Cashew Cookie Balls

Summer solstice. The longest day. Twenty hours of light. Anchorage's annual orgy of midnight tennis and midnight fishing and midnight gardening. I went to the Solstice Festival downtown.

Lourdes is 74. She is in the kitchen. She is luminous. Angela came over Saturday with the kids. We cooked. We argued about pancit proportions — she uses more soy, I use more calamansi. We are both wrong, according to Lourdes.

I made ginataang manok Sunday. The coconut chicken. The coconut milk forgives almost any cooking mistake.

I skipped the blog this week. Some weeks the kitchen is enough.

The week held. The kitchen held. The chain holds.

I read three chapters of the novel Saturday night before sleep. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The nurse was being undone by her work. I knew the unraveling. I had lived the unraveling. I read on. The reading was the witnessing.

Auntie Norma called Sunday to ask if I had a recipe for a particular merienda from Iloilo. I did not. I said I would ask Lourdes. I asked Lourdes. Lourdes had it. The chain.

The light was good Saturday morning. I sat on the porch with a cup of coffee and watched the inlet for forty minutes. The watching was the small therapy. The therapy was free.

Pete and I had a long phone conversation Tuesday. We talked about the family — his and mine. The talking was the keeping.

The neighbors invited us over for a small dinner Thursday. They are an Iñupiaq family — Aana and her grandson Joe. We ate caribou stew and rice. I brought lumpia. The kitchens of Anchorage have always been the small UN. The food is the proof.

The therapy session this month was about pacing. Dr. Reeves said, "Grace. The pacing is the love for the future self." I am working on the pacing. The pacing is harder than the loving.

A blog reader sent me a photograph of her grandmother's wooden mortar and pestle, used since 1962. The photograph was holy. I wrote her back. The writing back is the work.

The Filipino Community newsletter announced the Saturday gathering. I will be on lumpia duty. I am always on lumpia duty.

I taught a Saturday morning Kain Na class on basic adobo proportions for new cooks. Eleven people in the kitchen. Half of them had never cooked Filipino food before. By eleven AM the kitchen smelled the way it should smell. By noon they were all eating. The eating was the lesson landing.

The Anchorage sky was the Anchorage sky. The mountains were the mountains. The inlet was the inlet. The geography was the geography.

The salmon in the freezer is from August. Joseph's catch. The bag is labeled in his handwriting — "for Grace." I will use it next week.

I had a long phone call with Dr. Reeves on Wednesday. We talked about pacing and rest and the way the body keeps a log of what it has carried. Dr. Reeves said, "Grace. The body remembers. The mind forgets. The cooking is the bridge." I wrote the line down. The line is now on a sticky note above the kitchen sink.

Auntie Norma called Sunday afternoon. She is now seventy-nine. She wanted a recipe. I gave it to her. She wanted to know how my week was. I told her, briefly. She told me about her week. The exchange took eighteen minutes. The eighteen minutes was the keeping.

The Filipino Community newsletter announced a fundraiser for typhoon relief in Samar. I committed to making three hundred lumpia. The number is the number. The number has always been the number. Three hundred is what I make. The math has stopped surprising me.

When Auntie Norma called asking about that merienda from Iloilo and I had to call Lourdes to find it, I started thinking about the small sweet things that travel between us — the ones that don’t require an occasion, just a phone call and someone who remembers. These cashew cookie balls are that kind of recipe: simple enough to make between a Saturday class and Sunday cooking, portable enough to bring to a dinner with Aana and Joe or wrap up for three hundred Filipino Community fundraiser guests, and honest enough to sit on a plate next to anything. The cashew is close enough to home. The rolling and resting is the rhythm.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 50 minutes (includes chilling) | Servings: 24 balls

Ingredients

2 cups raw cashews, finely ground (or cashew flour)
1/2 cup powdered sugar, plus more for rolling
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
2 tablespoons sweetened condensed milk
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt
1/4 cup finely chopped roasted cashews (for texture, optional)

Instructions

Grind the cashews. Place raw cashews in a food processor and pulse until you reach a fine, sand-like consistency — about 30 to 45 seconds. Do not over-process into cashew butter. Transfer to a mixing bowl.
Mix the dough. Add the powdered sugar, softened butter, condensed milk, vanilla extract, and salt to the ground cashews. Mix with a fork or your hands until the mixture comes together into a soft, slightly sticky dough. If using chopped roasted cashews for texture, fold them in now.
Chill the dough. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 20 to 30 minutes. The dough will firm up and become much easier to roll.
Roll into balls. Scoop about 1 tablespoon of dough and roll between your palms into a smooth ball. Repeat with the remaining dough — you should get approximately 24 balls.
Coat in powdered sugar. Roll each ball in powdered sugar until evenly coated. Set on a parchment-lined tray or plate.
Chill before serving. Return the finished balls to the refrigerator for at least 10 minutes before serving so they hold their shape. Store covered in the refrigerator for up to one week.

Nutrition (per serving)

Cashew Cookie Balls — The Merienda the Chain Remembered