high-bar baking

There are two ways to talk about your childhood. The first is like a Taylor Tomlinson bit, when you grow up and realize the things that happened in your house were not normal. “Yeah, we wore muzzles in the house! …Why’s everybody sad all of a sudden?” The scenario in which you think, “I didn’t know nobody else did that.”

Then there’s the second kind, which is, “I didn’t know anybody else did that.” And that’s a cool feeling. Thinking you’re alone in the universe, then learning you’re not. In the introduction to this recipe, Maria talks about how growing up her family would spread leftover frosting on Graham Crackers as a treat. We did that too.

Mom was close, but there was always a smidge more frosting than there were sugar cookies. I can picture it now, in all sorts of colours, sitting on the top shelf of the fridge in one of the many pieces of 90s Tupperware that characterized my childhood. Do you remember those? That thick, sturdy stuff with the no-longer-clear bottoms and the sensibly-coloured tops? It was not Tupperware to be messed with. I know my parents still have some; it was designed and executed to survive a nuclear holocaust. 

And we used it for frosting, among other things. We’d pull one out of the fridge and spread its contents on a Graham Cracker with a lopsided butterknife (does anything survive years + children?) if Mom reminded us it was an option. It may not have been classically-trained, French great, but it was good. 

And I’ve tried it since. Holds up. In the way you’d expect, right, where it’s good but mostly for nostalgic reasons. These Graham Cracker cookies inspired by that “waste not, want not” Midwest attitude are better. Almost Biscoff, with the cinnamon. A real treat.

And if you’re trying to crumb-ify Graham Crackers in a blender because you burnt your food processor out making a double batch of homemade tortillas (that’s too specific to be real, surely), don’t forget that you have to crumble them enough so they actually touch the blades. Otherwise you’re just making yourself look silly.

In homage to home and the leftover frosting of childhood, the frosting is pink. It seemed right. 

Here’s to not being alone in the universe.