Apparently, one girl’s Seven Layer Magic Cookie is another girl’s Hello, Dolly. I was never one to belly up to the overloaded, multi-layered cookie bar. The onslaught of graham crackers, butterscotch chips, flaked coconut, chocolate and nuts doused in sweetened condensed milk defies cookie overkill. Too sweet for my liking, more confection than cookie, this is clearly something only your dentist might approve in hopes of growing his business.
Sweetened condensed milk is the raison d’etre behind the popular cookie. The toothache-in-a-can was developed by Frenchman Gail Borden in 1820. Distributed amongst field soldiers during the Civil War, it was also marketed as an ideal baby formula in the mid-1850s because it didn’t require refrigeration. With the advent of refrigeration, the pantry staple needed a new image. In the 1960s, Borden Kitchens sought inspired ideas using sweetened condensed milk, paying a whopping $25 for original recipes. The Seven Layer Magic Cookie Bar recipe emblazoned on the red-labeled cans might be a hybrid of more than one recipe. I am less interested in baking and consuming the pop-culture cookie, more interested in how the multi-layered bar cookie inherited its stage name, Hello, Dollys.
Both cake and cookie recipes bearing the name Hello, Dolly were published in 1965, one in a recipe swap column in a Syracuse, NY paper, another in an Oklahoma newspaper. Is it merely coincidence that a certain musical was playing on Broadway at the time these recipes were introduced? Add to the mix the fact that said musical had just won a record breaking 10 Tony awards and I suspect not.
There is no mention of graham crackers or sweetened condensed milk during Dolly Levi’s lavish dinner at the Harmonia Gardens in Act II of Hello, Dolly. Tuxedoed waiters leap across the stage bearing trays of Charlotte Russe, a gravitational wonder composed of Bavarian cream wrapped in ladyfingers. What is the key ingredient for a gelatin-based dessert playing 8 performances a week, illuminated by screaming hot lights? Plenty of stage magic.
There are many who believe a recipe dedicated to sweets congealed by sweetened condensed milk is worthy of a standing ovation. My co-worker Adam, for instance is a big fan of the bar cookie and the milk that holds it together. Part-time baker, soon-to-be full time research chemist. Adam is the only individual in the bakery with chiseled features worthy of an 8x10 glossy photo. Adam graciously let me borrow his well-loved cookbook, Cookinanny, a compilation of recipes from the B’nai Zion Sisterhood of Shreveport, Louisiana. His grandmother, Sylvia was at the helm of the project, a soft covered book held together with a red spiral binding. The lovely Freida Bauer contributed her recipe for Graham Cracker Squares, closely akin to the 7 Layer Bar and featuring Eagle Brand Milk. The beauty of this cookbook, published in 1964, is the sense of community you get within each recipe. The ladies of the B’nai Zion Sisterhood were not shy when affixing titles to their recipes; adjectives such as “glorious,” “yummy,” and “heavenly” pepper the pages, providing a distinctive voice to the collection. I was sad to note that despite its southern roots, the cookbook offered nary a rhubarb recipe. The Rich Poppy Seed Cake with Yummy Filling did pique my interest, but will have to wait a week.
The arrival of my favorite tart-tongued ingredient has me quietly obsessing over potential pies, tarts and yeast-risen breads. A plant clearly more Dolly Levi than Marian the Librarian rejoins me in the kitchen. The commonplace name for spring's leading lady may be Pie Plant, her stage name, Rhubarb but I’m happy to call her Barb for short. Incidentally, I just happen to know someone named Barb who will enjoy this week's recipe.
As vivid as Dolly Levi’s red sequins and feathers, rhubarb has already stained my fingertips crimson. I am not complaining. Removing a bit of the outer peel with a Y-shaped vegetable peeler, the rhubarb curls like ribbons on a beautifully made hat. Well Hello, Rhubarb. It’s so nice to have you back where you belong.
