Strawberry Pillows

Break-up week. The streets full of slush. The dogs all muddy. Three twelve-hour shifts this week. The body holding.

Lourdes is 76. She is slower. She still cooks. She still tells me to find a husband even though I have one.

I made cassava cake Saturday. The grated cassava, the coconut milk, the slow bake. The cake that holds Iloilo in it.

I skipped the blog this week. Some weeks the kitchen is enough.

The week held. The kitchen held. The chain holds.

The light was good Saturday morning. I sat on the porch with a cup of coffee and watched the inlet for forty minutes. The watching was the small therapy. The therapy was free.

Auntie Norma called Sunday afternoon. She is now seventy-nine. She wanted a recipe. I gave it to her. She wanted to know how my week was. I told her, briefly. She told me about her week. The exchange took eighteen minutes. The eighteen minutes was the keeping.

The neighbors invited us over for a small dinner Thursday. They are an Iñupiaq family — Aana and her grandson Joe. We ate caribou stew and rice. I brought lumpia. The kitchens of Anchorage have always been the small UN. The food is the proof.

A blog reader sent me a photograph of her grandmother's wooden mortar and pestle, used since 1962. The photograph was holy. I wrote her back. The writing back is the work.

I taught a Saturday morning Kain Na class on basic adobo proportions for new cooks. Eleven people in the kitchen. Half of them had never cooked Filipino food before. By eleven AM the kitchen smelled the way it should smell. By noon they were all eating. The eating was the lesson landing.

I read three chapters of the novel Saturday night before sleep. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The nurse was being undone by her work. I knew the unraveling. I had lived the unraveling. I read on. The reading was the witnessing.

I read a chapter of a novel before bed each night this week. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The novel was good. The novel was, in some way, my own life adjacent.

I cleaned the kitchen Sunday afternoon. I wiped the stove. I scrubbed the sink. I reorganized the spice cabinet. The cleaning was the small reset. The reset was the marker. The marker said: the week is over, the next week begins, the kitchen is ready.

The therapy session this month was about pacing. Dr. Reeves said, "Grace. The pacing is the love for the future self." I am working on the pacing. The pacing is harder than the loving.

The Filipino Community newsletter announced the Saturday gathering. I will be on lumpia duty. I am always on lumpia duty.

I sat on the balcony in the cold for ten minutes Sunday night with a cup of broth in my hands. The cold was the cold. The broth was the broth. The body held both.

A reader from New Jersey wrote in about her grandmother's adobo, which used pineapple. I had never heard of pineapple in adobo. I tried it. It was strange. It was also good. The strange and the good are not opposites.

The break room had cake Tuesday. Someone's birthday. We ate the cake. We did not ask whose birthday. The cake was the cake.

I made tea late at night. The tea was the small comfort. The comfort was the marker.

The Anchorage sky was the Anchorage sky. The mountains were the mountains. The inlet was the inlet. The geography was the geography.

The cassava cake was Saturday’s anchor — the one I told Auntie Norma how to make, the one that smelled like Iloilo in my Anchorage kitchen. But by Sunday, after the cleaning and the cold broth on the balcony and the last chapter of the novel, I wanted something smaller. Something that didn’t require the whole of me. These strawberry pillows are what I reach for when the week has already taken its portion and I just want to sit with something soft and sweet and done in half an hour.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 14 min | Total Time: 34 min | Servings: 24 cookies

Ingredients

2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
3/4 cup unsalted butter, softened
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1 large egg
1 tsp pure vanilla extract
1/2 cup strawberry jam
1 tbsp powdered sugar, for dusting

Instructions

Preheat. Heat oven to 350°F (175°C). Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.
Mix dry ingredients. Whisk together flour, baking powder, and salt in a medium bowl. Set aside.
Cream butter and sugar. In a large bowl, beat softened butter and granulated sugar together until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add egg and vanilla extract and beat until combined.
Combine. Add the flour mixture to the butter mixture in two additions, mixing on low until a soft dough forms. Do not overmix.
Shape the pillows. On a lightly floured surface, roll dough out to about 1/8-inch thickness. Cut into 3-inch squares. Place 1/2 tsp of strawberry jam in the center of each square. Fold opposite corners of the square toward the center, overlapping slightly and pressing gently to seal, forming a small pillow shape.
Bake. Arrange pillows on prepared baking sheets about 1 inch apart. Bake for 12 to 14 minutes, until the edges are just set and the bottoms are lightly golden. Do not overbake — they should stay pale and soft.
Cool and dust. Let cool on the baking sheet for 5 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack. Dust lightly with powdered sugar once fully cooled.

Nutrition (per serving)

Strawberry Pillows — The Small Sweetness That Holds