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.