lebkuchen

The first time I tasted lebkuchen was at a Christmas market in Aachen, Germany. I was studying in Brussels at the time, lounging around on a grey Sunday morning, when my friend, Gösta called. Finding the city insufficiently snowy and festive, he proposed we take a day trip to Germany to experience a traditional Weihnachtsmarkt and some true holiday cheer. I was pretty content under my duvet. But Gösta is Swedish, and so clearly an expert on both snow and holiday cheer. And he was driving. I rallied.

We called two other Swedish friends, Katinka and Joakim, folded ourselves into Gösta’s tiny car and headed out of the city. As we approached the German border, flakes began to fall. By the time we arrived in Aachen, the city and market were as festive and snow-covered as Gösta had predicted. 

The market was on a square flanked on all sides by tall, stepped facades that recalled sugared gingerbread houses. Strings of white lights glowed from rooftops. Beneath, there were wooden huts selling hand carved ornaments, dense fruit breads, sprays of holly and twisty peppermint candies. The market smelled of roasting nuts and sizzling wurst, which we ordered with sautéed onions and a smear of spicy German mustard.  And there was glühwein, warm mulled wine, that we drank huddled close beneath eaves the eaves.

After the sun had set and the temperature plunged towards truly frigid, we decided it was time to head home. As we wound our way back through the market, we found ourselves on a side-street, in front of a small bakery, its window piled high with German Christmas cookies. Crisp, stamped springerle. Iced cinnamon stars. Humble pfeffernüsse in their jackets of powdered sugar. And another I’d never seen before: pillowy spice cookies emblazoned with blanched almonds and washed with a thin sugar glaze. Lebkuchen. I ordered a heart shaped one, tossed it in my bag and forgot about it.

Excavating my purse several days later, I discovered the slightly smashed cookie. I took a bite. Not only was it still good, it was glorious. Tender. Subtly sweet. Tasting of almonds and honey. And spice. There was cinnamon for sure. And ginger maybe. Something woody and warm like nutmeg or cloves. And something floral like cardamom. And the whole thing was laced through with a ribbon of citrus that kept it from being either too sweet or too dark. 

It has been my favorite Christmas cookie ever since.

When I moved back to the U.S., I discovered that almost no one on the West Coast has heard of lebkuchen. So several Christmases ago, I started my search for the perfect recipe. There are many, many versions of lebkuchen. Ones that strive to reproduce the cookie as it existed in 15th-century Nuremberg (the city in which it originated). Unfussy, American versions using molasses and omitting the traditional marzipan, adapted by German immigrants. Fancified modern versions baked as cupcakes and tarts.

I’ve been tinkering with the recipe for several Christmases. This is simply the version that I like best. There are lots of ground almonds to keep the cookie moist. A good hit of spice and a splash of rum to keep things festive. Three forms of citrus--candied peel, zest and juice--for complexity and to balance the dark spices. And this year, having run out of molasses, I made some with sorghum syrup, which produced my best batch yet. 

Baking these lebkuchen is a delight in itself. Like all good holiday traditions, it calls to mind cherished friends and family near and far. For me, each bite tastes of a German holiday market and a snowy afternoon spent wandering and laughing and drinking glühwein with good friends. 

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*A note on ingredients: I prefer sorghum syrup for these cookies, which can be hard to find outside the South. But if you can get your hands on a bottle, its bright sweetness and tart edges will elevate these lebkuchen to some of the finest Christmas cookies around. Light molasses produces great lebkuchen as well. I think dark and blackstrap molasses overwhelm the flavor of the citrus and spice.

Also, I finally found a local source for back oblaten, the thin, edible wafer rounds traditionally used for lebkuchen! If you are in Seattle, you can buy them at PFI. They are also available from specialty sources on the internet. I have made these cookies many times without them, though, and back oblaten are not at all necessary for delicious lebkuchen.

Lebkuchen

• 1 recipe glaze (see below)
• 4 oz candied citrus peel, finely chopped (yields about ¾ cup)
• 2 tablespoons rum, preferably gold or dark
• 7 oz (1 ½ cups) whole almonds
• 7 oz (1 cup) sugar, divided
• 7 oz (1 ½ cup) all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• ½ teaspoon kosher salt
• 1 ½ teaspoons cinnamon
• ¼ teaspoon ground ginger
• ¼ teaspoon ground cloves
• ¼ teaspoon ground allspice
• ¼ teaspoon ground cardamom
• 3 large eggs
• ¼ cup light molasses or sorghum syrup
• Zest of ½ lemon
• 13 90mm back oblaten, optional
• ½ cup whole blanched almonds, optional

For glaze:

• 3 ½ oz (about 1 cup) powdered sugar

• 1 tablespoon lemon juice

• 1 tablespoon hot water

Combine the chopped citrus peel and rum in a small bowl. Stir to combine and set aside for at least 15 minutes.

