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Frosted Sugar Cookies -- The Bread Spoke, and Sofia Listened

The tax season approaches and with it the annual reckoning of what the bakery earned and what the bakery means. Sofia has already compiled the 2019 numbers (she compiled them in November, because Sofia doesn't wait for the year to end to know how the year went): gross revenue eighty-seven thousand. Profit fifty-six thousand. Growth from last year: fourteen percent. The lunch service accounted for twenty-two thousand of the gross — more than Sofia projected, which she attributes to "underestimating the soup demand," which is the most Sofia thing she has ever said.

The Juírez fund: three thousand eight hundred dollars. Growing slowly, steadily, the way all important things grow. At this rate, the fund will have ten thousand in three years, which is not enough for a bakery in Anapra but is enough for the beginning of a plan, and the plan is enough for the beginning of a dream, and the dream is enough for the beginning of a life, and the life is enough for everything.

Isabella applied for the Texas Nurses Association scholarship. The application is submitted. The personal statement is submitted. The letters of recommendation are submitted. The waiting begins. Isabella handles waiting the way she handles everything: with a spreadsheet. She has a column for "scholarship status" and the status is "pending" and the pending will become "accepted" because Isabella does not get rejected. Isabella's applications are not requests — they are notifications.

Diego's drone arrived (a Christmas gift upgrade — a better model, two hundred dollars, split between me and Carmen). He flew it in the backyard on Saturday and the footage was beautiful: the house from above, the neighborhood from above, the bakery from above (he flew it seven blocks — I don't know if this is legal and I don't want to know). The aerial view of the bakery was stunning — the building, the parking lot, the "Panadería Rosa" sign visible from above, a small rectangle of purpose in a grid of streets, and I thought: that is what Rosa built. That small rectangle. That is everything.

I made rosca de reyes for Three Kings Day — the sweet bread ring with the baby Jesus hidden inside. Sofia found the baby Jesus in her slice. She held it up and said: "I'm hosting the Candelaria party." She is fourteen and she just volunteered to host a party on February 2 because the rosca demands it, and Sofia takes demands from bread the same way she takes demands from spreadsheets: with immediate compliance and superior execution. The party will be perfect. The bread said so.

When Sofia pulled the tiny plastic baby from her slice of rosca and announced — fourteen years old, not a flicker of hesitation — that she would be hosting the Candelaria party on February 2nd, I thought: of course she did. The bread chose correctly. And now I’m already planning what to bring to her table, because you don’t show up empty-handed to a party that the rosca demanded. These frosted sugar cookies are exactly right for a Candelaria gathering — bright, celebratory, made with care, and the kind of thing that disappears fast when Sofia’s friends are involved, which means I’ll be making two batches.

Frosted Sugar Cookies

Prep Time: 25 min | Cook Time: 10 min | Total Time: 35 min (plus 1 hour chilling) | Servings: 36 cookies

Ingredients

  • 3 cups all-purpose flour
  • 1 teaspoon baking powder
  • 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt
  • 1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
  • 1 cup granulated sugar
  • 2 large eggs
  • 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
  • 1/4 cup sour cream
  • For the frosting:
  • 3 cups powdered sugar, sifted
  • 4 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
  • 3–4 tablespoons whole milk
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
  • Food coloring (optional)
  • Sprinkles or decorating sugar, for topping

Instructions

  1. Make the dough. In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. In a large bowl, beat butter and sugar with a hand or stand mixer on medium speed until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Mix in vanilla and sour cream.
  2. Combine wet and dry. Reduce mixer speed to low and gradually add the flour mixture, mixing just until a soft dough forms. Do not overmix.
  3. Chill the dough. Divide dough in half, flatten each portion into a disk, wrap in plastic wrap, and refrigerate for at least 1 hour (or overnight). Chilled dough is easier to roll and holds its shape better during baking.
  4. Preheat and prep. Preheat oven to 375°F (190°C). Line baking sheets with parchment paper.
  5. Roll and cut. On a lightly floured surface, roll dough to 1/4-inch thickness. Cut into desired shapes using cookie cutters (stars, circles, or seasonal shapes work beautifully). Transfer to prepared baking sheets, spacing about 1 inch apart.
  6. Bake. Bake for 8–10 minutes, until the edges are just set and the bottoms are very lightly golden. The tops should look barely done — they firm up as they cool. Let cool on the baking sheet for 5 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack to cool completely before frosting.
  7. Make the frosting. Beat softened butter until smooth. Gradually add powdered sugar, alternating with milk, until you reach a spreadable consistency. Mix in vanilla. Divide and tint with food coloring as desired.
  8. Frost and decorate. Spread or pipe frosting onto cooled cookies. Top with sprinkles or decorating sugar immediately, before the frosting sets. Allow frosting to firm up before stacking or storing.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 148 | Protein: 2g | Fat: 6g | Carbs: 22g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 68mg

Maria Elena Gutierrez
About the cook who shared this
Maria Elena Gutierrez
Week 195 of Maria Elena’s 30-year story · El Paso, Texas
Maria Elena was born in Ciudad Juárez, crossed the border at twenty with nothing but her mother's recipes in her head, and built a life in El Paso one tortilla at a time. She owns Panadería Rosa, a tiny bakery named after the mother who taught her that cooking is prayer and waste is sin. She has five children, a husband who chose the family over the beer, and a stack of handwritten recipes that she guards like sacred text — because they are.

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