the perfect dough
Gingerbread cookie or rather, to be more specific, Pipari dough is a very sensitive issue. There are numerous versions of the same thing but most people have a specific preference over one or another. Whilst busy lifestyles have encouraged many to avoid the laborious task of preparing the Christmas necessity from scratch and instead buy a frozen version (which also exists in different versions and hence the dispute over which one is the best of the right one keeps itself on the agenda) in most (Finnish) households is Pipari baking still one of the highlights of Christmas preparations.
I am going to make Pipari houses for my friends. It is a tradition my parents have started and some point in the distant past and as it is rather original custom, not to mention a fun and easy way of avoiding buying Christmas presents I have adopted it in the recent years. Being the daughter of an architect obviously has created some hidden desire in me to design and built houses, which is now transferred, every December, into a cookie cottage production line.
Preparing the dough is not as demanding as it appears at first glance, IF you have the right recipe. In my family, and hence also in my own little one person household, we/I make Paraisten Pipari. The one and only right one. However, as I was heading off to the grocery shop on Sunday I could not find the sacred recipe. It had gone.
I phoned my sister. Urgent matters. Unfortunately she was not at home but promised to find the list of ingredients and text it to me – asap.
I had, just to be on the safe side, asked my mother how big the dough should be for 5houses. Triple. WHAT? Triple? I didn’t have enough butter. Not a good start.
I set my alarm earlier than usual, jumped out of bed, put some more or less normal looking clothes on (decided that even if it was 7AM I could not leave the house in my pyjamas) and ran to the shop that had just opened its doors. The shopkeeper glanced at my pile of butter bricks with an amused look on his face. What did he know?
I ran back home, ready for my pre-work morning dough mission. Somehow, everything kept falling from my hands and the process of dough preparation turned into a lot of rattle and banging, waking my housemate up. I assume. With my morning coffee mug in one hand I turned the heavy mass into smooth dough, which would have to stand in a cool place for a day or so.
Our fridge is tiny. There was no way I could fit triple Pipari dough in it. I covered the bowl carefully and took it out on to the landing and placed it on the window shelf. Outside temperature creeping in through the window would surely be enough to make my dough feel it was in a cool place. I just have to hope that the people living above us don’t take any interest in the wandering dough as I will not be pleased if I find myself doughless when I return home from work tonight.
I am going to make Pipari houses for my friends. It is a tradition my parents have started and some point in the distant past and as it is rather original custom, not to mention a fun and easy way of avoiding buying Christmas presents I have adopted it in the recent years. Being the daughter of an architect obviously has created some hidden desire in me to design and built houses, which is now transferred, every December, into a cookie cottage production line.
Preparing the dough is not as demanding as it appears at first glance, IF you have the right recipe. In my family, and hence also in my own little one person household, we/I make Paraisten Pipari. The one and only right one. However, as I was heading off to the grocery shop on Sunday I could not find the sacred recipe. It had gone.
I phoned my sister. Urgent matters. Unfortunately she was not at home but promised to find the list of ingredients and text it to me – asap.
I had, just to be on the safe side, asked my mother how big the dough should be for 5houses. Triple. WHAT? Triple? I didn’t have enough butter. Not a good start.
I set my alarm earlier than usual, jumped out of bed, put some more or less normal looking clothes on (decided that even if it was 7AM I could not leave the house in my pyjamas) and ran to the shop that had just opened its doors. The shopkeeper glanced at my pile of butter bricks with an amused look on his face. What did he know?
I ran back home, ready for my pre-work morning dough mission. Somehow, everything kept falling from my hands and the process of dough preparation turned into a lot of rattle and banging, waking my housemate up. I assume. With my morning coffee mug in one hand I turned the heavy mass into smooth dough, which would have to stand in a cool place for a day or so.
Our fridge is tiny. There was no way I could fit triple Pipari dough in it. I covered the bowl carefully and took it out on to the landing and placed it on the window shelf. Outside temperature creeping in through the window would surely be enough to make my dough feel it was in a cool place. I just have to hope that the people living above us don’t take any interest in the wandering dough as I will not be pleased if I find myself doughless when I return home from work tonight.
And tonight will be the moment of truth. Will the dough have the right consistency and taste and be transformed into, what can only be considered, a perfect Pipari house?
posted by riikka @ 11:52 AM
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