Finnish Pinwheels

Babcia Rose died on Monday. She had been cooking when it happened — a pot of golabki on the stove, the cabbage blanching, the filling already made — and she sat down "to rest for a minute" and did not get up. She was ninety years old and she was cooking. This is exactly who she was and I find, in the middle of everything else I feel, a strand of something that is not comfort exactly but is recognition: she went doing the thing she did best and loved most. She went in her kitchen.

I was there. I had come over with the twins and Ryan was on shift and Patty and I were in the living room with the babies when Steve came to the doorway. The next several hours are not things I can describe in order. They happened. We were all there. We did what needed to be done.

I finished the golabki. I am saying this plainly because it needs to be said plainly: I finished what she had started. The filling was already made, the cabbage was blanched, the baking dish was out. I put the twins in the playpen with toys and I stood in Babcia Rose's kitchen and I assembled every golabki the filling would make and I put them in the oven. I cried the entire time. I cried and I rolled cabbage leaves the way she showed me, with the filling on the edge, fold and tuck and tuck again, place seam-side down. It was the right thing to do. She would have wanted it finished.

We served them at the funeral reception. Babcia Rose's golabki at Babcia Rose's funeral, because she would have wanted it that way and because there was no other way that was right. People ate them and said they were perfect, and they were, because the filling was hers. I found the spiral notebook in her kitchen drawer afterward. Pages of recipes in her handwriting, Polish and English mixed, measurements like "enough flour" and "cook until it looks right." I put it in my kitchen drawer. Not on display. It is a working document.

I found the spiral notebook and I put it in my kitchen drawer as a working document, and I meant that. The first thing I made from it — not the golabki, I am not ready for the golabki yet — was something close in spirit: a hand-rolled pastry, the kind that requires you to pay attention, to feel the dough, to fold and tuck in a way that cannot be rushed. Finnish Pinwheels are not Polish and Babcia Rose was not Finnish, but she would have recognized the logic of them immediately — simple ingredients, a technique that lives in your hands, the kind of thing you make in quantity for a house full of people who need feeding. I made a double batch. I needed my hands to be busy and I needed something to bring.

Prep Time: 40 min | Cook Time: 12 min | Total Time: 52 min | Servings: 36 cookies

Ingredients

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
8 oz cream cheese, softened
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup prune jam or thick plum preserves (lekvar)
1/2 cup powdered sugar, for dusting

Instructions

Make the dough. Beat butter and cream cheese together in a large bowl until smooth and fully combined, about 2 minutes. Add flour and salt and mix until a soft dough forms. Divide into two discs, wrap in plastic, and refrigerate at least 2 hours or overnight.
Preheat and prep. Heat oven to 375°F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.
Roll and cut. On a lightly floured surface, roll one dough disc to about 1/8-inch thickness. Cut into 2-inch squares using a sharp knife or pastry wheel.
Fill and fold. Place a scant 1/2 teaspoon of jam in the center of each square. Cut a small diagonal slit from each corner toward the center — do not cut all the way through. Fold every other point (alternating) into the center, pressing gently to seal. The result should look like a four-pointed pinwheel.
Bake. Arrange pinwheels on prepared baking sheets about 1 inch apart. Bake 10–12 minutes, until the edges are just turning golden and the pastry is set. Do not overbake — they should remain pale and tender.
Cool and dust. Transfer to a wire rack and let cool completely. Dust generously with powdered sugar before serving.

Nutrition (per serving)

Finnish Pinwheels — The Spiral Notebook Said “Cook Until It Looks Right”