Monday, January 10, 2011

Pizzelle Day 2010

I really don't have time to sit and write just now, considering the fact that my dad and James just finished installing a set of shiny new cabinet organizers under my kitchen counter.  Of course, everything under there had to be pulled out to do it, so it looks like a Corningware factory blew up in the kitchen at the moment.  Add to that the dinner dishes, the lunches to pack, the coffee to make, the load of laundry to run, and the snow dance to do, all before eleven, and that means I need to write like the wind. 

I have been a whirling dervish lately.  I'm not sure why, but I am.  Maybe I've been stricken with a horrible case of OCD, or maybe genetics are just kicking in.  I have always been amazed at my mother's ability to go and go and never stop to rest while I've been perfectly content to hold down the couch and read.  No more, though--I'm lucky to get through three pages before I'm unconscious, because I've been in overdrive so much. 

Anyway, one of the things that kept me busy over our winter break was Pizzelle Day.  Pizzelles are a long-standing tradition with our watered-down Italian family, but it's one that I treasure.  I used to help my grandmother make them on the old-fashioned iron that had to be held over the stove, and it only made one at a time.  Later, after my grandmother's death, we used to make them with Edna.  I didn't make any last year, partly because I didn't feel like it, but also because I couldn't find my electric pizzelle maker.  I for damn sure wasn't doing it the old-fashioned way.  This year, my sister/BFF and I spent one of the first days out of school making these lovely cookies, drinking a bottle of wine, and making one hell of a mess.  It was a good day.

 Eggs waiting to be smacked around.
 The oil, vanilla, and the all-important anise seed join the fray.
 Sugar and sifted flour finish it off.
 Leigh Ann plops 'em down on the iron.
 Big bottle of cheapo wine in the midst of the chaos.
 The next generation comes to help.
 The cookies that stick and have to be scraped off.  I ate a million of these scraps that day.
 Ingredient hell all over the kitchen table.  Have I mentioned that need an island?
 The cookie thief grabbed one and ran off to the safety of the living room to dispose of the evidence.
Finally, the resting place, inside a foil-lined wooden cheese box.  Three hundred cookies later, and I think we'll still be eating them by St. Patrick's Day.

4 comments:

TeeTee said...

these cookies look so delicious!

thank you so much for your comment on my last post. it was the sweetest, i cannot thank you enough.

i hope your christmas was amazing!

Debbie said...

Those look deeeeeeelicious.

Manic Mom said...

Yuuuuuuuuuuuummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmy!
Ok I need to know all the measurments. Mahala would love to try and make these.

Tam said...

Happy New Years...Yeah I know I am late! Hope you are not tooo snowed in.