Easter has clearly taken the lead in the holiday cookie marathon with Macaroon trailing Bunny by more than a pink icing nose. Sequestered on my little macaroon island, the air circling my workspace is intoxicatingly sweet, equal parts shredded coconut to big flake desiccated coconut, with a generous hit of vanilla.
The month of April slipped into town last week, crocuses and daffodils searching for a place in the sun. Overshadowed by gray skies and chilly temps, the landscape beyond the bakery window gives little indication as to the season. Thank goodness for expiration dates on cases of dairy stacked high in the walk-in refrigerator. The retail public also helps clarify the upcoming holidays with persistent inquiries.
“No, the macaroons are not made with flour. And no, we are not a Kosher bakery. And yes, there is dairy in the flourless chocolate cake, but no, no gluten. And yes, the flourless pecan torte has no flour but yes, it has pecans. Yes, if you have a nut allergy then no, I wouldn’t advise it.” You can bet your chocolate peanut butter egg that by the time I sit down to my Passover dinner, I will be more than ready for a glass of wine; perhaps two.
Not wishing to take sides, clearly the Easter cookies seem to get a pass. Bunny cookies cooling their freshly sugared tails never encounter an interrogation. Passover macaroons seldom escape unscathed.
A young woman stopped me yesterday as I returned a stray Sharpie marker to a cup adjacent to the telephone. “Is it too late to order macaroons for Passover?” The hairspray from her freshly layered bob cut through the air like a chef’s knife. I stifled a pertussive cough as she glanced down at her phone, then up to the chalkboard menu hanging overhead. I waited, she continued. “What are the chocolate macaroons? Are they plain with chocolate, or just chocolate? Lemon macaroons? What are those? Are they in the same box?!” She seemed horrified.
Is an assorted box of macaroons so hard to understand? No one questions the boxes of sugar drenched bunnies on the run. Folks scoop up cello wrapped baskets of assorted Easter themed cookies without a fuss. Why must the macaroon be subject to criticism and debate?
Not even a Passover Haggadah can shed light on the history of the macaroon. Trust me when I tell you that airtight canisters of dry, coconut spiked cookies did not simply appear on supermarket shelves. Like many food traditions, they evolved over time.
Macaroons (not to be confused with the French macaron) have a history that dates back to the 13th century. Long before coconut was available to European bakers, macaroons were made with egg whites, sugar and either almond paste, marzipan or nutmeats. Tunisians introduced Sicilians to the flourless cookies, enhanced with almonds. Macaroons became popular within the Italian Jewish communities, not only during Passover but year round. When Eastern European Jews immigrated to the United States, recipes for cookies featuring egg whites, sugar and nuts followed.
Sephardic cookbooks feature macaroon recipes using strictly ground nuts, not coconut. The addition of coconut can loosely be credited to Philadelphia flour miller, Franklin Baker. In 1895, Baker exported a shipment of flour to Cuba and was paid in fresh coconuts. Sensing a need in the baking community for dried coconut, Baker ultimately sold his flour business in order to concentrate on coconut. His inkling proved enormously profitable. The business eventually became the Franklin Baker Company, specializing in desiccated (dried) coconut products. The introduction of dried coconut changed macaroons forever.
This bit of food history is of little interest to the macaroon-seeking patrons at my workplace. They are more concerned that lemon-filled macaroons, plain macaroons and their chocolate drizzled counterparts have plenty of elbow room. Sorry, but there’s just so much space in a 6” square window bakery box.
As for the lemon macaroon naysayers, the pairing of sweet coconut and tart lemon is as perfectly matched as dark chocolate and coconut. Which brings me to this week’s recipe, Lemon Pie with Toasty Meringue and Macaroon Crust. Filling a pie plate with an oversized macaroon and filling it with tart lemon curd can only be enhanced with a drizzle of dark chocolate. A nibble of a chocolate dipped macaroon alongside a slice of bright lemon topped with marshmallow almost redeems this week’s retail holiday. Almost.