mother lovett

Perfect Peanut Butter Blossoms.

December 4, 2010 · 121 comments

So, this may not be as exciting as cake batter bark, but I’m going to let you in on a little secret.

When it comes to peanut butter blossoms, I always use the recipe on the back of the Hershey Kiss bag. Always.

And I really had no intentions of sharing said recipe with you, because while it is my favorite cookie of all time, it’s so well known that I figured most of you had the recipe. And if you didn’t, it’s only a drive to the grocery store away.

But then I posted my holiday baking list and had over one hundred requests for “my” peanut butter blossom recipe. Really?!

So there you have it – my recipe comes from the back of the bag!

But do you know who’s didn’t? Mother Lovett’s. I don’t know if I mentioned it before, but I would help Mother Lovett bake Christmas cookies every year. Not because she wanted my help. But because she was blind and deaf and unless we wanted charred rocks on Christmas Eve, someone needed to be there to hear the oven timer go off.

Peanut Butter Blossoms were especially tricky, because you had to hear the timer go off the first time to push the kisses in, then the second time to remove the cookies to cool.

This never went well for Mother Lovett, who often ended up with crisp, burnt peanut butter slabs with puddles of chocolate in the middle.

Every year, even though we had a bag of Kisses ready to go, she’d search high and low for that recipe. We couldn’t possibly just use the one of the bag, the one right in front of us. Just like some of her others, it is typewriter-typed on a yellowed index card, with a note on the back, “I got 49 cookies in 1999.” That is often how she kept track of how many cookies each batch yielded.

Don’t you just want to dive into that batter?

So here’s the deal. Most peanut butter blossom recipes call for shortening. I do have shortening, but I know that many of you don’t. And why buy it for one recipe? I knew that somewhere along the way I had made these with butter before, so I tried them out with butter and it worked perfectly.

Mother Lovett kept most of her cookies stored in the garage, in tattered, worn Horne’s or Kaufmann’s boxes with reused foil and saran wrap. It may sound disturbing, but she kept everything fairly clean – it was that whole depression era thing. Sometimes I wish I caught that gene as I can be so wasteful.

Every December, after the cookies were baked and stored in the garage, it was a race to see which grandchild got into the boxes first. I remember entering her house through the garage and suspiciously opening the peanut butter blossom box, careful not to disturb her perfect wrapping, grabbing a handful of cookies, lowering the box lid and darting up the stairs. Many times the peanut butter blossoms didn’t even make it to Christmas Eve.

Make sure you leave some out for Santa!

Peanut Butter Blossoms

makes approximately 48 cookies

2 sticks butter, softened

1 1/2 cups creamy peanut butter

1 cup sugar

1 cup packed brown sugar

2 eggs

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

3 1/2 cups flour

2 teaspoons baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

2 tablespoons milk

1/2 cup sugar, for rolling

2 bags Hershey Kisses (you only need ~48), unwrapped

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Cream butter and peanut butter together until smooth. Add sugars and cream for 2-3 minutes. Add eggs, one at a time, beating until combined. Stir in vanilla. Add flour, baking soda and salt, just mixing until combined, then add in milk. Cover and refrigerate dough for 30 minutes or up to 2 days.

Roll cookies into 1 inch balls and roll in sugar. Lay on baking sheet about 1 inch apart. Bake at 375 for 5 minutes. Remove from oven and push Kiss down into the middle of each cookie. Return to oven and bake for 2 1/2 more minutes. Remove and let cool completely.

Now for the real question. If you could only choose ONE cookie to make this holiday season, which would it be? This would be mine. Hands down.

{ 121 comments }

The Tale of Never Fail Pie Crust. Part One.

October 26, 2010 · 110 comments

Where to begin? It’s been nearly a year since I ransacked Mother Lovett’s recipes. I wish I could call it a recipe box, but her recipes are really just thrown together in a bag, completely unorganized. Much like my life.

Oh wait. Those aren’t really her recipes. Her real recipes are only stored inside her head. Which we hope and pray is in Heaven. Well, that’s great and all, but it doesn’t do me any good down here.

I deemed last Wednesday to be the day. The day that I would master her crust. Or at least the crust recipe that came along with her recipes.

Or just any crust. I just wanted to make a darn pie crust.

I think the reason I have not attempted said crust before is because I just don’t love pie. I enjoy pies such as coconut cream, peanut butter, chocolate silk and the like, probably because they make your teeth hurt from their divine sweetness. But an apple pie? A peach pie? A cherry pie? There is a time and a place for those pies; they must be warm and topped with 3 perfect scoops of vanilla bean ice cream that melts slowly into the apple crevices and creates a creamy deliciousness.

Come on. You know exactly what I’m talking about.

So I got to work with no specific pie in mind. I sifted my flour.

