Shortbread and sugar cookies
As soon as the amazing aroma began to permeate my warm kitchen, I realized why I didn’t make mum’s shortbread last Christmas, the first Christmas since her death. What is it about a scent that instantly transports us to another place and time? Chubby, loonie-sized morsels of tender, rich shortbread, expertly removed from the oven in the proverbial ‘nick of time’, ever so slightly browned. Stored every year in the same deep Christmas tin (was it red?). Mum made the shortbread early in December and doled it out throughout the month, with some reluctance and much vigilance. Always with the admonition that we must save some for Christmas Day. We didn’t seem to have enough, in my eyes; it never occurred to me that it was expensive to make - all that butter. Mum and the kitchen. Warm delicious food - especially the baking. Especially at Christmas. One corgi or another underfoot. Wine at 3 pm and not a minute before, because? I can’t remember the firs...