The Great Christmas Cookie Exchange
Joe! What’s this I hear you are participating in the Christmas Cookie Exchange in the parish this year. Is that true?” The young men belonged to Saint Andrew’s Church.
“Yeah, I’m doing it. Why do you ask?”
I don’t know. I guess it sounds kind of strange.” Brian lit a cigarette and took a long drag. Immediately he had a coughing spell. The men were standing at the bus stop waiting for the number 29 bus to take them downtown to work. “Man, it’s cold out here.”
Joe looked at his friend. He was about to suggest that Brian put out the stupid cigarette but thought better of it. “Strange how? Like guys don’t swap cookies?”
“No, not that. “My cousin Frankie used to do them, mostly to meet girls, he said.”
The men could see the bus approaching. It was about three blocks away. “Your cousin Frankie couldn’t pick up a girl in a woman’s prison.” They laughed, an acknowledgement that even the exaggeration contained more than a kernel of truth.
“What I’m saying, Joe, is I’ve known you since we were in the fifth grade. You never made a cookie in your life.”
“Well, this year I am making them. And they are going to win first prize,” Joe said.
The bus arrived and they boarded pushing their way into the crowed aisle. They grabbed onto the hold bars and resigned themselves to standing the entire ride.
“They don’t give out prizes at these things. Have you ever even been to a Christmas cookie exchange?” Brian asked.
“Nope.”
“Well, where did you get the idea there was a prize?”
“My sister told me. It’s something new this year. She enters every year, but she can’t this year. She’s expecting her little boy right around Christmas.”
The bus was no longer making its stops. It was jammed with passengers. Every passenger seemingly headed for downtown. “Looks like we’re now on an express ride this morning,” Joe said. He looked at his watch. “Maybe we won’t be late for work.”
“Your sister’s crazy. People trade cookies at these things. I went to one a couple of years ago. You make about three-four dozen cookies and you go home with a gross of cookies, a lot of them inedible.” Brian paused for a moment. “There ‘s never been a contest. If there was it would be for the worst Christmas cookie on earth.”
“She told me that people don’t participate as much as they used to. The church has been charging twenty-five bucks to enter this thing. I guess they’re hoping a prize will bring more bakers into the exchange.”
“Really? What’s the prize if you win?” Brian asked.
A woman grabbed for the buzzer, notifying the bus driver she wanted to get off. She held onto it too long, apparently, because the driver told her to knock it off or he wouldn’t stop.
“I don’t know. An Easy Bake Oven, I think,” Joe said. Everyone within earshot of the conversation chuckled.
The men squeezed to one side to allow the woman to exit. “Sounds about right,” Brian said. “Are you going to use your sister’s cookie recipe?”
“Hell no. I’m going to use my grandmother’s recipe. Ever hear of pignoli cookies?
“Italian, right?”
Joe shrugged. “Yeah, how’d you know?
“For starters your last name is Santaniello. Then there’s the word pignoli. I’m a WASP and to the best of my knowledge, that word has never appeared in any official, or unofficial English document. Anyway, what are they made of?”
“They’re really good and not that hard to make. They have almond paste, sugar, and egg whites. You put pine nuts on the top.”
“Sounds expensive. When I was in high school, I stocked shelves at Giannotto’s Grocery Store. Old man Giannotto kept almond paste behind the counter. You had to ask for it.”
The bus was finally approaching the downtown area. “Yeah, I’ve heard. Maybe you can go in on this with me. If I win I’ll make you cupcakes”
“With the Easy Bake Oven? You’re an idiot,” Brian said.
A week later, Joe attended the Christmas Cookie Exchange. He brought four dozen pignoli cookies. His booth was situated next to that of a young woman. Her table was filled with shortbread cookies adorned with a maraschino cherry on top. She stared at him for a while.
“Aren’t you Joe? We went to high school together.”
He looked over at her. She was wearing a Mrs. Claus outfit complete with the Santa cap. She was very cute. “Did you go to Windsor High?”
“Yes, we had a couple of classes together.” Her smile was captivating. “You don’t remember me?”
“Sure, I remember you.” He lied. “I’m just not good at remembering names.”
“It’s Angie. Want to try one of my cookies?” She picked one up and handed it to him. It was delicious.
Joe gave her one of his. With a grin on his face, he said, “Yours is great but mine is better. I’m going to win the contest.”
“What contest? Is there a contest I don’t know about?” Angie asked.
Joe couldn’t remember the last time he had so much fun. Not only did he get to sample a delightful assortment of cookies; he got Angie’s phone number.
Brian was right, however. The contest was just a rumor.