clothes. The scratches are hardly an imposition, though, and more a regular part of the summer dress-up routine: just another necessary layer to add to my wardrobe of bathing suits and towels, flower crowns, long “prairie” skirts, and bare feet.

            The rustle of branches breaks the hum and RaeAnne appears from the other side of the bushes, a handful of berries in her hands. 

“Look!” she sings, holding out the handfuls she can barely contain in one hand, and then squeals as a berry tumbles to the ground. I rescue the fallen soldier and grab the colander just in time for RaeAnne’s handful to pile in. 

We don’t even need to speak to know what comes next, communicated instead by a look at each other in best friend agreement: it’s time for a treat.  “Where’d my sister go?” I ask, but before RaeAnne can think of an answer I begin shouting, “Liiiiiiii-iiiizzz!” making her single-syllable nickname ring out as two.  “Where aaaaaare you?”  Out there, surrounded by the field and the horses and the river, there is no need for indoor voices; in fact, they prove rather useless when trying to locate a tree-climbing sister.

“I’m coooooming!” she says, her voice being met with the rustle of trees.  The peach tree behind gives a shudder as she plops down onto the grass below and emerges with three rather decrepit-looking peaches in hand.  “I got these,” she says. “They’re the only ones that were ripe, except one way up top that I couldn’t reach.”  For Liz to be unable to reach, you know that peach must’ve been hiding out in the tippy-top branches, as the perfect peaches are aught to do. 

“We can cut those up,” I say, as Liz reaches for a berry from the colander in my hands.  “Hey!” I cut in.  “You can’t eat them all.”

“Ugh!” my sister groans with an eye roll.  “Let’s go inside.”

Of course I can’t blame her for sampling some berries; they are better than any candy: ripe and sweet and fresh.  As we set off toward the house, I sheepishly follow suit myself, popping a few berries into my mouth when no one’s looking. With each bite, summer comes pouring over my tongue. Beautiful, free, fresh-air summer.

We parade into the house, Boo following at a safe distance, curious to see where we’re going, but not curious enough to risk another run-in with kitty dress up.  The hot gravel on the driveway reminds us that we’re leaving the grass carpet and makes us hop on tiptoe until we’ve reached the other side.  Tucker emerges for a pat on the way in, rustling out from under the bushes that fan the door.  Mom is in the yard raking leaves, but we scoot in before she even realizes we’ve left the yard. 

The familiar hollow sound of aluminum clanks against the latch as the screen door ushers us into the house.  We pause for a quick wipe off our feet on the mat.  The concrete and tiles of the garden room floor are cold on our summer feet, and I can’t help but feel a twinge of worry as I notice the damp prints left behind by our footsteps.  I hope they disappear before Mom notices.

We shuffle into the kitchen.  Liz crouches under the stove to pull out the heavy glass blender and situates it on the counter.  I hold the colander under the faucet as RaeAnne turns it on, the pink water draining out from the berries, which quickly turn into a mush as their hot sun swell explodes. 

As the berries dry, I peek into our old wooden rewired icebox refrigerator for some additions.  I procure a bottle of raspberry ginger ale from the back of the top compartment while RaeAnne squeezes through and pries open the freezer to the left.  “Ooo!” she squeals. “Vanilla ice cream!” 

We grab the scoop and fill the blender.  A scoop of ice cream, a handful of berries, a splash of ginger ale. Repeat.  We all work together but barely need to confer because we’ve made similar concoctions so many times before.  Liz puts the cap on the pitcher and presses the “Frappe” button, the sound jarring the kitchen’s otherwise cool peace.

            As the blender bubbles to a stop, Liz pops off the cap before it has fully settled, calling forth a gurgle and splash.  The sweet smell of raspberry fills the kitchen. “Mmmm,” we all say in unison, and then break into a peel of giggles at our unintended jinx.

            “Let’s try it,” I say, grabbing three spoons from the drawer. “Mmmmm.” We giggle again, even louder this time.

            We pour our concoction into four cups and then head for the door.  “What should we call it?” muses RaeAnne. 

“Summer Spectacular!”

“Raspberry Dream!”

“Heavenly Raspberry Dream!”

“Hey, we forgot the peaches!” I realize, though none of us mind; the raspberry whatever-it-is is truly a drink of the gods.

Mom can’t miss us now, as we march out the door and up the winding path.  “Want to try our creation!?” I shout out before we’re fully within earshot.

“Mmmm.  What did you make?” Mom asks. 

“Raspberry Surprise!” I say, handing her the glass. 

            “No, Raspberry Spectacular!” says RaeAnne.

“Mmmm,” she says again. We all feel the same way about fresh-picked summer raspberries.  She takes a sip.  “Delicious, girls!  That is certainly spectacular.”  Rake in hand she looks at us and raises her eyebrows in motherly fashion.  “Is the kitchen a mess?”

“Nooo…” Liz says.

“We’ll clean it up after we have our drinks,” I add.

We spread a towel on the pool’s edge and sit dipping our feet into the pool water. Liz reaches down to scoop up a dragonfly that has landed on the water’s edge. 

“Mmmm,” is all we can say. 

The cream and berries on that hot summer day come together in a taste I can only describe as “childhood summer.” It is seldom now that I taste a perfectly fresh raspberry, but when I do, it’s a mouthful of July on the Merrimack River.  Add a dash of gingerale or a hint of ice cream, and there we are, bathing suits and wet ponytails, calloused outdoor feet and swingsets, teepees, and tractors.  Another sip and there is the laughter, the sweet scent of fresh-mowed grass, our red-stained fingers.  We are content and free and so happy, a feeling that I sometimes find myself craving alongside a mouthful of Raspberry Spectacular.

Raspberry Spectacular!

Ingredients:

2 pints fresh raspberries

2 cups vanilla ice cream

3 cups raspberry ginger ale (or ice or yogurt or milk!)

1. Pick fresh raspberries

2. Wash the fresh raspberries

3. Layer a scoop of ice cream, a handful of berries, and a splash of whatever liquid you’re using into the blender.

4. Blend on high for one-two minutes. Adjust ingredients to reach desired consistency.

5. Pour into glasses and take outside.

6. Have a sip of summer. J