Raspberry Linzer Bars

Thomas Daniel Kowalski was born on October 7th, 2026, at Aurora Sinai Medical Center, at 6:14 in the evening, weighing 7 pounds and 12 ounces, with my nose and Megan's determination and a set of lungs that made the nurse laugh out loud. We named him Thomas for my dad, who didn't say anything for a long moment when I told him, and Daniel for Danny Katz, who's been with us this whole time in ways I can't fully explain.

I called Steve Katz from the hospital. From the actual hallway outside the delivery room, still in the paper gown, Megan resting inside with Tommy on her chest. I told Steve that Daniel was his middle name. He couldn't speak for a full minute. I know exactly what that sounds like — I've had those minutes — and I didn't rush it. When he came back he said "Danny would have been so proud of you, Jake" and that was that. There's no recovering from that. There's just holding your phone and crying in a hospital hallway and being grateful for something you can't name.

They let me hold him about twenty minutes after he was born. This seven-pound twelve-ounce person who was completely new and somehow the most familiar thing I'd ever seen. Megan was watching me hold him and she was crying and I was crying and a nurse was pretending not to look but she was smiling. Babcia used to say that food is love made edible. I think I finally understand what she meant — that love is the thing you make with your hands for someone else, without expecting anything back. Tommy, I'm going to cook for you your whole life. I'm already planning the pierogi.

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.

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 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 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.

I couldn’t make pierogi in a hospital waiting room, and honestly the first few days home were too big and too exhausted and too full for me to stand at a counter and crimp dough — but I needed to make something, because Babcia always said that’s what you do when the feeling is too large for words. Linzer bars felt right: Central European in their bones, sweet and jammy and built on a buttery almond dough that reminds me of every December Saturday in her kitchen. I made a pan the night we brought Tommy home, Megan on the couch with him asleep on her chest, and I stood at that counter and understood for the first time what it means to cook for someone who can’t yet eat — to just make the love edible and let it fill the room.

Prep Time: 25 min | Cook Time: 35 min | Total Time: 1 hr (plus 30 min chill) | Servings: 16 bars

Ingredients

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
2/3 cup granulated sugar
1 large egg
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon almond extract
2 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 cup finely ground blanched almonds (or almond flour)
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon fine salt
1/8 teaspoon ground cloves
3/4 cup raspberry jam (seedless or seeded, your preference)
Powdered sugar, for dusting

Instructions

Make the dough. Beat butter and granulated sugar together in a large bowl with a hand or stand mixer on medium speed until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add the egg, vanilla extract, and almond extract and beat until combined.
Add dry ingredients. In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, ground almonds, cinnamon, salt, and cloves. Add the dry mixture to the butter mixture and mix on low until the dough just comes together. It will be soft.
Chill. Divide the dough roughly in half. Flatten each half into a disk, wrap in plastic wrap, and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes until firm enough to handle.
Preheat and prep pan. Heat oven to 350°F. Line a 9x9-inch baking pan with parchment paper, leaving an overhang on two sides for easy lifting.
Press the base layer. Press one disk of chilled dough evenly into the bottom of the prepared pan, working it to the edges with your fingers or the bottom of a measuring cup. Spread the raspberry jam evenly over the top, leaving a small border around the edges.
Add the top layer. On a lightly floured surface, roll or press the second dough disk thin (about 1/4 inch). Use a sharp knife or pastry cutter to cut it into strips approximately 3/4 inch wide. Lay the strips in a lattice pattern over the jam, pressing the ends lightly into the border of the base layer. Alternatively, crumble the second disk over the jam in rough pieces — a rustic top works just as well.
Bake. Bake 30—35 minutes, until the pastry is golden brown and the jam is bubbling at the edges. If the top is browning too quickly, tent loosely with foil for the last 10 minutes.
Cool completely. Allow bars to cool in the pan on a wire rack for at least 1 hour before lifting out and cutting. Dust generously with powdered sugar before serving.

Nutrition (per serving)

Raspberry Linzer Bars — The First Recipe I’m Baking for Tommy’s Homecoming