Our gingerbread persons (click to enlarge)
No matter where I’ve lived in the world, if I couldn’t get back to Michigan for Christmas, then a little bit of my boyhood Michigan Christmas has always come to me – in the form of a box of gingerbread men.
Whether we’ve been living in provincial Japan or crowded Tokyo, central Wellington or out here in our rural paradise of Martinborough, the gingerbread men have always come.
That is, until this year.
Things had changed, and the only way we were going to get them this year was to make them ourselves. We’d never done that before, in any country.
“I don’t know if we can get molasses here,” I said to Rick. We were standing in our kitchen and reading the list of ingredients just two days before Christmas.
“Are you serious?” Rick said. “No molasses?” There was a slight tinge of panic in his voice.
Long ago he came to love these gingerbread men as much as I do, and the thought of a Christmas without them – the first in the 15 years we’ve been together – struck terror in his butter-and-sugar-loving heart.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve never seen molasses here, but I’ve never looked. The recipe calls for it.”
Rick looked at me. “We must get molasses. We have to make them exactly according to that recipe.”
Christmas in Michigan
When I was a boy in Michigan, it was my “Auntie Olive and Uncle Herby” who showed up every year at Christmas with a tray of homemade gingerbread.
Even in my adolescence, what struck me about Olive and Herb was how generous and loving they were in all aspects of their lives. They were adopted family, not really blood relations at all. Herb was the minister of the Methodist church my sisters and I grew up in.
My entire family appreciated Olive and Herb’s gingerbread men, which were always soft and delicious, but in me that ginger, cinnamon and molasses combination brought about a state of profound and heavenly bliss. After I ate more than my fair share, I’d start groveling in front of my sisters. “Just an arm off yours, please? Maybe a leg?”
More of our gingerbread
Every single gingerbread man that came out of Olive and Herb’s kitchen was meticulously decorated. They produced everything from traditional red-suited Santas and white snowmen to more original creations with purple lederhosen and bright yellow bikinis.
Each cookie was always carefully placed in plastic wrap and tied up with a red ribbon. It took hours and hours to make them all, and they always did it as a team.
Molasses Emergency
Rick and I have only started learning how to cook and bake since arriving in the country, and we don’t know much. Before driving the 45 minutes to the grocery store in Masterton to hunt for molasses, our friend Will consulted an expert about alternatives just in case we couldn’t find any.
Will was visiting from Chicago. Long ago he spent about 5 years in Malawi with the Peace Corps, and he knew an American woman from those days who was an expert baker. She’d had years of experience converting ingredients in American recipes to whatever was at hand.
Will sent her an email saying, “Need quick response. It’s two days before Christmas. What can we use in gingerbread if we can’t find molasses?”
She replied immediately, saying, “I know an emergency when I see one.” She gave us a list of alternative ingredients. Treacle. Cane syrup. Honey.
Off Rick and Will went to the grocery store.
Our first year away
Back in 1998, Rick and I moved from the States to Japan. It was the first time we were too far away at Christmas to make it back to visit family.
Still more - nicknamed 'the Halloween batch'
In response, Auntie Olive and Uncle Herby shipped off a box of their precious gingerbread men to the other side of the planet. It was addressed to both Rick and me.
Opening the front door and seeing that box on our concrete doorstep in Yamagata filled me with a kind of love and gratitude that went far beyond ginger, cinnamon and molasses.
Every year after that, a box came. It was like a constant in the universe. In spring, flowers bloom. In autumn, leaves fall. And at Christmas, gingerbread men arrive from Michigan. Doesn’t that happen for everyone?
When I was diagnosed with Celiac Disease in 2006 and could no longer eat wheat, rye, barley, or oats, I decided that Herb and Olive’s gingerbread men would be my one annual dose of food that I would eat even though I shouldn’t.
They were that good.
Learning to bake
When Rick and Will returned from the grocery store, they had about them an air of victory. They had found molasses.
Turns out, it’s as common in New Zealand as it is in the States. In fact, cattle farmers here feed it to their stock.
Right away we began baking – two batches, one regular and one gluten free. Each batch was supposed to make between 12 and 15 gingerbread men. I don’t know what we did wrong, but somehow the dough multiplied.
We ended up with over 60.
There were so many gingerbread men in our house that they covered the stove top, the kitchen counter, and the dining room table.
Will's pride and joy: the purple cyclops, top row second from right
Will looked around and said, “Holy cow. It’s like an army of terracotta warriors.”
The last batch came out of the oven at 11pm.
The next morning, Christmas Eve Day, we woke early and started with the frosting. I mixed red and green and blue and yellow and purple and something that turned out black.
It took us all morning and some of the afternoon to decorate our army, but we laughed and had a fantastic time. Will made a cyclops, I made a lady with a pecan bra, and Rick perfected the art of cavorting green elves.
