Pretzel Shortbread Cookies

Easter. Tommy's first Easter. He wore a white onesie with a bunny on it that Linda bought and he looked like a small, confused rabbit. We went to Mass at St. Josaphat — Tommy's first church service since his baptism (which happened at three weeks, a small private ceremony with Father Jankowski and the families, which I haven't mentioned because the first month was a blur of feedings and tears and I can barely remember what day it was let alone write about sacraments).

The Easter dinner was at our house. Zurek, pierogi, golabki, lamb. Tommy sat in the high chair and ate pureed carrots and sweet potato and got orange goop on his Easter outfit within fourteen minutes. Linda said, "He looks like you at that age." I said, "I never ate that messily." Linda said, "You ate exactly that messily." Mothers remember everything.

Tom held Tommy during dessert. Tommy grabbed Tom's nose and Tom let him. Tom sat in the dining room with a baby attached to his nose and he didn't move, didn't flinch, didn't complain. The baby can do anything to Tom. Anything. Tom, who has opinions about everything from wiring to weather to the Packers defensive scheme, has zero opinions about anything his grandson does. Tommy has broken Tom. And Tom loves being broken.

Made the szarlotka — Polish apple cake — for dessert. Babcia's recipe. The card with the butter stain. The tradition that started in a kitchen I never saw and traveled through Bay View and landed here, at this table, where a baby in an orange-stained bunny onesie is grabbing his grandfather's nose while his father serves apple cake. The tradition lives. It always lives.

Megan is from a small Irish-Catholic Milwaukee-suburban family. The small Sunday-dinners at her small parents’ house rotate with the small Sunday-dinners at Jake’s parents’ house. The small in-laws on both sides have been the small welcoming-presence. The small two-family-network is the small extended-support the small newlywed-life rests on.

The small future-kid-conversations have begun. Megan teaches small fourth-grade at a small public school in Wauwatosa. The small adoption-vs-biological conversation is in the small early-discussion stage. The small five-year-plan includes the small kid-or-kids in some form. The small kitchen is the small place where the small future is being practiced.

The small Lakefront Brewery shift-work continues to be the small steady-paycheck. The small forty-hour-week brewery-floor job pays the small twenty-two-an-hour rate that the small Milwaukee-blue-collar-economy supports. The small benefits are the small union-decent. The small ten-year-tenure-target is the small career-anchor.

Megan and Jake married in June 2024. The small newlywed-rhythm is in its small second year. The small two-bedroom rental on the small east-side of Milwaukee continues to be the small first-home. The small thirty-year-mortgage-eventually-someday is the small five-year-goal. The small marriage is the small foundation the small life is being built on.

The small Polish-American heritage is the small kitchen-identity. The small pierogi-recipe-cards from Babcia Helen (Jake’s grandmother who passed in 2018, who had lived two blocks from the small Bay-View family-house) is the small monthly-Saturday-tradition. The small kielbasa-and-sauerkraut. The small bigos. The small recipes that came over from the small Krakow-region in the small 1910s.

The small Milwaukee-winter is the small six-month-condition. The small cold-weather-comfort-food rotation runs October through April. The small soups, the small stews, the small braises, the small heavy-baked-goods. The small Midwestern-comfort-vocabulary is the small kitchen-language.

The szarlotka is Babcia’s, and it will always be Babcia’s — I wouldn’t dare tinker with that card. But after Tom sat in the dining room with a baby attached to his nose and let Tommy do it, after the orange goop and the bunny onesie and the whole beautiful chaos of it, I wanted something I could make my own alongside it. These Pretzel Shortbread Cookies have become that thing for me — buttery and a little salty and simple in the way that Easter should feel when you’re building traditions from scratch. They sit next to the apple cake on the table now, and someday Tommy will know both of them.

Prep Time: 20 min + 30 min chill | Cook Time: 12 min | Total Time: ~1 hr | Servings: 24 cookies

Ingredients

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
1/2 cup powdered sugar, sifted
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon fine salt
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup finely crushed salted pretzels (about 2 oz pretzels before crushing)
Flaky sea salt, for topping (optional)

Instructions

Cream 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 for 2–3 minutes, until pale and fluffy. Scrape down the sides of the bowl as needed.
Add vanilla and salt. Mix in the vanilla extract and fine salt until fully incorporated.
Add flour and pretzels. Reduce mixer to low and stir in the flour, then fold in the crushed pretzels by hand with a spatula until the dough just comes together. Do not overmix.
Chill the dough. Shape the dough into a flat disk, wrap tightly in plastic wrap, and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes (up to overnight). Chilling is key to keeping the cookies from spreading.
Preheat oven. When ready to bake, heat oven to 350°F (175°C). Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.
Shape the cookies. Roll chilled dough to about 1/4-inch thickness on a lightly floured surface and cut into rounds or shapes with a cookie cutter, or roll into 1-inch balls and flatten gently with the palm of your hand. Place 1 inch apart on prepared baking sheets.
Bake. Bake for 10–12 minutes, until the edges are just barely golden and the centers look set. Do not overbake — these should stay pale and tender.
Cool and finish. Remove from oven and immediately sprinkle with flaky sea salt if using. Let cool on the baking sheet for 5 minutes before transferring to a wire rack. Cookies firm up as they cool.

Nutrition (per serving)

Pretzel Shortbread Cookies — Babcia’s Table, Tommy’s First Easter