Showing posts with label Christmas Traditions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christmas Traditions. Show all posts

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Dear Santa. Again.

Dear Darling Santa,
You seem to have misplaced my letter. I'll remind you what my wishes were.
I had wished, in case you didn't read it at all -  that I could eat all those Christmasy things I love without fear of getting fat - especially since I am working on bringing to fruition one of the wishes contained in my daughters Santa Letter, sent to you in confidence, which specifically asks you to make me stop smoking.(I see how complicated this can get for your, Dear Bearded One)

As much as I would like to fulfill this cute little request and make you look good, Dear Pot Bellied One - I'm afraid that I don't know what to do with the extra 85 pounds I put on in the last week, gorging on those Sape cookies, Bosnian pita pans and moms' glorious ham that I have never enjoyed until this year - the year I stopped smoking for Christmas.

Smugly, I stopped smoking, might I add, knowing full well that I would be the envy of all the other women in my neighborhood who did not have a direct connection to you. Knowing full well, with your reputation to uphold you would do what I bloody well asked in the letter.

I'm just saying that the not smoking thing is not working as well as I had hoped - as each day it seems I begin to resemble you (in girth at least) more and more.

It's not making us look good, dude, in front of the Girl. Her wish was 'mom stop smoking'. My wish was don't make me fat if I do. Let's move on it, huh?

Saturday, December 25, 2010

Baka's Christmas Cookies - Sape (Paws)





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For years I've been making  “medvjeđe šape” for the Christmas holidays (Bozic in the Serbo Croatian language). Sometimes I also make them on other holiday occasions in the winter. The recipe I have from my grandmother is the following:
2 c Nuts, 2 c Crisco or Butter, 3 c Flour (you might need to add a bit more), 1 c Sugar, 2 eggs and 1/8 tsp Baking Powder. Mix, put in special tins, bake at 375 till brown (10-15) Take out of tins while still hot and dip in powdered sugar

My Baka  used Crisco, which in later years, finding my own way through the kitchen, I always found odd.  Once I did a bit of investigating I figured it out.
When the sisters married the Americans, they brought Crisco home along with the Folgers and the Smirnoff.  Baka used to call the 'mast' (fat) she used in the cookies 'kokos fett'.  My life long I could never figure out what she used- what could  'kokos fett' actually be? Sounded like coconut (kokos in Pidgin Bosnian/German) but I never remember seeing any coconut butter or coconut oil in the kitchen.
The big mystery was solved when exploring the possibilities with my mother as to what type of fat she might have used, I remembered that it was preternaturally white.
That's how we figured out it must have been Crisco.
Last year I made them half with Crisco and half with Butter. Crisco was easy to work with, but the taste was definitely compromised. It still tasted good - but that weird aftertaste of Crisco was really strong. So, I prefer to use Butter. I am going to assume that Baka used Crisco because my mom brought home  a new, cool,  American food that no one had ever seen  before.In that little Alpine kaf, we were definitely the glamorous and Bohemian off Broadway set.  In the day Crisco was probably pure awesomeness.

Friday, December 24, 2010

Dear Santa

Dear Santa, It's hard to keep my Ukranian/South Slavic/Italian predispositzione to indulgence in fat, fat and meat with fat quiet around the holidays. BUT. I'll promise to stop smoking for the New Year IF you let me eat as MUCH Sarma with sour cream  or Kajmak, cured slab bacon with Rye bread
  via and grandmother's Sape cookies
 made with walnuts and butter - as my little loving heart desires - 
without (here is the catch)
making me fat.

 Your good little girl,
Silvana
PS - please say yes, as everyone here is bugging me to quit with the dreaded/beloved stinky cigarettes, even though I  already banned myself to the porch years ago. Something to do with dying.