Who doesn’t love a cookie? There’s even a book on what happens when you give a mouse one. They end up in almost every lunchbox, come saran wrapped on gas station counters, and wait patiently in kitschy jars for another hand to reach in.
Like many children, cookies were among the first things I “made” in the kitchen. My mother would buy the “break and bake” variety of cookie dough, letting me place them on the cookie sheet with her. When we’d be in the grocery store, we both would just about jump for joy when Pillsbury would come out with a seasonal design of sugar cookies—hearts for Valentine’s Day, bunnies on Easter, pumpkins for Halloween, etc.
As a matter of fact, my mother hardly ever baked a cookie from scratch. We always had bagged Betty Crocker mix or refrigerated dough on hand. It wasn’t until we inherited the family recipe for tea cakes that she made a cookie from scratch for me.
A semi-homemade cookie she used to make was a riff on the Turtleback cookie, a true Demopolis original. Boxed spice cake mix, some spiced royal icing, and you had turtlebacks before school let out.
If you’re unfamiliar with Turtlebacks—stay tuned! I’ll dive a little deeper next week. Then, I promise, I’ll do something savory for you.
Anyway, back to the cookies.
My family’s recipe for tea cakes yields a thinner, crispier cookie than other recipes. I’ve had some tea cakes that are as light and fluffy as a cloud; some with a simple icing; still more with a dusting of powdered sugar. I’m not very particular one way or the other. You put a tea cake in front of me, I’ll gladly pick up what you’re putting down.
This past Palm Sunday, St. Wilfrid’s had a potluck luncheon, which I always take as a time to try out something new. This time it was a cookie that reminded me of my family’s tea cakes, with a little tweak: Satsuma Wafers.
Back in college, my friend Mallory would bring back all kinds of plants to our apartment. We’d regularly go to a plant shop just outside Montevallo for everything from succulents to orchid food. One of those times, I impulsively bought a satsuma tree.
Now, I had no idea what a satsuma was at the time, other than the blossoms smelled just like orange flower water. Well, of course it’s because satsumas are oranges, or tangerines.
For two years, that tree sat in a giant pot and gave a small fortune of delectably sweet fruit. Then, I planted it in the ground only for it to promptly die. I haven’t had much luck with satsuma trees since then, but it hasn’t stopped me from trying yet. One day, you’ll see me fat as a hog under my satsuma grove.
As I looked around the kitchen, a bowl of tangerines was staring me right in the face saying, “Come on. I dare you.” So I took the bait.
This recipe comes from Baking in the American South by Ann Byrn. More specifically, it’s a recipe found in a 1920 edition of the Selma-Times Journal.
Satsuma Wafers
Ingredients:
- 2/3 cup sugar
- 4 Tablespoons butter, at room temperature
- 1 large egg
- 1 satsuma or tangerine
- 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
- 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
- 1/4 teaspoon salt
- Waxed paper or parchment paper for rolling up the dough
Instructions:
Place the sugar and butter in a large bowl and beat until light and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Add the egg and beat to combine.
Grate the satsuma or tangerine zest to yield 1 heaping teaspoon and add it to the bowl. Cut the fruit in half and squeeze the juice into a small bowl or cup.
Whisk together the flour, baking powder, and salt in a separate bowl. Add the juice and flour to the butter and sugar mixture. Beat together until just incorporated.
Tear off a 16-inch piece of waxed or parchment paper. Spoon the dough in a line lengthwise down the center. Secure the paper around the dough by pushing the dough against the folded waxed paper with your hand, going up and down the length of the paper. Then, roll the dough all the way up so that it is one tightly wrapped log.
Roll this with your hands until the log is 14 to 15 inches in length and about 1 1/4 inch in diameter. Don’t worry—you don’t have to be precise; it should just be smooth and even throughout. Twist the ends to seal and chill overnight.
When ready to bake, preheat the oven to 350 degrees, with a rack in the middle. Remove the dough, unwrap, and slice into 1/3 inch thick cookies. Place on an ungreased baking sheet, 2 inches apart.
Bake until lightly browned, about 10 to 13 minutes. Remove cookies and transfer to a wire rack promptly to cool completely. Repeat with the remaining dough, cooling the pan between batches.
Store in a tightly covered container for up to 2 weeks.
To glaze:
Whisk together 1/2 cup sifted confectioners sugar and 2 Tablespoons satsuma juice. Drizzle over cooled cookies.
It was during Christmas this year that I was exposed to the sheer convenience of a slice and bake cookie like this. Those were for a cornbread cookie, which if you’re interested in that recipe, just let me know. You know I’m always happy to share.
Now to make it easier when cutting, I brought out a ruler and a butter knife and scored the dough all along the top to guide my cutting knife throughout the process.
To cool the pans rather quickly between batches, I would take the pan that had just gotten out of the oven and blast it with cold water. Throw a little soap on, rinse off the little crumbs, dry it out, and your pan is ready to go. If you find it’s still a little warm after all that, you can stick it in the fridge for a couple minutes. You’d be shocked how quickly it gets cold.
The main thing you want to keep in mind is even thickness—or thinness in this case. If you have a good serrated knife, like a steak knife, it’ll help with getting through the cold dough evenly.
Employ a sawing motion rather than pressing the knife down—that way you don’t flatten the cookies. Of course, you can round them back out with your fingers. If you’re confident with your measurements, you can rotate the log as you cut to keep the round shape intact.
Don’t worry if this dough looks too dry or shaggy when you go to press it together. Sitting in the fridge overnight will help to hydrate the dough, while allowing the citrus flavor to meld into the rest of the dough.
You certainly don’t have to glaze these. In fact, they’re good enough on their own. However, don’t go for a full cookie coating with these—you want more of a striped glaze. I like to drizzle them with glaze in one direction and then another for a crosshatch pattern.
Don’t fuss too much over these—they really don’t need it.
Now that I’ve tried these, I can safely say this recipe is getting bookmarked for future use. It’s a light, refreshing treat that I can see myself savoring on the porch with a tall glass of lemonade.
Maybe “satsumaade”? Oh, who am I kidding? Just make me a gin and tonic!
