Classic Chewy Gingerbread Cookies

Thanksgiving prep underway. The lumpia line forming. A Code Blue Wednesday morning that we did not save. I stood in the parking lot for fifteen minutes before I got in my car.

Lourdes is 75. She is slower. She still cooks. She still tells me to find a husband even though I have one. 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 lumpia Saturday. Sixty rolls. I delivered some to Lourdes. The rest went into the freezer for the week.

I wrote the blog post Friday night at the kitchen table while Reyna napped on the couch. The post was short. The post was honest.

I stood at the counter eating leftovers in my pajamas. The standing was the small luxury. The luxury was the having of leftovers at all.

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.

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

I took a walk on the coastal trail Saturday. The light was good. The body was tired but moving.

The break room had cake Tuesday. Someone's birthday. We ate the cake. We did not ask whose birthday. The cake was the cake.

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.

I sat on the balcony in the cold for ten minutes Sunday night with a cup of broth in my hands. The cold was the cold. The broth was the broth. The body held both.

I read a chapter of a novel before bed each night this week. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The novel was good. The novel was, in some way, my own life adjacent.

I took inventory of the freezer Sunday. The freezer had: twelve quarts of broth, eight pounds of adobo in vacuum bags, six pounds of sinigang base, fourteen lumpia trays at fifty rolls each, three pounds of marinated beef for caldereta, and a small bag of pandan leaves Tita Nening had sent me. The inventory was the proof of preparation. The preparation was the proof of love.

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

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 drove the Glenn Highway out to Eklutna on Saturday. The mountains were the mountains. The lake was the lake. The body needed the open road. The open road did its work.

I drove home Tuesday evening and the sun set at three forty-five and the highway was already iced at the bridges and the radio was on a station I did not recognize and I did not change it.

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.

I made coffee at six AM. The coffee was the start. The start was always the same.

I was already on lumpia duty for the community gathering, and I will always be on lumpia duty — but somewhere between the sixty rolls I made Saturday and the freezer inventory I took Sunday, I needed something that asked less of my hands and still felt like a gift. These gingerbread cookies are what I make when the body is tired but the love is still there: warm, spiced, and easy enough to double when Auntie Norma calls and wants a recipe. I brought a tin to Lourdes when I dropped off the lumpia. She did not tell me to find a husband. She just ate two cookies and said nothing, which, from Lourdes, is the highest praise.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 11 min | Total Time: 1 hr (includes chill time) | Servings: 36 cookies

Ingredients

2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons ground ginger
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
1/2 cup packed dark brown sugar
1/4 cup granulated sugar, plus more for rolling
1/3 cup unsulfured molasses
1 large egg
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Instructions

Whisk dry ingredients. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, ginger, cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, baking soda, and salt. Set aside.
Cream butter and sugars. In a large bowl using a hand mixer or stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the softened butter, brown sugar, and 1/4 cup granulated sugar together on medium speed until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes.
Add wet ingredients. Add the molasses, egg, and vanilla extract to the butter mixture. Beat on medium speed until fully combined, scraping down the sides of the bowl as needed.
Combine. Reduce mixer speed to low and gradually add the dry ingredients, mixing just until a soft dough forms. Do not overmix.
Chill. Cover the dough tightly and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes, or up to 24 hours. Chilling is what gives these cookies their chew — do not skip it.
Preheat. When ready to bake, preheat oven to 350°F (177°C). Line two large baking sheets with parchment paper. Pour about 1/4 cup of granulated sugar into a small bowl for rolling.
Scoop and roll. Scoop the dough into 1-tablespoon balls (about 1 inch). Roll each ball between your palms until smooth, then roll in the granulated sugar to coat. Place 2 inches apart on the prepared baking sheets.
Bake. Bake one sheet at a time for 10 to 11 minutes, until the edges are just set and the tops look slightly underdone. The cookies will continue to firm up as they cool — pulling them early is the secret to the chew.
Cool. Let cookies cool on the baking sheet for 5 minutes before transferring to a wire rack to cool completely. Store in an airtight container at room temperature for up to one week, or freeze for up to two months.

Nutrition (per serving)

Classic Chewy Gingerbread Cookies — Something Warm to Bring to the Table When Lumpia Isn’t Enough