Mother Lovett didn’t even use a cup measure. She used a spoon. She just added enough until it “looked right.” Not fair. Not fair at all, my friends.

Also completely unlike Mother Lovett, I used shortening. I know she is rolling over in her grave at this one. The lard gods are crying.

I didn’t even know where to look for lard. And frankly, it scared me a bit to purchase lard. I’m not sure why. It’s not like you’re going to find me elbow deep in a can of lard at 3 in the morning. Chocolate yes, lard no. Don’t worry, I’ve now learned my lard lesson.

But the thing is, this recipe called for shortening. That was my first clue that it wasn’t really her recipe. But since it was in her recipes, and it was the only pie crust recipe in her recipes, I forged ahead.

I got dirty. I covered myself in flour. I covered my kitchen floor in flour. The day after I scrubbed it.

However, this is where I feel most at home. In my kitchen, baking and cooking, with a tiny framed picture of my stubborn Swede of a grandmother looking down upon me. I have no formal training but I adore trying new things and teaching myself.

Evidently, I also enjoy failing. It’s all part of the fun.

I was pretty sure I did everything right. I followed the instructions to a T, which is difficult for me. I rolled the dough into a ball, even thought it didn’t really look right.

And I chilled it in the fridge.

Then I did many productive things, like watch Dear John for the third time in two days and eat half of our pre-bought Halloween candy. It’s tough work waiting for pie crust to chill. It’s serious business.

At this time, Mother Lovett probably washed her walls, did her laundry (only on Monday), dusted the furniture (only on Thursday), and picked lint out of her neutral colored carpet that only her legally blind eye could see.

Once the dough was chilled, I brought it out and instantly lost my patience. Let’s just say there were about 60 straight minutes of this:

And this:

When I got married I become a much more patient person, and that is not saying much. I had to. Mr. How Sweet is a handful himself – having two of us around just wasn’t going to fly. This pie crust tested my patience more than Mr. How Sweet does each evening when he holds the remote control.

The crust just never fit. I wanted it to be perfect and well… it wasn’t.

But I smashed it in there anyway.

And then I cut the crust this way because I think I saw Ina Garten do it and I want to be her. I want to have her elegance and simplicity and class. Sadly, I think my lack of lard and the use of dirty paper scissors disqualifies me.

So where does that leave me?

Here is what I got. And this is what is still sitting in my fridge. Yes, I realize it is probably no longer useable.

But that’s okay. I will make another. I was too scared to bake it. And I had no plan. No fruit, no chocolate, no coconut. I was a poorly planned out pastry maker.

I do not have the pie crust gene. What does it take? I’m not really sure but I am going to implant myself with the gene and make a stinkin’ pie.

This is where you come in.

1. What kind of pie should I make? Perhaps I should have a plan first.

2. Do you have a fabulously (easy) pie crust recipe? One that never fails you?

At first, I was hellbent on perfecting this recipe for the sentimental value it held. I will still be doing that, but now… I want your recipe. The best you have. I’m going to tackle it head on!

Oh, and you want this recipe? You will have to wait for Part Two!

{ 110 comments }

Mother Lovett’s Chocolate Chip Cookies.

April 23, 2010 · 155 comments

Sunday marks one year since Mother Lovett passed away.

Some days it feels like it has been years, other days it feels like minutes.

A year ago at this time, we were holding vigil in her hospital room. There were consistently about 7-8 of us there at all times. And while she only regained consciousness every few hours, she knew we were there.

She died just like she did everything else in life – stubbornly.

It began on a Tuesday. We all knew it was the end, and so did she – she had the mind of a 30 year old. We figured it would be over by Wednesday. So did the nurses. As the friends poured in to the hospital room, we all waited patiently – just like we always did for her. If anyone taught me patience, it was her. (Ok, her and Mr. How Sweet – he drives me batty).

Just a few hours later, we knew that she wouldn’t let go easily. Or quickly.

So, that’s when the party started.

We were lucky enough to have a large hospice room with an adjoining private lounge, refrigerator, and table. The next logical step was to bring in the booze.

After all, Mother Lovett would have wanted it that way.

For the next few days, six-packs were carried in plastic bags, and handles of whiskey were smuggled inside dufflebags. But, really, do you think we could be quiet?

Most mourn in sorrow and grieve over a loved one’s last few days. We didn’t.

We were celebrating one of heck of a life.

Soon, nurses started bringing us buckets of ice in bedpans and our secret was out. We spent 5 full days reliving her life: laughing about the tissues stuck up her shirt sleeves, giggling about the parmesan cheese in her fridge that expired in 1996, howling over her rolling down the grassy bank while she was picking weeds, and wondering why she was so obsessed with spying on her neighbors.

We reminisced about the time she wrote ‘Merry Christopher’ instead of ‘Merry Christmas’ on one of our Christmas cards, and how her 4-foot frame would teeter-totter in 2-inch heels every Sunday to church.

