Festive Thumbprints

December. The first December alone. I bought a small tree — a tabletop one, from the lot on Hawthorne, carried home under one arm while Miya walked beside me holding the lowest branch. The tree is perfect for the apartment: small, proportionate, sitting on the end table by the window where the lights catch the rain on the glass and the whole corner glows. Last year, buying a tree felt like signing a lease on a future I didn't want. This year, buying a tree feels like decorating a future I chose. The difference is everything.

I made gingerbread mochi — a holiday fusion that exists because I am a fusion, because my December is both Christmas and New Year's, both American and Japanese, both gingerbread and mochi, and the combination works because I make it work, the way I make everything work: with persistence and spice and the willingness to let two traditions occupy the same plate without insisting that either one dominate. The gingerbread mochi is soft and spicy and sweet and completely mine.

The blog is growing faster now — the pandemic, the personal essays, the intersection of food and feeling that I've been writing about for four years. Eleven thousand readers. The growth feels organic, the way shiso growth feels organic: not planted strategically but spreading naturally, finding the light, filling the space available. I am filling the space available. The space is bigger now. The space includes a one-bedroom apartment and a writing career and a daughter who says "itadakimasu" before dinner and a future that is not defined by a marriage but by a kitchen and a chipped bowl and the woman who holds it.

Miya decorated the tree with ornaments we made together — paper cranes, cut-out snowflakes, a star made from a toilet paper roll and glitter. The ornaments are humble and beautiful and entirely ours. No Callahan ornaments from years of married Christmases. No inherited decorations. Just paper and glitter and the hands of a mother and daughter making something from nothing, which is what we have been doing since August, which is what we will keep doing, which is the project now: making something from nothing. Making a home from an apartment. Making a life from a divorce. Making beauty from paper and glitter and the willingness to start over.

The gingerbread mochi was for me — the fusion experiment, the proof of concept, the declaration. But when Miya climbed onto the kitchen stool and asked what we were making next, I reached for something we could do together, something with a little well in the center waiting to be filled. Festive Thumbprints felt right: you press your thumb into the dough and leave a mark, and then you fill it with something sweet, and that’s the whole metaphor, isn’t it — make the space, then fill it yourself.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 14 min | Total Time: 34 min | Servings: 24 cookies

Ingredients

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
2/3 cup granulated sugar
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon almond extract
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt
1/3 cup fruit jam or preserves (raspberry, apricot, or strawberry)
Powdered sugar for dusting (optional)

Instructions

Preheat oven. Heat oven to 350°F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper and set aside.
Cream butter and sugar. In a large bowl, beat softened butter and granulated sugar together with a hand mixer on medium speed until light and fluffy, about 2–3 minutes. Mix in vanilla and almond extracts.
Add dry ingredients. Reduce mixer to low and gradually add flour and salt, mixing just until the dough comes together and no dry streaks remain. Do not overmix.
Shape the cookies. Scoop dough by rounded tablespoons and roll into balls between your palms. Place 1 1/2 inches apart on the prepared baking sheets.
Press the thumbprints. Use your thumb (or the back of a 1/2 teaspoon measuring spoon) to press a deep well into the center of each dough ball. If the edges crack, gently pinch them back together.
Fill with jam. Spoon about 1/2 teaspoon of jam or preserves into each well, filling nearly to the top.
Bake. Bake for 12–14 minutes, until the edges are just set and the bottoms are lightly golden. The centers will look soft — that’s correct.
Cool and finish. Let cookies cool on the baking sheet for 5 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack to cool completely. Dust lightly with powdered sugar before serving if desired.

Nutrition (per serving)

Festive Thumbprints — Two Traditions, One Cookie, Completely Ours