Well, well, well, if it isn’t the spectre of Christmas approaching one month hence, to say nothing of the ghost of my debut novel Hoods Landing—in that the canonical biscuits mentioned therein, which I made as offerings for my recent Auckland launch, inspired these two Christmas Cookie recipes: Blonde Redhead Cookies and Marzipan Fruitcake Cookies. They’re both exceptionally easy to make, I should know; I baked three batches of the unadorned originals the night before my launch party while in a state of extreme hecticness. And look, you don’t actually have to cordon them off to Christmas alone, useful if you neither condone nor care for that specific holiday; but I certainly was doing my best to evoke the season’s flavours and there’s rarely a more useful time to have some minimal-stress cookie recipes and indeed, cookies at hand.

We’re in a weird place with capitalism where I guess a cookie is, say, $9 now—but I also, depending on where I am (small independent business good, supermarket bad) respect the craft, time and overheads involved that lead us to such pricing. Upon succumbing to one such objectively budget-stupid edible purchase recently, I conceded that the cookie at least tasted expensive—large and soft, with a firm-crumbed edge, a golden compressed disc bulging and trembling with chocolate chunks and precisely three macadamias. Little did I know that the historic humility of the generations-old melt-and-mix biscuits I wrote into Hoods Landing, and that I was making for the launch party, would lead me to that exact texture. Sometimes your heart’s desire is in your own back yard.

I mean, this recipe contain butter, which makes it current-day expensive, but it’s so straightforward and so consanguineously forgiving: you cannot muck it up. Usually the biscuits I make from this recipe are smaller, these are still not THAT large but take up more space and announce themselves more robustly; ergo the batch yield is on the smaller side—happily it’s very easy to start a new batch. For some reason they change from biscuits to cookies in my mind once sweetmeats are stirred in, that’s probably capitalism’s fault too.

So, let’s walk through them. First, the Blonde Redhead Cookies, so named—perhaps not cleverly, but definitely committedly—for the caramelised ‘blonde’ white chocolate chunks and crystallised ginger stirred through, and of course, the titular band. I enjoy the culinary trompe l’oeil of the chopped chocolate and ginger looking alike, so with each bite it could be a peppery, tastebud-punching slam of husky ginger heat, or an acquiescing pocket of butterscotch-creamy chocolate. Ginger is of course one of the cornerstones of the Christmas flavour profile; the chocolate is simply appropriately luxurious—and you can definitely use regular white chocolate should you not have access to the beguiling caramelised version. Encased in the soft, puffily upholstered golden cookies, this is a stunning combination that I felt no need to tinker with further.

Now, despite my proclivity and loyalty for white chocolate and its variants, the Marzipan Fruitcake Cookies bowled me over and are—perhaps—insofar as it’s helpful to rank your food anyway—my favourite of the pair. There’s no way to complain about being unable to find real marzipan during a cost-of-living crisis without sounding boorish but it was impossible to find! While doing a fruitless perimeter run of Sabato, a kindly patron extended the hand of community by reminding me that making your own marzipan is extremely easy. So, to save you all the excess hunt missions, I’ve assumed you won’t be able to find it either and have factored in the from-scratch factor. Be not put off, it involves the mildest of stirring.

With that taken care of, the only other thing to do is to hydrate some raisins and prunes in brandy (or tea) until plump and swollen, and—although it helps to have a passing interest in fruitcake generally—the result is breathtaking. Squidgy and resinous brandied fruit, impertinently Disaronno-flavoured whorls of soft marzipan, somehow suggesting clove and cinnamon without a dash of either—these are luscious, glorious, fragrant and thick, one bite and you can see fairy lights twinkling in your peripherals. (And, thank you to my girlfriend for hand modelling below).