We didn’t realize the tiny things we’d miss – like the times she’d claim she wasn’t hungry, then eat 2 pieces of our pizza or swipe a cheeseburger from our Happy Meal. Or how she’d talk about the Young and the Restless like she truly knew each character. Or how she’d send us to the store for the 2 most uncomfortable items any grandchild could ever buy – maxi pads ‘without wings!’ and stool softener.

Never did we think that we would miss grocery shopping with her – slowly walking behind her as she pushed the the cart, which she was only as tall as. Blushing wildly and pretending like we didn’t know her as she passed gas with each step down the cereal aisle. Becoming more furious as she argued with us over and over that oatmeal cream pies couldn’t possibly cost that much these days.

And we certainly couldn’t forget the time she passed out from drinking one too many mudslides, only to later mention that she ‘really loved that mudslinger drink.’

We are pretty darn sure that her death took so long because my grandpa was pushing back from the other side. He just wasn’t ready to be nagged again. He was enjoying his peace.

We spent a solid 5 days with her – eating, drinking, and laughing around her as she slowly left this world. It may sound odd, or even disrespectful to some, but that is just how we are. She wasn’t conscious, but I know she felt us around her. There is no better way I can describe my incredible family than to explain those last few days of Mother Lovett’s life. Living, loving, laughing, and crying together to celebrate this sassy, stubborn, sweet and vibrant woman. No wonder she took she long to die – would you want to leave a party like that?

I have to admit – there weren’t many tears shed at Mother Lovett’s funeral. As I said before, she lived an incredible, fulfilled life equally full of joy and struggle. We all knew it was her time to go. There was no better way to honor her than to celebrate a life that was truly lived.

Growing up, Mother Lovett made some fabulous chocolate chip cookies. As we all grew, her chocolate chip cookies reflected her age and physical struggle. Each year, they’d become more brown and burnt because she couldn’t hear the oven timer buzz, and she was too blind to see if they were golden brown.

I specifically remember one beach trip when the cookies were so badly burnt that we stuffed a loaf of bread inside the container. Have you ever tried that?! They cookies pull all the moisture out of the bread and get super soft!

I wish I could share Mother Lovett’s cookie recipe with you. I really do. The truth is, I have no idea what it is. In fact, I don’t even think she knew what it was.

It was just one of those recipes that magically came together with a grandmother’s hand. Mostly because, you know, she couldn’t see the ingredients she was adding to the mixing bowl. And truthfully, I am afraid of some of the ingredients that made their way in there.

I have no recipe to share, yet I don’t really think it matters. Cookies like hers can’t be duplicated.

Some of Mother Lovett’s last words were ‘every time you have a party and are together, think of me.’

If you couldn’t already guess, we do party.

And we always raise our glass to her.

{ 155 comments }

I Started.

After weeks and months of harrassing my husband with questions and ‘what if’ situations, I finally listened to him tonight. It may be the first time. It may be the only time. But that is how it goes when you are always right. Tonight I started writing my cookbook proposal. Tonight I started pouring stories of Mother Lovett out on paper, for the first time other than on my blog. For those of you who don’t know, Mother Lovett was blind as a bat, legally deaf, stubborn as all hell, and baked a fabulous cake. She left us this past April, almost one year ago. For a few months, I have been tossing around the idea of writing a cookbook chock-full of not only her recipes, but her stories. Her stories of strength, stubbornness, and vitality. Her stories of marrying her dead husband’s brother, and being most excited that she didn’t need to change her last name. Her stories of fondling every shrimp on the shrimp cocktail platter, before choosing the one she found to be most worthy. Her stories of scooting down the grocery store aisle, pushing her cart and wondering out loud if the maxi-pads in her cart [...]

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Orange-Coconut Cupcakes with Orange Cream Cheese Frosting.

Please update your google reader! http://feeds.feedburner.com/howsweeteats/smSp Mother Lovett made a lot of cakes. In fact, if you haven’t read her entire story yet, you wouldn’t know that she had a heart attack while hand-mixing cake batter. It began her demise, but once in the hospital, she was simply concerned with how dirty her kitchen still was. I obviously didn’t inherit that gene, since I can’t be bother to even wash a dish. When we lived in our magical castle, we were sans dishwasher. Some days I thought those dishes would never end . . . as I watched them pile up in the sink. I really have no idea why we were so miserable there. I am sure it doesn’t have anything to do with me not cleaning, not washing dishes, not showering, and not removing myself from the couch. Those last 2 are a stretch, but I still think my husband would agree. As my mom was growing up, Mother Lovett would bake every Saturday. Pies, cakes, and other goodies – all to provide dessert for the coming week. This orange cake was one of her specialties, but I have to admit something: she used boxed cake mix, and [...]

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Butterball Cookies.

