Frosted Chocolate, Orange Slice, and Sugar Cookies, Coconut Macaroons
By Margaret Cullison
When I returned to college after a spring vacation spent in my home town, a girl I knew from New York's Westchester County asked if I'd had a good time. I gave her my usual response, saying that I'd had fun. She wondered what could be fun about spending spring break in Iowa. I've encountered the misconception that nothing much happens in small towns every so often since then and understand how people who haven't lived in smaller communities might have that impression. The pace is decidedly slower.
Big city life moves much faster. Residents have more opportunities for good jobs and better choices of entertainment, restaurants, museums, and all the other divertissements that enhance our lives. Additionally, city dwellers have a larger population from which to cultivate friendships with like-minded people. Woody Allen's movies about glib, attractive, if somewhat neurotic, characters living sophisticated Manhattan lives depict what many think of as the quintessential metropolitan experience.
Accident of birth determines where we begin our lives, and my ancestors had lived for three generations in the Midwest by the time I came along. I grew up valuing that heritage and my parents' efforts to ensure that my brothers and I received well-rounded childhood experiences. We went to Omaha and Des Moines, the nearest larger cities, regularly to shop, enjoy a meal out, attend a movie, play or concert. We traveled to Chicago and the East Coast to visit relatives and take in historical sites. My cousins' suburban neighborhoods offered amenities that we didn't have, such as the Good Humor truck's daily rounds and occasional stops at frozen custard stands or Howard Johnson restaurants.
Yet I always felt content to return to the quiet beauty of southwest Iowa and the familiarity of home. A certain amount of boredom with small-town life did set in during my teen years, as I began imagining a future that would surely involve more excitement than sunning myself in the backyard or walking with friends around the town square in hopes of a chance encounter with a current boyfriend. When I returned to college after a spring vacation spent in my home town, a girl I knew from New York's Westchester County asked if I'd had a good time. I gave her my usual response, saying that I'd had fun. She wondered what could be fun about spending spring break in Iowa. I've encountered the misconception that nothing much happens in small towns every so often since then and understand how people who haven't lived in smaller communities might have that impression. The pace is decidedly slower.
Big city life moves much faster. Residents have more opportunities for good jobs and better choices of entertainment, restaurants, museums, and all the other divertissements that enhance our lives. Additionally, city dwellers have a larger population from which to cultivate friendships with like-minded people. Woody Allen's movies about glib, attractive, if somewhat neurotic, characters living sophisticated Manhattan lives depict what many think of as the quintessential metropolitan experience.
Accident of birth determines where we begin our lives, and my ancestors had lived for three generations in the Midwest by the time I came along. I grew up valuing that heritage and my parents' efforts to ensure that my brothers and I received well-rounded childhood experiences. We went to Omaha and Des Moines, the nearest larger cities, regularly to shop, enjoy a meal out, attend a movie, play or concert. We traveled to Chicago and the East Coast to visit relatives and take in historical sites. My cousins' suburban neighborhoods offered amenities that we didn't have, such as the Good Humor truck's daily rounds and occasional stops at frozen custard stands or Howard Johnson restaurants.
When I complained of boredom to my mother, she'd say, "You have no reason to be bored. Just find something to do."
She'd then produce a list of household chores to keep me occupied. I liked ironing the wrinkles out of freshly laundered clothes or organizing the contents of the dining room china cupboard for her. The chores Mom gave me never seemed too burdensome, and she understood when more interesting school or social activities commanded my attention.
She never suggested that I help her with cooking. It takes great patience to teach a young person to cook, and perhaps she wanted to wait until I showed an interest in it. Mom baked regularly, working at the much-used enamel table in the kitchen. When I came home from school in the afternoon to find her there, I'd sit at the table and watch her work, telling her the events of my day. She always made small cookies, dainty enough to serve her friends when they stopped by for impromptu coffee and a chat. Mom also offered cookies and coffee to anyone doing work in the house or yard, and they probably wished for larger cookies!
Iced chocolate cookies required the extra effort of making and applying frosting and appeared only on special occasions. The recipe comes from a good friend Mom knew at the State University of Iowa, where they studied home economics. Both women married men from Harlan and maintained a close friendship throughout their long lives.
Ione's Frosted Chocolate Cookies
2 squares bitter chocolate, melted
1/2 cup butter
1 cup sugar
1 egg
1/2 cup brewed coffee
2 cups flour
1/2 teaspoon soda dissolved in 1 tablespoon milk
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 cup chopped nuts, if desired
Cream the butter and sugar, beat in egg followed by baking soda with milk, chocolate, and coffee. Add the flour and baking powder, then nuts if used; mix thoroughly. Drop teaspoons of batter onto a greased baking sheet. Bake at 350 to 375 degrees for about 7 minutes. Cool before icing. Makes 40 small cookies.
Frosting
2 tablespoon soft butter
1 teaspoon brewed coffee
1 square bitter chocolate, melted
Approximately 2 cups powdered sugar
Mix first three ingredients in electric mixer, add powdered sugar gradually until frosting is thick enough to spread. Read More...
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