Peekaberry Boos

Signature Dish?

One day, I asked my sister what she considered to be Grandma's signature dishes. If anyone knew best, it would be her because she spent half of her growing-up years in the same house as Grandma.  She listed many of the dishes I also had in mind, and then she said, "jam thumbprints."

Huh?

I had no memory of ever eating jam thumbprints made by Grandma, but when I saw this recipe in Grandma's box, I knew this had to be the one my sister was talking about. It was splattered and stained as though it had seen a lot of use, and even though it wasn't called a jam thumbprint, that was what it seemed to be. 

Alrighty then. It appeared I had better make them and give my faulty memory a nudge. 

How to make Peekaberry Boos

The dough seemed pretty standard. It contained shortening, as I had come to expect, but also butter. I added those two ingredients to a bowl along with brown sugar and granulated sugar. I creamed those things together. 

I beat in the eggs, along with the almond extract. So far, so good. 

It was when I came to the next ingredient that I hesitated. A half cup of water was called for, which seemed like too much. However, I went ahead and added it, knowing Grandma had made this recipe many times. Surely, it would be fine. 

You know what's coming, right? 

The mixture looked curdled. I wasn't worried, though. Once I added the dry ingredients, it would work out. I sifted the flour, baking soda, salt, and cinnamon together. I then beat that into the wet stuff. Sure enough, it did look fine. 

Last of all, in went the oats. 

The recipe said to drop a teaspoon of dough onto a cookie sheet, so I pulled out the smallest of my scoops and filled a parchment-lined cookie sheet with small mounds of dough. 

I was then instructed to "press on dough 1/2 teaspoon rasp preserves." Doing my best interpretation of that, I made indents in the dough balls and dropped on 1/2 teaspoon of raspberry jam. 

The next step didn't go as well. The instruction said to "top with teaspoon of dough." 

Okay. 

I did my best, but the result wasn't pretty. 

I stuck the cookie sheet in the preheated oven and hoped for the best.

Instead, I got the worst.

Were these really the cookies my sister remembered so fondly? If so, how could I have gotten them so wrong? I'd followed the recipe exactly, not fiddling at all as I'm prone to do. What had Grandma done to make these cookies work? 

I will never know the answer to that question, but I did wonder what to do next. Did I relegate this to the pile of recipes I would never make again? 

I let that thought simmer for several weeks and a vacation before I picked up the recipe card once more. During that time, I'd decided to try this: I would make the recipe using only butter and no added water, reasoning that butter contained more water than shortening, and would hopefully provide just enough--but not too much--moisture to the dough. 

I made half a batch for the test. Most of the steps were the same, but the finished dough was very thick. 

Should I add a little water?

I thought back to the completely flat cookies of my first attempt and decided to stick to my plan. I scooped out much firmer dough balls, using a small scoop for some and a medium scoop for others. I then made a deep well in the cookies so the jam wouldn't spill out. 

Luckily, I'd just made a batch of homemade raspberry jam. I added 1/2 teaspoon of its deliciousness to each dough ball. 

I did not, however, add any dough on top. This jam wouldn't play peekaboo but would be on full display. The topless cookies then went into the oven to bake. 

Once again, they flattened while baking. They weren't as formless as my first attempt, but much thinner than I'd expected, considering how thick the dough was. 

They were striking, though, with that bright red center. The next question was, how would they taste?  

The Verdict

Deja vu. That's what they tasted like. I had eaten those cookies before . . . a long, long, time ago.  

Nostalgia does funny things to the taste buds. I had to get several opinions before I could believe my own mouth. "I like them," my husband and children said. "They're good." And then they went back for more. 

The next day, I tried one again and was finally convinced that they truly were delicious. At that point, they had softened into chewiness, and the hint of almond, the tangy fruitiness, and the nutty oats had melded into the perfect sweet-tart bite. 

Speaking of which, I preferred the small-scoop cookies because they were two or three bites of evenly proportioned cookie to jam. 

On the other hand, the larger one required a big mouthful of cookie to get a small taste of jam, which is why I've suggested using a small scoop on the recipe card below. I've also halved the recipe. Unless you want sixty-some-odd cookies for a big gathering, I'd stick to the card as written. 

Actually, making them for a gathering is not a bad idea. This cookie's fruity zing and bright red bullseye center would make a beautiful addition to a dessert bar. You could make them ahead and stick them in the freezer so that the flavors had a chance to do their thing. On the day of the event, you would just set them out and watch them disappear.  

Because I've fiddled with the recipe so much, I won't be listing it as one of Grandma's signature dishes. She's taken the trick of making the jam play peekaboo to her grave, but if anyone wants to figure it out, I'd be happy to know. Otherwise, I'll be making these cookies just like this.