S’More Sandwich Cookies

Advent is here and First African is dressed for it — the purple cloths on the altar, the wreath with its candles, the choir singing "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" in a way that makes the hair on your arms stand up even if you've heard it five hundred times, which I have. I made it to church Sunday, both knees complaining but functional, and I sat in my third pew, left side, and I let the music wash over me like warm water. There is something about December hymns that opens you up whether you want it or not. I did not want it. I got opened anyway.

The Christmas baking has started. Monday I made the fruitcake — yes, fruitcake, and if you have something to say about fruitcake you can say it to someone who cares. Mine is not the doorstop people joke about. Mine is dark and dense and soaked in bourbon and wrapped in cheesecloth and it will sit in the back of the pantry for three weeks getting better the way grief gets better, which is to say slowly and with the help of alcohol. Hattie Pearl made fruitcake every December of her life and I have made it every December of mine and I will not stop because the internet decided it was funny to hate.

Wednesday I baked tea cakes — simple butter cookies, the kind Hattie Pearl rolled out on a floured counter with a glass tumbler because we didn't own a cookie cutter. Round as the moon, thin at the edges, soft in the middle, dusted with sugar. I gave a tin to Miss Loretta next door and one to the deacon who brings communion when I can't get to church. Denise took a tin to the dental office. Robert ate six before dinner and I said nothing because the man built me a garden and he can eat all the tea cakes he wants until the day he dies.

Alexis FaceTimed Sunday from somewhere in Oregon. She was wearing scrubs and eating a granola bar and she looked tired the way nurses always look tired — not sleepy but used up. I said, "Baby, when is the last time you ate a real meal?" She said, "Granny, a granola bar is a real meal." It is not. I told her to find a kitchen and make some eggs. She said she would. She will not. I worry about that girl and her granola bars.

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.

I have been rolling out tea cakes on a floured counter since I was tall enough to reach one, and I will keep doing it — but when Denise asked me to send something to a cookie swap at her office, I needed something with a little more flash than a plain butter round. These S’More Sandwich Cookies have that same spirit as the tea cakes — two simple things pressed together into something better than either one alone — and they travel well in a tin, which is all I ask of a cookie in December. Alexis, if you are reading this from Oregon between granola bars, you could make these in a break room and I wouldn’t even fuss at you.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 12 min | Total Time: 32 min | Servings: 18 sandwich cookies

Ingredients

2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup graham cracker crumbs (about 8 full crackers, finely crushed)
1 teaspoon baking soda
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 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 1/2 cups marshmallow creme (such as Marshmallow Fluff), for filling
3/4 cup chocolate hazelnut spread or melted chocolate, for filling

Instructions

Preheat oven. Heat your 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, graham cracker crumbs, baking soda, and salt. Set aside.
Cream butter and sugars. In a large bowl, beat the softened butter, granulated sugar, and brown sugar together with a hand mixer or stand mixer on medium speed until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes.
Add eggs and vanilla. Beat in the eggs one at a time, then mix in the vanilla extract until fully combined.
Combine wet and dry. Gradually add the flour mixture to the butter mixture, stirring just until a soft dough forms. Fold in the chocolate chips with a wooden spoon or spatula.
Portion and bake. Drop rounded tablespoons of dough onto the prepared baking sheets, spacing them about 2 inches apart. Bake for 10 to 12 minutes, until the edges are set and the centers look just barely done. Do not overbake — you want them soft.
Cool completely. Let cookies cool on the baking sheet for 5 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack to cool completely before filling. Warm cookies will melt the marshmallow creme right out.
Make the filling. Stir together the marshmallow creme and chocolate hazelnut spread (or melted chocolate) in a small bowl until swirled and mostly combined. You want some streaks of each.
Sandwich the cookies. Spread a generous tablespoon of filling on the flat side of one cookie. Press a second cookie on top, flat side down, and press gently until the filling reaches the edges. Repeat with remaining cookies.
Set and serve. Allow sandwiched cookies to rest for 10 minutes so the filling firms up slightly. Arrange in a tin lined with wax paper for gifting, or pile them on a plate and call the family in.

Nutrition (per serving)

S’More Sandwich Cookies — The Kind of Baking That Keeps Tradition Alive