Frosting Her Christmas Cookies - Alina Jacobs Page 0,106
with bright-red cherry jam. I also made the dough for thumbprint cookies to add some more color to the wreath.
The Struffoli was best served warm. I would be using the cookies as decoration on the wreath, so I baked them first. I rolled out the dough and cut out the cookies then put them in the oven. I had way overbaked, as usual, which was good, because the production assistants and my sister kept coming by to steal some.
“Don’t take my nice ones,” I warned Lilith as she snagged a thumbprint filled with green apple filling. “You can have one of those over there. They’re a little wonky.”
“They’re so tasty though,” my twin said around the crumbs. “Just like Mimi used to make.”
I was sad for a moment. My grandmother had loved to bake and eat sweets. We would make thousands of cookies over the holidays that she would gift away to neighbors in personalized boxes that I decorated.
The cookies went into the fridge to cool. They were not going to be intricately decorated, just drizzled with frosting. I didn’t want to stray too far from the rustic nature of the dessert. Besides, I had to start on the Struffoli. Though I wanted it to be warm, I didn’t want it to be too hot while I assembled it, or the puffs would be crushed.
I rolled out the dough, cutting it into squares then rolling them lightly to be the size of marbles. I had a pretty impressive pile by the time I was ready to start frying. I checked the temperature of the oil then carefully dropped in the first handful of dough balls, monitoring them to make sure they were cooking correctly. That was why I didn’t notice Keeley was coming my way with a big vat of icing until she was right beside me.
“Whoops!” she shrieked. She tripped over literally nothing and then dumped the vat of pink icing all over my stove and into the hot oil.
The oil roiled, and then a fireball shot up to the ceiling, catching some of the dangling Christmas décor on fire. The lights popped, and the power flickered. I grabbed the fire extinguisher under my table and sprayed it all over the stove and the ceiling. The white fluff landed all over my food and Keeley’s.
Keeley’s mouth made a huge O. Then she cried, “You ruined my dish!”
I was furious. I picked up a handful of the ruined doughballs and hurled them at her. They spattered against her outfit.
“You threw frosting all over me!” I yelled back. “And set the studio on fire.”
“Morticia’s trying to sabotage me,” Keeley complained to Anastasia.
“Girls,” Dana barked. “Are you trying to ruin us? Fuck.” She looked around. The production assistants were scurrying to clean up. “Just go to new stations,” Dana said in disgust.
It was late by the time I had remade all my dough.
My cookies at least had been cooling in the fridge during the fireball icing incident, and I retrieved them and started frosting and decorating them while I heated up my oil. Then I remade the fried doughballs.
Jonathan’s parents were irritated by the whole ordeal. They kept checking their phones and watches. Jonathan also seemed antsy. He would periodically go talk to his parents, a strained expression on his face, but they barely engaged except to rebuff him.
I winced as I glazed the dough puffs. I felt sorry for him. I knew how it felt to have your parents not want to be around you. My mother had always acted as if Lilith and I had ruined her life. As soon as she could pawn my twin and me off on her sister, she had found an Italian lover and split.
“Ten minutes!” Anastasia called.
I hurried to assemble my wreath. With the cookies and the glistening fried balls of dough, it looked very rustic and natural.
“Time!” Anastasia called as I was adding the last few dustings of sprinkles to the wreath.
The judges applauded. Jonathan’s parents looked completely over the whole event.
“Since this is the meet-the-in-laws challenge, Jonathan isn’t the only one subjecting you all to his parents. He’s going to meet your families as well,” Anastasia announced.
“How?” Keeley asked snottily. “Morticia’s parents don’t even want her.”
“Sarah and Keeley have the same parents,” Anastasia said as my aunt and uncle, waving awkwardly for the camera, were hustled into the studio. “Morticia’s twin and her good friend Dorothy are going to stand in for her parents to give us some variety.”