The experience of Hoods Landing is like that of a spiral (that is, that’s how I feel about it existing), it recurs, it whispers, elements of it keep finding me in dreams and hunches and instincts. That being said, I was first aware of the base recipe as a child, appositely named ‘melt-and-mix biscuits’, I believe they go back on the record to Aunt Daisy (the soubriquet of a 1940s-ish radio host, not a relative) though doubtless there are other threads that have evaded credit. I haven’t made them in years. As in, not this century. But I knew they were diegetically correct for Hoods Landing, then I tried making them, somehow from memory then, a hasty error—adding the flour before cooling the butter and sugar—turned out to be serendipitous: the heat of the melted mixture rapidly hydrated the flour, allowing for that singular, expensive-bakery thickness and soft, almost-doughy sturdiness, meanwhile the baking soda reacts to the acid in the golden syrup to sieze up the outer crumbs with a golden sheen. I’m saying this confidently, I’m no scientist, I only know what repeatedly works.

I couldn’t tell you why I’ve gone so long without revisiting this recipe, or indeed, how I had the misplaced foresight to create a mistake that turned into a solution, but that’s the spiral effect of Hoods Landing for you. These two variations are so spellbinding that I’m not even going to recommend any other recipes to you (although watch this space for the upcoming annual HungryandFrozen Edible Gift Guide.) In further enspiralling, the soft minty-green Poole dish holding these cookies was an immediately-beloved gift at my launch from local raconteur Michael Giacon, exactly matching my late Nana’s set; it’s a joy to have.

Blonde Redhead Cookies

Blonde chocolate, crystallised ginger, it all makes sense, though my love of the titular band did somewhat influence this name. For those of you in America, it’s worth the effort to get hold of real golden syrup—one of the greatest ingredients you’ll ever meet. As always, before going shopping for these or any ingredients, I recommend checking out the Boycott Aotearoa zines so you know which brands to avoid. Recipe by myself, though the base cookies are adapted from a very old recipe.

• 125g butter
  
• 125g caster sugar
• 2 tablespoons golden syrup
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 2 tablespoons water
• 230g flour
• 70g blonde caramelised white chocolate
• 70g crystallised ginger

1: In a large saucepan, gently melt the 125g butter, 125g caster sugar, and 2 tablespoons of golden syrup together, stirring occasionally until it turns into a delicious (and very hot) puddle. A couple of bubbles around the edge are okay, but don’t let it boil.

2: Remove the pan from the heat. Stir together the teaspoon of baking soda and two tablespoons of water in a small measuring cup and throw the lot into the pan of butter and sugar, making sure all the baking soda gets in, and stir it briskly. The mixture will lighten and froth just a little.

3: Tip the 230g flour into this mixture and stir to form a thick dough. Spatula the dough into a mixing bowl—apologies for the extra dish to wash, but it seems more practical for refrigeration purposes—and refrigerate for about 40 minutes, or until largely cooled and firm.

4: At this point, set your oven to 180C/350F. Roughly chop the 70g each blonde white chocolate and crystallised ginger—roughly, but keeping them all in the same neighbourhood of each other. Reserve a small portion of chocolate for atop of the cookies, and fold the rest of it along with the ginger into the cookie dough.

5: Get a baking sheet and line it with baking paper. Roll good-sized balls from two heaped tablespoons of dough, and arrange, without flattening, evenly on the baking sheet.  Bake for 12 minutes and leave to cool in the oven with the door ajar. They will firm up as they cool, but if they look especially not-done after the stated time, let them stay in the oven another two minutes, no more.

Makes around 9-10 good-sized cookies. Store in an airtight container.

Notes: To make the (also excellent!) original version, leave out the ginger and chocolate; use a heaped tablespoon to roll balls of dough—which will give you more cookies, obviously—and bake for 9 minutes, leaving to cool in the oven with the door ajar.

Marzipan Fruitcake Cookies

Cookies for discerning grown-ups, these are shockingly delicious—and don’t be put off by making your own marzipan, it’s basically just stirring some ground almonds and icing sugar together. As always, before going shopping for these or any ingredients, I recommend checking out the Boycott Aotearoa zines so you know which brands to avoid. Recipe by myself, though the base cookies are adapted from a very old recipe.

