Lemony Lemon Cookies

Yesterday John and I passed the morning in the doctor’s office. We’re a couple who really knows how to have a good time.

The doctor’s waiting room, a windowless, dour space, was decorated for Valentine’s Day with sparkly paper hearts, wine gift bags (in a doctor’s office?), and tinselly garlands. Face masks, tissues, and that horribly drying antimicrobial handwash completed the look. Call it “Romance Among the Flu.”

Valentine’s Day has never floated my boat. My antipathy reached its nadir during grad school, when a work-study position landed me in the student health center’s counseling unit. Most of the time the job was fine. Then February 14th rolled around, filling the office with sobbing students. “It’s Valentine’s Day!” One young man blurted, tears streaming, as I dispensed tissues and nodded sympathetically. Poor guy. So much pain over an ersatz holiday!

And here we are again, being told to either dine someplace fancy or whip up some elegantly aphrodisiac meal. And don’t forget those roses!

Being me–and also having come into dozens of ripe lemons, courtesy of the tree in our yard–I baked lemon cookies instead. These may be enjoyed regardless of romantic status.

The original recipe comes from The San Francisco Chronicle Cookbook. “Joyce’s Lemon Cookies,” were the happy accident of one Joyce McGillis, who was working with Marion Cunningham on the Fannie Farmer Cookbook revision. Thinking she’d added too much lemon to the recipe, McGillis tasted and realized she had a winner.

After reducing the original 1 1/4 cups sugar to a scant 1 cup, I found myself with a moist, lemony cookie, but it wasn’t the flavor explosion I’d hoped for. Plus I was hoping to use up more lemons. By increasing the lemon juice to a 1/2 cup, I achieved the desired result: sharp lemon flavor, answered by just enough sweetness and ample butter. I include both versions here, for those who prefer their lemon cookies a bit more subtle.The recipe is, as Nigella would say, a doddle. I encourage you to try both.

A brief discussion about the dough itself. This a classic butter dough, meaning it’s a diva, very soft and difficult to handle. The original recipe calls for immediately dividing it in two and rolling it into ropes. I found this impossible; both kitchen and dough were too warm, meaning the dough was unworkably soft. Instead, I oozed it on to piece of wax paper and tucked it into the fridge, where an overnight chill made it better behaved. The next day, I divided the dough in two, and rolled it into ropes using the wax paper as guides.

Perfect for teatime, or anytime, really. After all, doesn’t all that lemon juice mean these qualify as fruit?

P.S. Yesterday’s readership was an all-time high. Thank you so much for being here….”thank you” is actually pretty insufficient. Kind of like my kitchen. But it will have to suffice. Thank you.