“Did you know,” Will said as he frosted, “that molasses has very wide range of non-culinary uses? It can be used to remove rust, for example. And a small amount can be added to help make better mortar.”
As Will rattled off more random facts about molasses, we finally frosted the last of the gingerbread army. Then we immediately started eating.
They were delicious.
Of course we’ve been taking them by the truckload over to our friends and neighbors. Because that’s what you do at Christmas.
The reason things had changed
Last year, on December 19th 2008, my Uncle Herby died at the age of 84. A month later, a box of gingerbread men showed up in Martinborough. It was the very last batch of cookies Herb and Olive made together.
What does it mean to eat gingerbread decorated by a man who has already passed over to the other side? What sort of connection does it give us with the dead?
I wrote Olive telling her how much Herb had meant to me and I tried, as best you can at times like that, to tell her I was sorry for her loss.
Our loss.
They were getting sloppy towards the end.
I thanked her again for all the gingerbread men over years. And then I asked her for the recipe. I didn’t want her to feel obligated to continue sending them every year. She was 83 herself. And her gingerbread partner was gone.
So the recipe I held in my hand, as I was standing in the kitchen with Rick two days before Christmas, was written in Olive’s handwriting.
“Gingerbread Boys,” it says across the top, in bold letters. This is how traditions are passed down.
What about you? What are your cherished Christmas traditions? And what ones have been passed down?
____________________
Auntie Olive’s Gingerbread Boys
(Originally from Betty Crocker)
Pre-heat oven 350°F (175°C)
Mix together thoroughly: 1 and a 1/2 cups black molasses, 1 cup brown sugar, 1/3 cup soft shortening.
Stir in 1/2 cup cold water.
Sift together and stir in: 7 cups sifted flour (or gluten free baking mix. I used Bakels.), 1 tsp ginger, 1 tsp cinnamon, 1 tsp allspice, 1 tsp cloves, 1 tsp salt.
Stir in 2 tsp soda dissolved in 3 tbsp cold water.
Chill dough 1 hour. Roll out 1/2 inch thick. Cut with cutter dipped in flour on a flour sprinkled surface (use gluten-free flour for a gluten free version). Place cut out cookies on a lightly greased cookie sheet. Bake 15 to 18 minutes. Decorate with Frosting. Makes 12-15 depending on the size of the cutter.
For the frosting mix together: 2 cups sugar, 1 tablespoon water. Add 1 teaspoon water at a time until frosting consistency. Makes about 3/4 cup.
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Dear gingerbread boy(s), what a lovely tale and a lovely piece of writing. Your wildly decorated gingerbread men look completely insane and gorgeous, and slightly as though they might have been made by a demented four-year-old. I love the story of Olive and Herb, and the last batch of gingerbread men they made together (though I bet theirs weren’t quite as rampantly and nuttily decorated as yours!). There’s something so lovely about traditions of cooking, and people cooking together, and recipes being handed on. Nice stuff – and a happy beautiful new year to you both!
Thanks Caren. Happy new year to you too!
Thanks for the lovely post and the fantastic pictures of your gingerbread boys. My dad started making gingerbread for Christmas when we were in our teens I guess. He died in 96, and I haven’t really been able to celebrate Christmas since then (for a variety of reasons). However, this post gave me an idea – I am from the States also living in NZ – maybe I start making the gingerbread men again and sending them to my brother and sister at Christmas.
Happy New Year, and thanks again for the post.
That’s a great idea. As someone who’s been a recipient of international gingerbread, nothing says ‘With love at Christmas’ quite like it. Plus, baking them makes it feel like you’ve properly celebrated Christmas yourself.
Fabulous post, Jared. I’m normally a non-sugar-eater myself, but the rules go Out The Window in December…mostly because of gingerbread cookies. I’m addicted. Thanks for posting the recipe, too!
Traditions: I give away stories instead of stuff that can be wrapped up and put under the tree. I tell ‘em, I send ‘em by email, I post ‘em on the Haiku Farm blog, I tell ‘em on the radio, and I print up 200 copies of a little booklet of ‘em and give those booklets away to everyone I meet during the holidays. Next year I may need 300 booklets.
Stories are never the wrong size, they never require dusting, and they can be re-gifted without being given away.
The back story is more complicated (it’s on my blog, dated Dec. 21) but it’s a happily-ever-after for me and my family!
Happy New Year, friends of the Moon!
I love the stories-as-gifts approach. ‘They they can be re-gifted without being given away.’ Fantastic!
I’ve been dying to read about these gingerbread since your tweeting. It’s a wonderful thing to share traditions and even better to take them on from someone else and make it your own. Congratulations on making your own gingerbread army.
