Snowball Cookies

Christmas. Twenty-six family. Twenty-two deliveries. The Henderson operation at full capacity. And this year, something new: Amara helped me cook. Not pretend-helped — actually helped. She stood on her stool at the counter and she crumbled the cornbread for the dressing. Real cornbread, real crumbling, real participation. Her hands were small and the pieces were uneven and some of them went in her mouth instead of the bowl, but she crumbled cornbread for Granny Dot's Thanksgiving dressing — no, Christmas dressing — and I stood beside her and I didn't correct the uneven pieces because the dressing doesn't care about uniformity. The dressing cares about love, and love was in every crumble.

Devon's mother came again. Mrs. Brooks from Augusta. Quiet, kind, appreciative. She brought me a gift this year — a jar of peach preserves she made herself. Her own recipe. Her own hands. I tasted them and they were good — really good — and I said, "Mrs. Brooks, these are excellent." She said, "They're my grandmother's recipe." I said, "Then they're perfect." Because any recipe from a grandmother is perfect. That's the rule. Grandmother recipes don't have flaws. They have character.

I said grace. "Lord, this table has grown. It was two when Earl was dying. It was one when he was gone. It was twenty-two pans on porches during COVID. Now it's twenty-six people in this house and twenty-two people in their houses, all eating the same food made by the same hands with the same love. The table grows, Lord. The table always grows. Thank you for the plywood. Amen."

Everyone laughed at the plywood line. Darnell said, "To Granddaddy." Fifth year. The tradition. I looked at the empty chair — Earl's chair, still set, still waiting — and I said, softly, so only the chair could hear: "Merry Christmas, baby. The table is full."

Now go on and feed somebody.

After Amara crumbled that cornbread — really crumbled it, with her own two hands — I knew she was ready for cookies too. Snowball Cookies are the perfect next lesson because they’re all about the hands: you press the dough together, you roll each ball, and then you tumble them through powdered sugar until the whole counter looks like it snowed indoors. Amara’s were lopsided and some of them were more sugar than cookie, and they were absolutely perfect. Grandmother recipes don’t have flaws. They have character.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 18 minutes | Total Time: 38 minutes | Servings: 36 cookies

Ingredients

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
1/2 cup powdered sugar, plus more for rolling
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup finely chopped pecans

Instructions

Cream the butter. Beat the softened butter and 1/2 cup powdered sugar together until light and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Mix in the vanilla extract.
Combine dry ingredients. In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour and salt. Gradually add the flour mixture to the butter mixture, mixing on low until just combined. Fold in the chopped pecans.
Chill the dough. Cover the dough and refrigerate for 30 minutes, or until firm enough to handle easily.
Shape the cookies. Preheat oven to 350°F. Line baking sheets with parchment paper. Roll the dough into 1-inch balls and place them about 1 inch apart on the prepared sheets.
Bake. Bake for 15 to 18 minutes, until the bottoms are just lightly golden. The tops will remain pale.
First sugar roll. Let cookies cool for 5 minutes on the baking sheet, then roll them gently in powdered sugar while still warm.
Second sugar roll. Allow cookies to cool completely on a wire rack, then roll them in powdered sugar a second time for a thick, snowy coating.

Nutrition (per serving)

Snowball Cookies — Crumbled with Love by Little Hands