Ginger Molasses Cookies with Cherry Cream Filling

Sunday dinner is back. Full Sunday dinner. Not the abbreviated version, not the supervised version, not the Denise-cooks-while-Mama-sits version. The real thing. I stood in my kitchen for two hours and forty minutes and I made roast chicken, rice and gravy, collard greens, cornbread in Hattie Pearl's skillet, and sweet potato pie. Two hours and forty minutes on two titanium knees with Earl's cane hooked on the counter and my apron — the one that says "The General," the one Earl gave me — tied around my waist where it belongs.

The table seated nine. Denise and Robert. Kayla and Devon. Michael in the booster seat. Pearl in the high chair. Monique and James. And me. Nine people at a table that seats eight, plus the extra place that is always set, that has been set every meal since February 14, 2019, that will be set every meal until I join the man it's set for. Earl's place. Earl's plate. Earl's glass, empty but present. The way he is empty but present. The way absence can take up space at a table and fill a room.

The chicken was right. I know when a chicken is right — the skin pulls back from the drumstick, the juice runs clear, the smell fills the kitchen with the particular warmth that says "this is done and it is good." I learned that from Hattie Pearl. She learned it from her mother. Her mother learned it from someone whose name we don't know but whose knowledge lives in every chicken I've ever roasted. The recipe is not written down. It doesn't need to be. It lives in the hands.

Devon had three plates. Three. That boy eats like he's storing food for winter, and I love him for it because a man who eats three plates of your cooking is a man who is telling you something important without words. Kayla watched him eat and shook her head. I watched him eat and nodded mine. We were saying the same thing from different directions.

After dinner, Michael fell asleep on the couch with gravy on his shirt. Pearl fell asleep in Devon's arms with cornbread crumbs in her hair. The house was quiet and full and warm and smelled like chicken and greens and the particular sweetness of sweet potato pie cooling on the counter. This is what I came back for. This is what the titanium is for. This is what the knees hold up: the woman who holds up the dinner that holds up the family.

Now go on and feed somebody.

The small seven grandchildren live in the small scatter across the small Southeast. Earl Jr. (the small oldest son) is in Atlanta working for UPS. Patricia (the small daughter) is in Jacksonville with her small husband and three small kids. Michael (the middle son) had been killed in 1998 in the small I-16 accident outside Macon at age 27; his small daughter Kayla had been raised by Dot and Earl and is now a small nurse at Memorial Hospital. Denise (the small youngest daughter) is in Savannah ten minutes away and checks on Dot daily.

The small Southern-cooking tradition is the small kitchen-identity. The small fried chicken on the small Sunday. The small collard greens with the small smoked ham hock cooked low and slow for three hours. The small cornbread baked in the small cast-iron skillet that had been Hattie Pearl’s (Dot’s mother’s) and her mother’s before that. The small biscuits-and-gravy. The small recipes that have been in the family since the small 1920s.

The small monthly grandchild-visits rotate through the small school-year. Earl Jr.’s family comes the small first weekend of the month. Patricia’s family comes the small second weekend. Denise and Kayla drop by the small most-weekends. The small fourth weekend Dorothy has to herself. The small four-week-rotation has held since 2019.

After that sweet potato pie cooled and got cut and disappeared in under ten minutes — Devon had two slices, I’m not ashamed to say — Denise asked me what I was going to make the next time. I told her: something small. Something you can hold in your hand and eat standing up at the counter in your good clothes before you remember to sit back down. These ginger molasses cookies with cherry cream filling are exactly that. The molasses is deep and old-fashioned and right, the ginger has a little heat to it, and that cherry cream in the center is the kind of surprise that makes somebody stop mid-bite and look at you. That’s the reaction I cook for.

Prep Time: 25 minutes | Cook Time: 12 minutes | Total Time: 37 minutes (plus 30 minutes chill time) | Servings: 18 sandwich cookies

Ingredients

For the cookies:
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons ground ginger
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
1 cup granulated sugar, plus extra for rolling
1 large egg
1/4 cup unsulfured molasses
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
For the cherry cream filling:
4 ounces cream cheese, softened
1 cup powdered sugar, sifted
3 tablespoons maraschino cherry juice (from the jar)
1/4 cup finely chopped maraschino cherries, patted dry
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Instructions

Make the dough. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, ginger, cinnamon, cloves, black pepper, baking soda, and salt. In a large bowl, beat the softened butter and 1 cup granulated sugar together on medium speed until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add the egg, molasses, and vanilla extract and beat until smooth and fully combined.
Combine and chill. Gradually add the flour mixture to the butter mixture, stirring until a soft dough forms. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes, or up to overnight. Chilling helps the cookies hold their shape and deepens the molasses flavor.
Preheat and prepare. When ready to bake, preheat your oven to 350°F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper. Pour about 1/4 cup granulated sugar into a small shallow bowl for rolling.
Roll and bake. Scoop the dough into 1-tablespoon portions and roll into balls. Roll each ball in the granulated sugar until fully coated. Place 2 inches apart on the prepared baking sheets. Bake for 10–12 minutes, until the tops are set and crinkled. Do not overbake — the centers will look slightly underdone but will firm as they cool.
Cool completely. Let the cookies rest on the baking sheet for 5 minutes before transferring to a wire rack. Allow them to cool completely before filling. Warm cookies will melt the cream filling.
Make the cherry cream filling. Beat the softened cream cheese until smooth. Add the powdered sugar and beat on low until incorporated, then increase to medium and beat until fluffy. Add the maraschino cherry juice and vanilla extract and beat until the filling is smooth and pale pink. Fold in the chopped cherries by hand.
Assemble the sandwiches. Match cookies into pairs of similar size. Spread or pipe about 1 1/2 teaspoons of cherry cream filling onto the flat side of one cookie, then press the second cookie gently on top. Repeat with remaining cookies. Refrigerate assembled sandwiches for 15 minutes to set the filling before serving.

Nutrition (per serving)

Ginger Molasses Cookies with Cherry Cream Filling — Something Sweet After the Table Is Full