Baking lessons

I was fortunate enough to grow up in the back pocket of my maternal Grandparents. Gramma used to babysit Big Sister and I until we got into school and then after school. I remember ever inch of that old farmhouse and can still walk the kitchen in my mind. To me, the kitchen was huge and Gramma spent most of her time there. Gramma was an awesome cook. She made terrific meals whenever the family got together. Every holiday there was more food than our family could eat. She would make enough to feed a small army. But then, when the whole family got together, it was a small army. She made some of the best pies, cakes, pastries and cookies in the world. (Well, at least that was MY opinion.)
Thinking back, I should have paid more attention when Gramma made her famous honey cookies. She used to make them every Easter. She used ancient cookie cutters in the shape of eggs, crosses, bunnies and chicks. I remember leaning on my elbows on the table watching her decorate those delicious annual treats in her neat writing. She would make cute little flowers in lavender, pink, yellow and leaves of green spiraling up the crosses, she would trace the outline of the bunnies and chicks with white frosting and then give them eyes and fill in the bunny ears with pink and make little yellow dots to fill in the chicks finishing it off with a little blue dot for the eye. Not only were these cookies beautiful, they were delicious! I almost felt bad when I bit into one. Almost. Over the years I have attempted to make these elusive cookies, but just haven't mastered it. I shall endeavor to persevere!  I will make the perfect honey cookie the next time! Oh yes, it will be mine.
Another treat Gramma made was completely sinful refrigerator brownies. Chocolate brownies with a thick chocolate frosting on top. Why "refirgerator brownies", you ask? Because, she kept them in the refrigerator. (Sometimes things ARE literal.) I remember after lunch we would nap for an hour. Well, most of the time. Gramma would nap, and I would snitch a couple of refrigerator brownies. I know she always heard me, but she always pretended that she didn't. Grammas rock.

Now, here is the thing. I hate to cook. I LOVE to BAKE. Yes, there is a difference. Cooking means a meal. Baking means HEAVEN!

The one lesson I remember my Gramma taught me, always test your batter before you bake anything. I remember her sticking her pinkie in the batter to snatch a taste. She would look at me with a conspiratorial wink and say, "I just added a little more sugar."
The one thing I remember Gramma making for Grampa was lutefisk. Dear God. She didn't make it very often but I remember her making it at the farmhouse. The entire house would just reek. Seriously. Cod soaked in lye for like 8 days until it was the consistency of snot, then baked and served with potatos. Ugh. That alone should have turned me off to seafood for the rest of my life, however, I love fish. Strange how things work out, isn't it?