Christmas 2024. The Robinson house. The full operation. I am now the co-chef — not Mama's assistant, not the holiday helper, but the second cook, moving through the kitchen with authority, with ownership, with the confidence of a woman who has earned her place at the stove. Mama and I divided the labor: she took the ham and the sides, I took the desserts and the bread. We worked in parallel, reaching past each other for spoons and bowls, the choreography of two women in a kitchen who know each other's rhythms so well that words are unnecessary. "Salt," I said, and it was in my hand. "Timer," she said, and I checked it. This is what years of cooking together produce: a language without language, a conversation of hands and timing and the shared understanding that the meal must be ready by six and it will be ready by six because we are Robinsons and Robinsons do not miss deadlines.
Christmas Eve at MawMaw Shirley's. I made the étouffée — the third year in a row, my étouffée now, MawMaw Shirley's recipe in my hands, the tradition transferred and held. MawMaw Shirley sat in her chair and ate and the eating was quiet and full, the silence of a woman who has been cooking Christmas Eve dinner for sixty years and is now watching someone else do it, in her kitchen, with her pot, and the watching is both grief and gift: the letting go and the living on.
Jalen came this year — Jamal drove from Houston, the full twelve hours, because a toddler's first real Christmas at MawMaw Shirley's house is an event that justifies twelve hours of driving with a one-year-old who does not understand time zones or rest stops. Jalen walked into MawMaw Shirley's kitchen and stood on the floor where I once stood on a step stool and looked up at the stove with an expression that was either curiosity or gas, but I am choosing to believe it was curiosity, because the kitchen calls to Robinson children the way water calls to fish, and Jalen is a Robinson child, and the kitchen was calling.
MawMaw Shirley held him and said, "This one will cook." She says this about every baby. She said it about me. She said it about Kayla, who does not cook. She says it because the saying is the hoping, and the hoping is what grandmothers do: they look at infants and see futures full of roux and patience and the slow darkening of skill. Jalen may or may not cook. But MawMaw Shirley has declared it, and MawMaw Shirley's declarations have a way of becoming true.
The desserts were mine this year — fully, officially mine — and I wanted something that matched the feeling of the whole weekend: warm and festive and a little bit joyful in a way that doesn’t apologize for itself. These Snowman Cookies were exactly that. I thought about Jalen standing on that kitchen floor, looking up at the stove the way I once did, and I wanted something on the table that a one-year-old could point at and grin, something that said Christmas in the plainest, sweetest possible way. MawMaw Shirley declared he’ll cook someday — so I figured I’d give him something worth reaching for.
Snowman Cookies
Prep Time: 30 min | Cook Time: 12 min | Total Time: 1 hr 45 min (includes chilling) | Servings: 24 cookies
Ingredients
- 2 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
- 1 tsp baking powder
- 1/2 tsp salt
- 1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
- 1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
- 2 large eggs
- 1 tsp pure vanilla extract
- 1/2 tsp almond extract
- 2 cups powdered sugar (for icing)
- 3–4 tbsp whole milk (for icing)
- 1/2 tsp clear vanilla extract (for icing)
- White sanding sugar or white nonpareils
- Mini chocolate chips (for eyes and buttons)
- Small orange candy-coated pieces or orange icing (for noses)
- Black decorating gel or thin black licorice strips (for scarves and details)
Instructions
- Make the dough. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, and salt. In a large bowl, beat the softened butter and granulated sugar together on medium speed until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Mix in the vanilla and almond extracts. Reduce speed to low and gradually add the flour mixture, mixing just until a soft dough forms.
- Chill. Divide the dough in half, flatten each portion into a disk, and wrap in plastic wrap. Refrigerate for at least 1 hour or up to 24 hours. Cold dough holds its shape during baking and produces cleaner edges.
- Preheat and prepare. Heat your oven to 375°F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper. Lightly flour your work surface and rolling pin.
- Roll and cut. Working with one dough disk at a time (keep the other refrigerated), roll the dough to about 1/4-inch thickness. Use a snowman-shaped cookie cutter, or use three round cutters in graduated sizes (large, medium, small) and press the circles together slightly on the baking sheet to form a snowman shape. Re-roll scraps once and cut additional cookies.
- Bake. Place cookies 1 inch apart on prepared baking sheets. Bake for 10–12 minutes, until the edges are just set and the bottoms are very lightly golden. Do not overbake — the centers should look barely done when you pull them from the oven. Cool on the baking sheet for 5 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack to cool completely before icing.
- Make the icing. Whisk together the powdered sugar, milk, and clear vanilla extract until smooth and glossy. Add milk one teaspoon at a time until the icing flows slowly off the whisk — thick enough to hold its shape but thin enough to spread. Divide and tint portions with gel food coloring if desired for scarves or hats.
- Decorate. Spread or pipe white icing over each cooled snowman cookie. While the icing is still wet, sprinkle with white sanding sugar for sparkle. Press in mini chocolate chips for eyes and buttons. Add an orange candy piece for the nose. Use black decorating gel to pipe on a smile, scarf details, or a top hat. Allow decorated cookies to set at room temperature for at least 1 hour before stacking or packaging.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 185 | Protein: 2g | Fat: 8g | Carbs: 27g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 90mg