braetzle

Braetzle, a thin, crispy Swiss cookie, was something my Grandma Kathryn (and what a lady she was!) made every Christmas. I didn't love it as a child, I thought it was a little flat & unexciting as far as cookies go. The history & culture behind it were lost on me too. I ate one dutifully every year because Grandma made them & it was my one chance to.  But now, I don't mind the cinnamony wafer-thin braetzle & even if I did, I'd eat one anyway for memory's sake. To be part of the same tradition here in Oregon 2,000 miles from where I learned braetzle, (and I've never met anyone else who even knew what they were),...it made me feel a sense of belonging & comaraderie. An "oh! You too?" kind of moment. It's silly little things like that that make me feel at home out here. Things like seeing Slagel kids at the local fertilizer co-op's customer appreciation dinner. Or scotcheroos at church lunch. Anyway, braetzle: we got together with the family & made it a multi-generational event. Grammy was the all important braetzle iron timer, I was a section shaper, Tom ran the iron, Edie rolled logs (& made the dough). The rest? Taste testers. Lots if them. It was terribly fun & nostalgic.

It's quite a production making braetzle (not sure what the plural of braetzle is...) 

1) roll out chilled dough in quarter wide logs

2) cut into 1/2" sections

3) Press in braetzle iron

4) let cool

5) enjoy (don't tell Dar this photo's on here. Thank you.)

Maybe this will make him feel better.