My ex-wife and I had our differences, but we each had a German parent (my father, her mother) and grew up with Christmas traditions that met America halfway but not entirely. One thing I learned from her was the art of German Christmas cookies. My dad never baked, so my childhood passed without the lessons of Spritzgebäck or Vanillekipferl or the others, but in married adulthood I learned there are no accidents in German baking: egg yolks in one recipe means egg whites used in another, and the traditions are handed down unquestioningly and in the same tin as last year. One year she whipped up a variety plate and gave it to a German friend, and his non-German wife was pissed, because it turns out that a plate of cookies is like a mixtape: you make it just because you know how, but it’s still a gift of love. [150]
by Erik Schwab
Table Tales - 150 word stories 