Combine the almonds and 2 tablespoons of the sugar in the bowl of a food processor (a good blender will also work in a pinch). Process until the almonds have been ground to a fine meal. 

Transfer the almonds to a medium bowl. Add the flour, baking powder, salt and spices. Stir well to combine.

In a large bowl, beat the eggs with the sugar, molasses or sorghum syrup and lemon zest until foamy. Add the nut mixture and the soaked citrus peel (with any rum in the bottom of the bowl) and stir until just combined. The dough will be quite sticky. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 2 hours and preferably overnight. 

Preheat the oven to 375° F.

Using a ¼-cup ice cream scoop, scoop the dough onto a parchment-lined sheet pan, leaving at least an inch between each cookie. If you are using the back oblaten, arrange them on a parchment-lined sheet pan and then scoop the dough into the center of each one. Use your fingers to gently flatten the tops of cookies until they are ½ inch thick (wetting your hands makes this a little easier). If you are using back oblaten, leave a ¼-inch border of wafer around the cookie dough. Place three almonds very close together in the center of each lebkuchen (they spread as the lebkuchen cook). Bake for 15 to 18 minutes, rotating the pans after 12 minutes, until the cookies are set but still soft in the middle. When in doubt, pull them sooner rather than later.

While the lebkuchen are baking, make the glaze: Sift the powdered sugar into a small bowl to remove any lumps. Add the lemon juice and hot water and whisk until smooth. 

When the cookies are done, let them cool for a minute or two then transfer to a wire rack set over a parchment-lined sheet pan (to catch glaze drips). Brush the warm lebkuchen with glaze. Repeat if desired. Let the glaze dry completely (an hour or so) before storing.

Store lebkuchen in an airtight container with a small handful of apple peels or a slice of apple or orange. This keeps the cookies moist. The cookies will keep for up to 6 weeks this way and they get better as they age and the spices and citrus oils continue to blend.  

Makes a baker's dozen of large (4-inch) cookies

apple-rosemary granola

We’re off to a slow start around here.

In the holiday preparedness department, that is. We don’t have a Christmas tree. We haven’t hung a festive wreath on our door. We have drunk zero mugs of peppermint hot chocolate with little marshmallows on top.  

It only just hit me today is December 9th and if I intend to do any wreath-making or tree-decorating or delicious-holiday-beverage-drinking, I had better get it in gear. So my mind has finally turned towards Christmas. This morning I tracked down my favorite holiday cookie recipe (lebkuchen!). Now I’m dreaming of filling the house with the smell of candied orange peel and cardamom. And I can’t wait to pick out just the right tree. After all these Christmases, I still experience a childlike delight each morning as I tiptoe in to sit quietly by the twinkling lights and breathe in the piney smell of the forest.

Alongside the sharing of meals, the making and giving of homemade gifts is the heart of the season for me. I’ve offered many over the years: rosemary shortbreads and coconut macaroons and spicy cheddar cheese straws and carrot-cardamom jam. One year, I thought my poor hands were going to be forever useless from piping sheet pan after sheet pan of peanut butter meringues. Another year, I nearly bankrupted myself making a mountain of pistachio-apricot bark with Valrhona dark chocolate and Theo cacao nibs.  

But I’ve learned my lesson. And with each passing holiday season I’ve grown a bit wiser in my holiday goodie-giving. So now, one of my go-to gifts is homemade granola. It’s simple to make. It stores and ships marvelously well. It’s inexpensive (at least compared to Valrhona dark chocolate bark!). And everyone loves good granola.

This year's flavor is apple-rosemary. I have yet to meet a homemade granola I didn’t like, but the subtle sweetness and savory notes in this version are especially pleasing to me. The sweet-tart apple brightens the earthy walnuts and the rosemary adds a slight herbaceous note. The warm spices make this granola perfect for the holidays.

There are infinite possibilities for improvising here: pear in place of the apple, sesame instead of flax, almonds in lieu of walnuts. I hope you’ll make this recipe your own. I also highly recommend baking up an extra batch so you have some for your own cupboard. It is delicious on top of creamy yogurt with a sliced pear or apple. If you’re feeling especially festive, swirl in a few spoonfuls of chestnut jam and elevate the whole affair to something brunch-worthy.

I hope you’ll join me and indulge fully in the holiday spirit. Hang a wreath. Drink some cocoa. Hell, splash a little bourbon in there--it’s the holidays! Bake up a jar of granola. And enjoy the beauty of the season.

