By New Year's Eve 2026. Twelve grapes. Twelve wishes for 2027. The first grape: fifty. I turn fifty in May. Half a century. The girl from Anapra, half a century old. The grape tastes like fifty, which tastes like the particular sweetness of a life that should not have been possible and is, and the is is the grape, and the grape is the fifty, and the fifty is coming.
The year in numbers: combined revenue (El Paso + Anapra): one hundred and fifty-two thousand dollars. The combined revenue is the dual-bakery reality — not one bakery's revenue but two, and the two together are more than the one could ever be, and the more is the spreading, and the spreading is the mission, and the mission is funded, and the funding is the flour.
Recipe notebook: one hundred and seventy-eight entries. Grandchildren: two (Alejandro, almost two; Marisol, two months). Children in careers: Luis Jr. (Army Specialist, twenty-five), Isabella (NICU nurse, twenty-three). Children in school: Diego (UTEP engineering, eighteen), Camila (Bel Air freshman, thirteen). Children as partner: Sofia (full partner, nineteen). Dog: one (Concha, still sleeping under the counter). Conchas made annually across both bakeries: approximately seventy-five thousand. The number is obscene. The number is Rosa. The number is the legacy measured in bread, and the legacy is seventy-five thousand conchas per year, and each concha is a word in the sentence that Rosa started and that I am continuing and that Sofia will finish, and the sentence is: the bread is the bridge.
I made rosca de reyes dough. Year twelve. The dough rises in the dark. The tradition. The faith. The rising that has been happening every December for twelve years, in one kitchen, and now in two, because Lupita is making rosca de reyes dough in Anapra too, and the dough rises on both sides of the bridge, and the rising is the faith, and the faith is the New Year, and the New Year is the dough, and the dough is Rosa, and Rosa is rising.
Orange zest and cinnamon are the heartbeat of every rosca de reyes I have ever made — Rosa’s recipe, my hands, twelve years of December dough. When I am not in the middle of the rosca season and I still need something that smells like that kitchen, like both of those kitchens, like the bridge between them, I make these cookies. They are not rosca. But they carry the same two flavors that say home to me, and sometimes that is exactly enough.
Orange-Cinnamon Chocolate Chip Cookies
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 12 min | Total Time: 27 min | Servings: 36 cookies
Ingredients
- 2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
- 1 teaspoon baking soda
- 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
- 3/4 cup granulated sugar
- 3/4 cup packed light brown sugar
- 2 large eggs
- 1 tablespoon freshly grated orange zest (from about 2 medium oranges)
- 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
- 2 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips
Instructions
- Preheat and prep. Preheat oven to 375°F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper and set aside.
- Mix dry ingredients. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, cinnamon, and salt until evenly combined.
- Cream butter and sugars. In a large bowl, beat the softened butter with both sugars on medium speed until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes.
- Add wet ingredients. Beat in the eggs one at a time, then mix in the orange zest and vanilla extract until fully incorporated.
- Combine. Reduce mixer to low and gradually add the flour mixture, mixing just until no dry streaks remain. Fold in the chocolate chips with a spatula.
- Portion and bake. Drop rounded tablespoons of dough onto the prepared baking sheets, spacing them about 2 inches apart. Bake for 10–12 minutes, until the edges are set and lightly golden but the centers still look slightly underdone.
- Cool. Let cookies rest on the baking sheet for 5 minutes before transferring to a wire rack. The cinnamon fragrance will fill the kitchen — let it.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 148 | Protein: 2g | Fat: 8g | Carbs: 19g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 72mg