• 70g ground almonds
• 70g icing sugar
• 1 teaspoon almond flavouring
• 2 tablespoons water
• 50g prunes
• 50g raisins
• 60ml brandy, dark rum, or rooibos tea, or apple juice
• 125g butter
• 125g caster sugar
• 1 tablespoon molasses
• 1 tablespoon golden syrup
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 2 tablespoons water, extra
• 230g flour

1: First, fix your fixings: Make the marzipan by stirring together the 70g each ground almonds and icing sugar with the teaspoon of almond flavouring, and just enough of the two tablespoons of water to form a thick paste. Upend this delicious mass onto a sheet of baking paper, pat it out to about 1cm thick, and score it into 1cm squares. Place in the freezer, on top of a container or something, until later.

2: Next, roughly chop the 50g prunes and warm them in a small saucepan with the 50g raisins and the 60ml brandy. When it’s just about to simmer—don’t let it boil—remove from the heat and tip the lot into a small bowl. Refrigerate while you make the dough. You can do both these steps the night before—the longer you leave the dried fruit, the more lusciously steeped it will be, though using it right away is absolutely fine.

3: Now, proceed with the cookies as above—melt the 125g each butter and caster sugar along with the tablespoon each of molasses and golden syrup until completely liquid but nowhere near boiling.

4: Remove from the heat, mix together the teaspoon of baking soda into two tablespoons of water and tip it into the butter-sugar mix, stirring briskly. Tip in the 230g flour all at once and stir to form a dough. Decant to a mixing bowl and refrigerate for 40 minutes.

5: At this point, set your oven to 180C/350F. Remove the marzipan from the freezer, and the soaked fruit from the fridge. Drain the fruit, holding on to any pooled brandy that remains—it is delicious, so you could just drink it, or save for throwing over ice cream or indeed, into other dried fruit. Reserve a small portion of the marzipan and stir the rest, along with the fruit, into the dough. Some of the marzipan will swirl and streak through the dough, this is fine.

6: Get a baking sheet and line it with baking paper. Roll good-sized balls from two heaped tablespoons of dough, and arrange, without flattening, evenly on the baking sheet. Bake for 13 minutes and leave to cool in the oven with the door ajar. They will firm up as they cool, but if they look especially not-done after the stated time, let them stay in the oven another minute, no more.

Makes around 9-10 good-sized cookies. Store in an airtight container.

Notes:

• Raisins and prunes provide an ideal blend of richness and plumpness, but switch in something else dried if you prefer.

• If you don’t want to commit to a full bottle of brandy, ask for one of those little minibar sized bottles usually kept behind the counter at the liquor store. Tea or apple juice is an absolutely fine substitute though.

• I admit, the molasses was a mistake the first time—the bottles look the same—but I like the flavour it brings. Use two tablespoons if you can’t get hold of any golden syrup.

what I’ve been listening to lately:

Watch Your Step by Anita Baker, her voice is like elasticated silk and she’s woven so much sophistication into these lyrics and the chorus; it’s so mellow and restrained in spite of—because of?—the sax solo, and then explodes with those outro adlibs.

Doe by the Breeders, menacing and rumbly and insolent with an unsettling melancholy.

Beautiful World by Parannoul, it’s very swirly and sunburnt, in fact this whole album is incredible if you like big noise and big opaque yearning (by which I guess I mean, shoegaze.)

PS: Feeling hopeless is a luxury that serves no one but those perpetrating the hopelessness. Despite the ceasefire announcement, families in Palestine need us now more than ever. Among others, you can donate to:

• ReliefAid’s Gaza Appeal, who are connected with teams on the ground in Gaza.
• Convoys of Good, another registered NZ charity distributing aid.
• I’d also like to highlight Welcome Back Slow Fashion who has relentlessly fundraised for mutual aid by selling off gaspingly beautiful and rare vintage clothing pieces one by one.
• As I’ve already mentioned, you can also demonstrate your control and power through the absence of your dollars. Boycott Zine Aotearoa has helpfully put together two comprehensive free zines so you can quickly see who to studiously avoid when buying food, drinks, household items and beauty products.