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Apple- Rosemary Granola

• 1 recipe wet ingredients (see below)
• 1 vanilla bean
• 4 cups rolled oats
• 1 cup rye flakes (also known as rolled rye. If you can't find rye flakes, just use all rolled oats)
• 2 cups raw walnut pieces
• 1 cup flax seeds
• 1 cup raw shelled sunflower seeds
• ¾ cup light brown sugar
• 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1 teaspoon freshly-ground black pepper
• 1 tablespoon dried rosemary
• 2 tablespoons kosher salt

Wet ingredients:

• ¾ cup unsweetened applesauce

• 6 tablespoons maple syrup (preferably grade B, which is darker and more delicious)

• ¼ cup honey (If you can get your hands on buckwheat or chestnut honey, it will make your granola extra special)

• ¼ cup olive oil

• 3-4 cups dried apple slices (about 3 medium apples if you are drying your own)

If you are drying your own apples, position racks in the upper and lower thirds of the oven and preheat to 200° F. Slice the apple very thinly--using a mandolin helps for this. I don’t bother to core the apple as the seeds just fall out as you slice. Place the apple slices on a parchment lined sheet pan and bake for 1 hour. Turn the apple slices over and rotate the pans. Bake for another hour. Test the slices to see if they are crisp. If so, remove them from the oven and let the apples cool completely before removing them from the pan. If not, bake the apple slices for an additional 15-20 minutes, or until completely dry and crisp. These will keep for several weeks in an airtight container.

To bake the granola, preheat the oven to 300° F. 

Split the vanilla bean in half lengthwise and scrape out the seeds with a paring knife. Place the sugar in a small bowl and add the vanilla seeds. Using your fingers, rub the seeds into the sugar; this will keep the vanilla from clumping together in the granola.

Place the vanilla sugar in a large bowl. Add all the dry ingredients (not the dried apple slices) and stir to combine thoroughly.

Combine the wet ingredients in a medium bowl and whisk well to combine. Pour the wet ingredients over the dry ingredients and stir until all the dry ingredients have been coated.

Divide the granola between two parchment-lined sheet pans. Spread the granola out and place the pans in the oven. Bake for 45 minutes, rotating the pans and stirring the granola every 10 minutes or so. After 45 minutes the granola will be golden but not completely dry. Don’t worry about that, it will crisp up as it sits. Place the sheet pans on wire cooling racks and give the granola a final stir so it doesn’t dry into big clumps. When the granola is completely cool, stir in the dried apple slices. Transfer it to an airtight container (I like a big mason jar) and store in a cool dry place. Tightly covered, the granola will keep for several weeks.

Makes about 10 cups

brussels sprout stuffing with bacon and chestnuts

I have a confession to make: I don’t love Thanksgiving. Or at least not until lately.

I adored it when I was a little girl. Thanksgiving meant the hubbub of aunts and uncles and cousins squeezed into my grandmother’s little house. Milly’s 1940s kitchen--bright red cupboards and a chocolate brown Frigidaire humming away in the corner--was home to a spectacular display of Middle-American culinary traditions. Canned yams covered with heaping spoonfuls of brown sugar and melty marshmallows. Green bean casserole with a golden crown of crispy onions. A log of cranberry jam still bearing the indentations of the can it came in. Pumpkin pie topped with ethereal clouds of Cool-Whip. In the center of it all, was a gleaming turkey my grandfather would artfully slice, the whir of the electric carver summoning everyone to the table.  

But the star of the show was my grandmother’s oyster stuffing. I’m not sure how this coastal dish entered her repertoire; she grew up on a farm in rural Illinois. But she discovered it somewhere along the line and made it her signature holiday dish. For the seafood-averse, there was Stove-Top. For the more adventurous among us, there was oyster stuffing. It was studded with celery and chopped oysters and capped with a golden, buttery crust of saltine crackers. It was delicious. 

That stuffing and the chorus of laughter and shouting tumbling out of Milly’s kitchen were Thanksgiving to me.

When I got older, Thanksgiving and I went our separate ways. My grandma passed away and the holiday wasn’t the same somehow. I moved to Paris then Brussels then Seattle and stopped making the trek back to the Midwest for the holidays. Milly was the linchpin for our family gatherings; without her big laugh and generous table, Thanksgiving wasn’t the joyous family celebration of my childhood.

But my feelings about the holiday have been changing of late. Maybe because I'm married now. Maybe because I feel settled and happy. Or maybe because I am realizing more and more that sharing a meal with the people you love is one of the finest things there is.