Click here to update your google readers! http://feeds.feedburner.com/howsweeteats/smSp This is another cookie that I would make with Mother Lovett while she was still kickin’. If you have someone in your life that prefers treats on the milder side and does not like thing’s very sweet, this cookie is for them. However, I have zero concept of someone thinking a food is too sweet. That’s impossible. I broke out her old, handwritten recipe. There are strict instructions to not refrigerate this dough. They must be rolled into balls right away. Of course I followed these instructions. I can’t imagine being haunted by Mother Lovett from her grave. I can just see her ghost following me through the grocery store and throwing stool softener, maxi pads with wings, and chipped ham into my cart. We always stuffed the cookies with 2 things: pecans and maraschino cherries. Luckily, I had some pecans hanging around. Unfortunately, I did not have any maraschino cherries. I just can’t be trusted. I enjoy the crack cherries too much. But I highly suggest you try them! They are fabulous in these cookies. After rolling the cookie into a [...]

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Thumbprint Cookies.

These here are a tradition of Mother Lovett’s. I have to admit when I pulled my first batch out of the oven, I smelled her. And no, I’m not talking about her constant release of gas with every step she took. But have you ever seen someone walk and pass gas at the same time for minutes? I smelled the memories of baking with her around Christmastime. It made me incredibly nostalgic, reminiscent, and hungry. So I ate a few cookies in her remembrance. This will be our first Christmas without her. I made the dough a day ahead of time and let it sit in the fridge. It really needed to harden. She probably would have made it 4-5 days in advance, but she also used cheese on her sandwiches that was 6 months old. These cookies were so much fun to make when I was younger because they included food coloring. Do you remember how exciting food coloring (in the droppers) was as a child? I think it was so much fun for me because my mother and grandmother threatened my life if I ever played with it. So naturally, I played with it all the time. In [...]

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Trivia Friday #8.

Update your google readers!! http://feeds.feedburner.com/howsweeteats/smSp I’ve talked about Mother Lovett alot. And I have so much more to say. I’m not sure if anything can beat the time we served her half a cake on her birthday. It doesn’t matter though. She wasn’t tall enough to see the non-existent half. Soon I’ll tell that tale of grocery shopping with Mother Lovett. Because who wouldn’t love hearing about a 4’9,” 88 year old munchkin, who passed gas with every step she took, while screaming 3 aisles away from you ‘don’t forget the stool softener!‘? But that’s neither here nor there. I’ve only spoken a little bit about the other one. How classy she is. How sweet. How positive. What could make her classier? More sweet? How about drinking beer out of 32 ounce stein? That could make anyone positive. And classy. My dad took this picture at the Hofbrauhaus. Have you ever been? If not, then you probably don’t understand why this picture is blurry. That’s ok. I’m so excited because my friends Kelly and Dan are coming for dinner tonight. They have the cutest baby ever, and if you’ve [...]

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Winner!

Thank you all so much for entering the mini food processor giveaway! I have found myself reading your holiday memories over and over and OVER again. They are beautiful and make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. In need of a pick-me-up? Head over to the comments section and read the wonderful tributes. One of my most hilarious holiday memories was a few years ago on Christmas Eve. We always went to Mother Lovett’s house – I could tell stories forever about those Eve’s. She was meticulous about her home. She couldn’t see the TV, couldn’t make out your face from 2 feet away, couldn’t hear when you screamed in her ear, and often mistaked me for my brother. But she sure as heck could see that miniscule crumb of a cookie, smaller than a pin head and the identical color to the carpet, on her beige floor. A tradition of ours is to take pictures in our ‘dress-up-clothes’ after church, but before we eat and open presents. We all can’t wait to get into some comfy clothes and relax. Imagine the chaos that ensued when MY FATHER dropped an entire glass of red wine on her carpet. Needless to say, [...]

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Mother Lovett: A Recipe.

Looking for the Glo Bar Winner? Don’t know much about Mother Lovett – my deaf, blind, bossy and utterly hilarious grandma? She is funnier than a cross between Everybody Loves Raymond and Seinfeld. You can find out more about her here, here, here, and here. I loved hearing about the dialogues with your own grandmother (or mother!) in my weekend recap. I could laugh for hours reminiscing our Mother Lovett stories. Such as the one below – one for the history books. Summer 2008, pre election. Me: How are you, Grandma? ML: Oh. I’m not great. I’m all in. Me: Why is that? ML: There is nothing on TV! I tried to watch the story but even that wasn’t on. (for the record, ‘the story’ refers to The Young and The Restless, for which, my entire life, I have heard about as if the characters are her friends.) Me: Oh that’s right, the election coverage is on. ML: Yes. All I hear is Omaha, Omaha, Omaha. There is nothing else on but Omaha. I just want to watch the story. Me: Omaha? ML: Omaha! The man running for president! [...]

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