Aunty's Shortbread

So like I said in the last post, not all of my family is Jewish and most of them celebrate Christmas. There's a thing that one of my aunts does at Christmas. She makes shortbread. This is her thing, and she does it so well that nobody in the family challenges her or attempts to rival her ability. I don't know if its her recipe, but she does it so well that it has become her recipe.

Believe me. I know what I'm talking about. I've had good shortbread and I've had bad shortbread. The hacks might say that there are different kinds of shortbread, and that they can't all be compared to the shortbread. I usually want to respond to that weak defense with a wry "Yes, I suppose you're right. Some things shouldn't be compared: such as different kinds of poo... and your shortbread." But I can't because see, even if someone makes crap shortbread, they should be commended for the attempt because it is difficult. Not everyone can make shortbread that makes your tongue say "Oh, I'll have another." But now I know two people.

My sister decided to try, but she made us promise (me and Bobby) that we wouldn't tell anyone unless it was a success. I don't know why she chose to do it this year, but she always overcommits herself and I was there so I tried to keep the munchkin out of her hair. I was going to help make the shortbread so that my sister would have a scapegoat if the stuff was no good, but the first instruction was "knead the butter." Not cream the butter - knead the butter so I just kinda said no to that. Sissy started with cold butter. Nutter. Not even tacky butter, I would have waited for the butter to soften a little but before kneading it.

She started complaining after fifteen minutes (and several batches of lemon squares, peanut butter cookies and Kathy Lee bear claws). "You don't have the wrists!", I called from the salon. Aunty has huge forearms, like Popeye and I'm pretty sure they got that way from years of cooking and baking. Then Bobby, the last guy I'd ever take cooking advice from, said "Take it out of the bowl, and knead it on the counter." That actually worked, Sissy could get a better torque on the dough.

Aunty usually does her shortbread in rounds with wedges that can be broken off as needed. Sissy asked if she should do bars or rounds. I said rounds. She did them in balls that flatten out to little cookies in the oven. I totally expected this shortbread to be on the bad side, but it wasn't. It was good. Dare I say, even better than Aunty's.

That's why I was not able to watch the Bollywood movie this week. I was at Sissy's looking after the Munchkin. I missed Prahaar, a 1991 film by Nana Patekar whose acting I really like even though he often plays a villain or a weenie hero. I first came across this guy in Salaam Bombay! where he played Babu the pimp. I think its the fact that he's pretty scrawny but still talks like a tough guy in a tone that makes you believe it. That's what I like about Patekar. From what I gather the film is about an army officer who is disillusioned by what he sees going on around him. If I see it later, I see it. This week's movie "Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja", the 1993 version should have plenty of dance number scenes. That's why I watch Bollywood (plus the plot jumping). I did a little research and apparently this film was a commercial disaster, so I may eat my words. I imagine it has something to do with Johnny Lever.

What the munchkin and I watched instead was a bunch of Winnie the Pooh videos, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, and Horton Hears a Who! I was all ready to tell the munchkin that these cartoons were written by a pot-smoking communist <--- opinion, but after convincing her that the Grinch's dog was named Dave (just cuz) and watching Horton play out (I admit, I'd never actually watched Horton all the way through and had no idea what it was about), I decided that this opportunity might be better used to teach the munchkin about the effects of psilocybin. Almost immediately, I further concluded that I am not a psilocybin expert with first hand experience, and there was no way that I would be able to teach her about it in a way that she would remember the stuff when it would be most useful. I stopped myself and looked at it from the level of a munchkin. I took a bite of my shortbread and said, "Dr. Seuss sure makes funny cartoons, huh Munchkin?"
"Yup!"