This stuffing is my ode to Thanksgiving. I made it using some of my favorite fall ingredients: caramelized Brussels sprouts, smoky bacon, and earthy-sweet chestnuts. There’s fresh sage, thyme and celery to ensure it has the traditional stuffing flavor Thanksgiving purists are looking for. The currants bring a burst of sweetness that balances the earthy flavors. And the egg whisked into the stock yields a silky texture under the golden-brown crust.

This savory-sweet stuffing feels very me. And the smell that filled my house while it was baking pulled me back in time to Milly’s little red kitchen and the love she put into cooking for all of us. 

I think I’ve found my signature holiday dish.

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Brussels Sprout Stuffing with Bacon and Chestnuts

• 8 cups country bread, cut into ½- to ¾-inch cubes (I used half of a loaf that weighed 1 ½ lbs.)
• 3 tablespoons currants
• ½ lb. peeled chestnuts (from about ¾ lb. unpeeled), about 1 ½ cups
• 1 ½ cups whole milk
• kosher salt and freshly-ground black pepper
• 2 springs fresh thyme
• 12 oz. Brussels sprouts, cleaned and halved (yields about 3 cups)
• 1 tablespoons olive oil
• 6 oz. bacon, cut into strips (about 6 slices)
• 1 medium onion, finely diced
• 4 stalks celery, thinly sliced
• 1 tablespoon chopped sage
• 1 tablespoon bourbon (optional)
• 3 cups chicken or turkey stock, preferably homemade, divided
• 2 large eggs

Notes:
Store-bought peeled and cooked chestnuts work well in this recipe, but they aren’t quite as sweet and delicious as fresh. Click here for instructions on peeling fresh chestnuts.

I used an 8 x 12-inch baking dish. For more golden crust and less fluffy stuffing underneath, use a 9 x 13-inch baking dish or larger. You can even bake it in a sheet pan if you are crazy about the crispy top.

Variations:
For a vegetarian version: replace the chicken stock with vegetable stock and leave out the bacon.  Add two tablespoons of butter or olive oil for sauteing the onion, celery and sage.

For a dairy-free version: replace the butter with olive oil and the milk with either unsweetened nut milk, additional stock or water.

For a gluten-free version: replace the bread with either gluten-free bread or 6 cups of cooked and cooled quinoa.

Preheat your oven to 425 with one rack in the bottom of the oven and one in the middle. Butter a baking dish and a piece of foil large enough to cover it and set both aside.  

Spread the cubed bread out on a rimmed sheet pan and cook, stirring once or twice, until completely dry, 10-15 minutes. Transfer the bread to a large mixing bowl along with the currants and set aside.

In a small saucepan, heat the chestnuts with the milk, a pinch of salt, a few grindings of black pepper and the thyme. Bring to a bare simmer and cook, covered, stirring occasionally until the chestnuts are very tender but not falling apart, about 40 minutes. If your chestnuts soak up a lot of the milk, add a bit more milk or water. If you are using store-bought, pre-cooked chestnuts, you will need to reduce the cook time. Drain the chestnuts, reserving the milk they were cooked in. When the chestnuts have cooled a bit, roughly chop them and add them to the bowl with the bread.  

Bring a medium saucepan of generously salted water to the boil. Add the Brussels sprouts and cook until just tender, 5- 7 minutes. Drain well and transfer to a parchment-lined sheet pan.  Sprinkle the Brussels sprouts with salt, drizzle with the olive oil and toss to coat. Roast on the bottom rack of the oven until soft and the edges are golden brown, about 25 minutes.  Add the sprouts to the bowl with the bread and reduce the oven temperature to 350.

Heat a large sauté pan over medium heat. Add the bacon and cook until crisp. Remove with a slotted spoon and add to the bowl with the bread. Add the onion, celery and sage to the pan with the rendered bacon fat. Season with a generous pinch salt and pepper and saute until tender, about 10 minutes. Add the sautéd vegetables to the bowl with the bread. Deglaze the pan with the bourbon. Scrape up any brown bits from the pan and add to the bowl with the bread and sautéd vegetables.

In a medium bowl, combine the cooled milk from the chestnuts, 2 cups of the stock, the eggs, 1 teaspoon salt and ½ teaspoon black pepper. Whisk to combine.  

Pour the stock and egg mixture over the bread mixture and stir gently to combine. Let the stuffing rest for a few minutes then check to see if the bread looks dry. If so, add more stock, ¼ cup at a time (you may not use it all), until the bread is very moist; you will want to see  the stock mixture pooling in the bottom of the bowl. Transfer the stuffing to your prepared baking dish. Bake on the middle rack, covered with buttered foil for 30 minutes. Increase the oven temperature to 425, remove the foil and continue to cook until the top of the stuffing is golden brown, about 15 minutes longer. Rest for 10-20 minutes before serving.

Makes 6-8 servings