Snow on Christmas.
Sweeter after the leaves turn red.
The perfect Holiday toothache.
White chocolate finishes the savory of thanksgiving dinner sages and cinnamons in a flurry of sweet, seeping through the cracks between roasted browns and earth tones of the gathering table.
It’s chocolate for stealing bits of with your brothers to eat in the pantry, crouched grinning and giggling beneath the canning jars.
Tart and sweet.
Cherries for when it’s cold out.
Fruits for grownups.
No child wants a cranberry, they’re just for the sauce no one eats at thanksgiving. The one passed hurriedly in anticipation of gravy.
If you put cranberries in a cookie, little girls and their little brothers won’t gobble them up in the pantry, but grownups might.
Earthy, nutty, special
Pistachios are a treat
My favorite flavor. If there’s a pistachio-flavored something in any bakery case I buy it to confirm it’s good. It always is.
My mother ate hers out of the bag with a bowl in her lap for the shells. My favorites were the meats that fell through the split to the bottom of the bag, rolling around in the salt and bits of pistachio paper, stinging the pads of my fingers when I dug for them as salt filled the slices cut shelling them rest of them.
𝑭𝒍𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒓𝒔 have memories. Every single one of them. These cookies tell of my family, of sharing holiday joy, the excitement of youth, and of the delicate unmemorables we never seem to forget: Pistachio shells in a bowl, sneaking candies in closets, growing up and learning the cranberry secret.