Last night, I was knee deep in dough. I mean it. There was so much dough in my kitchen, I couldn’t see the countertops. I had two full days off this week, and while the children were at school, I made the most of it. I executed my Christmas shopping at lightspeed; I cleaned up and organized the gifts; and I made batches of cookies.
I took a picture of my first attempt at Amaretti cookies. My husband, a cookie-junkie, did not care for them, which is odd. I happened to find them delicious. I used an old Italian cookbook recipe that I’ve had for years, and I’ve always wanted to try to make that particular one. Seriously, it was a two-hour process. You had to boil the almonds, then peel them, then bake them until they were dry. Then you had to chop them in a food processor and add sugar. After that, it was time to whip egg whites and add sugar. When that was done, and you added the almond extract, you blended it all together. And then you had to let it sit. For two hours! Then, they went in the oven for a mere 15 minutes.
I am not sure if this is my favorite Amaretti cookie. I’m pretty spoiled by Vaccaro’s in Baltimore’s Little Italy. They make an OUTSTANDING Amaretti cookie. It is worth the very high price for that particular cookie.
Nevertheless, my friend Hope–of Italian descent like me–sent me the funniest e-card on Facebook. I couldn’t help but crack up at it and told her immediately it would be featured on the blog.
That card made me laugh so hard, but I interpreted it my way. I admit that I have curves, and like most Italians with curves, we like to deem ourselves sexy as opposed to “having to drop a few pounds.” I would guess that most would rather call themselves sexy, as I do, than have to admit that the cookie caused the curves. And the carbs contributed as well. Sophia Loren loves to say that she has the figure she has all because of all the spaghetti and pasta she ate.
Ultimately, the problem is that carbs and fats from cookies raise your cholesterol levels. Until this year, I had good cholesterol. My blood work always came back as “perfect.” Not this year. Now my doctor wants to see me back in three months to check on it. “Lower the carbs,” she said. “Don’t eat as much fats.”
Doesn’t she know who she’s talking to? This is simply not possible for one who has Italian genes.
I can’t give up pasta, and I certainly won’t give up a cookie. Especially not at Christmastime.
Therefore, I’ll settle for sexy, just as God intended me to be.