Stained Glass Cherry Macaroons

Late July. The aftermath of Ken's phone call is still reverberating in my chest, the way a bell continues to sound after the striking. He said the book was good. He read it. He read every page. He read about Fumiko and the internment and the miso soup and the chipped bowl and his own garden and his own silence and his own Parkinson's and he said it was good. The good is enough. The good is more than enough. The good is the only word that matters.

I made Fumiko's celebration dish — chirashizushi — because Ken's approval is a celebration, because the father reading the daughter's book about the grandmother is a celebration, because the chain holding is a celebration, and celebrations require vinegared rice and pretty toppings and the chipped bowl and the gratitude that is both the ingredient and the meal.

Our birthday approaches. Miya will be seven. I will be thirty-eight. The numbers are irrelevant. The ages are irrelevant. The relevant thing is the kitchen and the child and the book and the father who said it was good and the grandmother who is in every page and the miso soup that will be made tomorrow morning, the way it was made this morning, the way it will be made every morning, the practice unchanged by birthdays, unchanged by publications, unchanged by phone calls, the practice that is the stone in the river, the thing that does not move while everything else moves around it.

I am planning Miya's birthday party — at the apartment this year, a cooking party. Ten seven-year-olds making onigiri. The mess will be catastrophic. The joy will be worth the mess. The joy is always worth the mess. This is the lesson of cooking, of writing, of parenting, of living: the mess is the evidence that something was made, and the making is the joy, and the joy is worth the mess, always, every time, without exception.

Chirashizushi had already been made — the vinegared rice, the pretty toppings, the chipped bowl holding all of it together — and now there is Miya’s birthday party to think about, ten seven-year-olds descending on this kitchen, and I wanted something that looked the way the day felt: bright and a little ridiculous and worth every grain of sugar on the counter. These Stained Glass Cherry Macaroons are exactly that — jeweled and festive, the kind of thing a child spots across a table and reaches for without asking, which is the highest possible praise. They are also, blessedly, the kind of thing that survives small hands and considerable chaos.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 40 min | Servings: 36 macaroons

Ingredients

3 cups sweetened shredded coconut
2/3 cup sweetened condensed milk
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon almond extract
2 large egg whites
1/4 teaspoon fine salt
1 cup maraschino cherries, drained and patted dry (red and green if available)
1/2 cup red candied cherries, roughly chopped
1/2 cup green candied cherries, roughly chopped

Instructions

Preheat and prepare. Preheat oven to 325°F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper and lightly grease the parchment.
Mix the base. In a large bowl, stir together the shredded coconut, sweetened condensed milk, vanilla extract, and almond extract until evenly combined.
Whip the egg whites. In a separate clean bowl, beat the egg whites with the salt using a hand mixer until stiff peaks form, about 2–3 minutes.
Fold and combine. Gently fold the whipped egg whites into the coconut mixture in two additions, taking care not to deflate them. Fold in the chopped red and green candied cherries.
Portion the macaroons. Using a tablespoon or small cookie scoop, drop rounded mounds of batter onto the prepared baking sheets, spacing them about 1 inch apart. Press one whole maraschino cherry into the top of each mound.
Bake. Bake for 18–22 minutes, rotating pans halfway through, until the edges and tops are golden and the coconut is lightly toasted. The centers will still look slightly soft.
Cool completely. Allow macaroons to cool on the pan for 5 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack to cool fully. They will firm up as they cool.
Store. Store in an airtight container at room temperature for up to 5 days, or freeze for up to 2 months.

Nutrition (per serving)

Stained Glass Cherry Macaroons — Pretty Things Worth Every Bit of Mess