How cool to start your own traditions! We began a ‘gift-hunt’ for Christmas after I arrived in NZ in 2006. The kids adore snooping in the garden for their little pressies.
What a great time your kids must have doing that!
Jared and Rick, my Mom (Auntie Olive in the story) heard from your mom about your post and since she has so far resisted using a computer, I’ll answer for her. Sharing gingerbread men has been a tradition in our family for as long as I can remember. Dad (Uncle Herby) was the real artist until his eyesight failed. In fact, this year, mom still made a batch to share with a homeless shelter. (Interesting note – the Jewish congregation houses the homeless during Christmas week and this year put up a Christmas tree in the synagogue to make them feel more at home.) I will print this out to share with mom and let her know how even the simplest of kindnesses touches other’s hearts and can spread across the world!
Happy New Year to all!
Becky in Michigan
Hi Becky. Thanks so much for stopping by. And thanks for sharing your mom! She’s great. She told me about those gingerbread men for the homeless in her Christmas card. What a fantastic thing to do.
what a beautiful story jared. makes me really miss uncle herby.
I loved this and the comments are fabulous too! Happy New year to you both.
I loved this piece Jared. Thank you for making me laugh and for warming my heart with thoughts of Aunt Olive and Uncle Herbie.
Happy New Year!
Your little sis,
Becky
Thanks for all those times you shared your gingerbread!
Oh, I have a tear in my eye after reading this.
Your gingerbread people are absolutely fantastic and what better way for you to spend Christmas than to share this beautiful message of love, creativity and sharing. I am sure the recipients of your loving, edible, artwork were overjoyed.
Wishing you and Rick a wonderful 2010.
All the best from the Lee family (over the hill in the city)
I spotted Mae West in the first batch, but as I read on in yet another brilliant post I realised she was your pecan bra lady.
Those are the scariest looking Gingerbread men I have ever seen! I think I am going to have nightmares about being hunted by those creepy things. But top marks for a sterling effort.
PS: You can always refer to the Kiwi standard The Edmonds Cookbook for NZ ingredients
Thanks for the tip, Ruby. Don’t call me when you wake up screaming in the middle of the night.
Good readers – Ruby made a scene-stealing appearance in Home for wayward agapanthus.
I reckon you should take those gingerbread boys, add some stop-motion animation and before you know it you could have a kiwi cult classic horror – move over Peter Jackson
Uncle Herby and Auntie Olive are my dad and mom too. Your story is a wonderful tribute to them. We make gingerbread men every year at my house (even if it is the only tradition I have time for) My family also waxes creative. Last year I made a Scottsman from behind with a plaid kilt blown up to show what was under it. (and it wasn’t Q2 size pantihose) I gave it to a wonderful Scottish woman who works for me. We had a great laugh. Keep practicing your art.
Hilarious! Thanks Tricia. Your mom and dad have touched a lot of people in their lives. And the gingerbread is the least of it.
I have a lot of traditions, some of which I practice and some which I don’t. I like your gingerbread men idea, though we don’t do gingerbread around here. Instead, we made rice krispy stuff, in various shapes, and decorated those. :) They make great houses, too (melted marshmallow makes *awesome* mortar). Thank you for sharing, as always. ;)
We had the pleasure of sampling the gingerbread and more importantly sharing in the tradition of your family life. I particularly loved Rick’s gingerbread man in his little green breeches.
I think those breeches were inspired by Uncle Herby’s lederhosen gingerbread!
Readers – Kiwi Bronwyn’s husband saved the day in ‘The day the water stopped‘.
Beautifully written. Thanks for sharing your gingerbread story (and recipe). Being away from family is hard, but hardest at Christmas, I find. Keeping up traditions helps, albeit with a bitter-sweetness.
I always have the pleasure, and new tradition, of reading your blog out loud to my husband (the wolf) at bedtime. I had no idea gingerbread people would make me choke. No I didn’t swallow the head whole… I got to the last few sentences and was so touched by your love story that my tears sprung a leak. By the way, squiggles the pig loved the fame of being in your post about making olive oil labels at the mad house, that she has started her own twitter account. Who would have thought?
Thanks Leelee. I love that the pig is on twitter!
I hope you sent some to Aunty Olive!!!
OMG. I didn’t. You’d make such a better adopted nephew than me.
Uncle ‘Will’ forwarded your wonderful story. I don’t even know you, or Olive and Herby, but I am writing through tears. Good, happy tears. :-) That’s what wonderful holiday stories do–to me, anyway! ;-)
Thanks for sharing such a wonderful story.
Happy 2010 to you and Rick. I hope our paths will cross someday–yours for the first time, Rick’s for the first time in a long time.
Thanks Kristen. Happy 2010 to you too. Look forward to meeting you some day.