Soft Molasses Crinkle Cookies

Hanukkah. Eight nights. Eight candles. Eight nights of latkes, which means eight nights of standing at the stove frying potatoes in oil while the house fills with the smell that is, for me, the smell of December — not pine, not cinnamon sticks, not whatever it is that the scented candle industry thinks December smells like, but hot oil and grated potato and the sizzle of something becoming golden. This is December in a Jewish kitchen. This is the light.

The first night was just Marvin and me. I lit the shamash and one candle and said the blessings, and Marvin stood beside me and said them too, and the flames were small and bright in the dark dining room. We ate latkes with sour cream (his) and applesauce (mine) and argued about the condiment question for the thirty-fourth consecutive year, and the argument is the tradition now, as important as the candles.

The fourth night, David and Jennifer brought the children. Ethan, two and a half, helped me light the candles with the supervised assistance of a grandmother who is acutely aware that fire and toddlers are a combination that requires vigilance. He said the blessings in his small, certain voice, the Hebrew words shaped by a mouth that has barely learned English, and I heard Irving in him — Irving, who said the blessings with the same certainty, the same quiet conviction that the words mattered even if you didn't fully understand them. Sophie watched the candles with wonder. She is eight months old and experiencing fire for the first time, and her expression — open, amazed, lit from within by the light without — was the most Hanukkah thing I saw all week.

I made latkes from three kinds of potatoes: Yukon Gold for creaminess, Russet for crispness, and sweet potato for the orange latkes that Marvin claims to dislike but eats four of every year. The sweet potato latkes are my addition to the canon. Sylvia did not make sweet potato latkes. Sylvia would have found them suspicious. But Sylvia is not here, and I am, and the sweet potato latkes are good, and evolution is not betrayal. Evolution is survival.

On the eighth night, I lit all the candles and the menorah was full — nine flames, the room warm with light, and I thought about the original miracle: not enough oil, and yet. Not enough, and yet it burned. This is the story of every Jewish family I have ever known: not enough, and yet. Not enough money on the Grand Concourse, and yet Sylvia fed us like queens. Not enough time in the day, and yet I taught and cooked and raised two children. Not enough oil, and yet the light lasted. And yet. And yet. This is the miracle. We persist.

After eight nights of standing at the stove — the sizzle of latkes, the blessings said in small certain voices, the menorah finally full on that last evening — I wanted something to carry the warmth of the week a little further. These soft molasses crinkle cookies are what I make when a holiday deserves a sweet punctuation mark: dark with spice, rolled in sugar until they catch the light, crinkled on the outside and yielding within, the way the best traditions are. They are not Sylvia’s recipe either. But they are ours now.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 10 min | Total Time: 30 min (plus 1 hour chill time) | Servings: 36 cookies

Ingredients

2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 1/2 teaspoons ground ginger
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt
3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
1 cup granulated sugar, plus 1/2 cup more for rolling
1 large egg
1/4 cup unsulfured molasses
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Instructions

Whisk dry ingredients. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, ginger, cinnamon, cloves, and salt. Set aside.
Cream butter and sugar. In a large bowl using a hand mixer or stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the softened butter and 1 cup of granulated sugar on medium-high speed until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes.
Add wet ingredients. Add the egg, molasses, and vanilla extract to the butter mixture. Beat on medium speed until fully combined, scraping down the sides of the bowl as needed.
Combine. Reduce the mixer to low and gradually add the dry ingredient mixture, mixing just until a soft dough forms. Do not overmix.
Chill the dough. Cover the bowl tightly with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 1 hour, or up to 24 hours. The dough must be cold to roll properly.
Preheat and prepare. When ready to bake, preheat your oven to 375°F (190°C). Line two baking sheets with parchment paper. Place the remaining 1/2 cup of granulated sugar in a shallow bowl.
Roll and coat. Scoop the chilled dough into balls about 1 1/2 inches in diameter (roughly 1 tablespoon each). Roll each ball between your palms until smooth, then roll generously in the sugar until fully coated.
Bake. Arrange the sugar-coated dough balls 2 inches apart on the prepared baking sheets. Bake for 9 to 11 minutes, until the edges are just set and the tops have crinkled. The centers will look slightly underdone — that is correct.
Cool. Let the cookies cool on the baking sheet for 5 minutes before transferring to a wire rack. They will firm up as they cool while staying soft and chewy in the center.

Nutrition (per serving)

Soft Molasses Crinkle Cookies — The Sweet That Closes Eight Nights