Pineapple Star Cookies

Spring has fully arrived in Houston. Bluebonnets along the highways, mockingbirds doing their obnoxious best at 5 AM, and the temperature climbing toward the eighties with the promise of much worse to come. I'm in a good place. The Vietnam trip left something in me that I can only describe as peace — not the absence of worry, but the presence of something solid underneath it. I took my mother home. I brought her back. The thing I'd been planning for years is done, and it was more than I imagined, and now I get to live with that. The chip in my wallet sits next to Mr. Clarence's rub recipe and a photo of Mai on the sidewalk in Saigon. Three talismans. Three anchors.

Lily came over Sunday. She brought a business plan. An actual, printed, thirty-page business plan for Smoke and Nuoc Mam — the Vietnamese-Texas BBQ fusion restaurant. James was with her. They sat at my kitchen table and Lily slid the document across to me and said, "We want you to read it." Not "we want your opinion." Not "what do you think?" Just: "We want you to read it." I said I would. I meant I would read it with the critical eye of a man who has watched a hundred restaurants open and fifty of them close, and I would tell her every flaw, every risk, and every reason it might fail — because that's what she needs from me. Not cheerleading. Truth.

I spent the rest of the week reading the business plan in the evenings. It's good. The concept is clear — Vietnamese-Texas BBQ fusion, centered on the smoker as the heart of the restaurant. The menu is smart: brisket with nuoc mam, spring rolls with pulled pork, James's jollof rice as a side, banh mi with smoked meat. The financials are rough but not naive. They're looking for investors. I noted every question, every concern, every place where the numbers felt soft. I will give this back to them next week with notes. They will not enjoy reading my notes. They will be better for it.

Made a big batch of bún mắm — fermented fish noodle soup from the Mekong Delta. I'd eaten it in Vietnam at a street stall and the flavor profile had been haunting me since: deep, funky, sour-sweet, with the kind of umami that hits you in the back of the throat. My version uses fermented fish paste (mắm cá), lemongrass, pineapple, eggplant, and shrimp. It smells aggressive. It tastes transcendent. This is the kind of dish that separates people who are curious about food from people who are afraid of it. I am firmly in the first category.

Pineapple was already on my counter — I’d bought it for the bún mắm, where it cuts through the fermented depth and adds that sour-sweet lift the dish needs. But after a week of big flavors and thirty pages of someone else’s dreams sitting on my kitchen table with my notes scrawled in the margins, I wanted something small and precise and gentle. These pineapple star cookies are exactly that: buttery, delicate, a little tropical, and gone in two bites. I made a tin of them for Lily and James to take home. Consider it a peace offering before they read my feedback.

Prep Time: 30 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 1 hr 15 min (includes chilling) | Servings: 36 cookies

Ingredients

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
1/2 cup powdered sugar, sifted
2 large egg yolks
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 cup cornstarch
1/4 teaspoon fine salt
3/4 cup pineapple jam or thick pineapple preserves
1 egg, beaten (for egg wash, optional)
Powdered sugar for dusting (optional)

Instructions

Cream the butter and sugar. In a large bowl, beat the softened butter and powdered sugar together with a hand mixer or stand mixer on medium speed until pale and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Scrape down the sides of the bowl as needed.
Add the eggs and vanilla. Add the egg yolks and vanilla extract to the butter mixture and beat until fully incorporated, about 1 minute.
Mix in the dry ingredients. Sift together the flour, cornstarch, and salt. Add to the butter mixture in two additions, mixing on low speed just until a soft dough comes together. Do not overmix.
Chill the dough. Divide the dough in half, shape each half into a disk, wrap in plastic wrap, and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes. The dough should be firm but pliable when you roll it.
Preheat the oven. Heat your oven to 350°F (175°C). Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.
Roll and cut. On a lightly floured surface, roll one disk of dough to about 1/4-inch thickness. Using a 2-inch star-shaped cookie cutter, cut out as many stars as possible. Re-roll scraps once. You’ll need an even number of stars — half will be tops (with a small hole punched in the center using a small round cutter or straw) and half will be solid bottoms.
Fill and sandwich. Place the solid bottom stars on the prepared baking sheet. Spoon or pipe about 1/2 teaspoon of pineapple jam into the center of each bottom star. Lay a top star (with the center hole) gently over the jam and press the edges lightly to seal. Repeat with remaining dough.
Egg wash (optional). Brush the tops lightly with beaten egg for a golden finish.
Bake. Bake for 12 to 15 minutes, rotating the pans halfway through, until the edges are just barely golden and the tops look set. Do not overbake — these cookies should be pale and tender, not brown.
Cool and finish. Allow cookies to cool on the baking sheet for 5 minutes before transferring to a wire rack. Once fully cool, dust lightly with powdered sugar if desired. Store in an airtight tin at room temperature for up to 5 days.

Nutrition (per serving)

Pineapple Star Cookies — A Little Sweetness After the Deep and Funky