My dad's side of the family is Hungarian. I am the only one of my siblings who looks like that side of the family (dark eyes, dark hair, shorter). According to family lore, when I was born, my dad's mom (my Nanny), proclaimed, "finally, a Farkas!"
Today, I baked the Christmas kiffles. For those that are unfamiliar with
the kiffle, it is essentially a mini nut roll. It is a Hungarian treat
that is only made and eaten at Christmas in my family.
We've been eating kiffles for as long as I can remember. My Nanny used to make them. She passed the recipe on to my mom, who made them for years and years.
In 2002, I decided to take the tradition over from my mom. I consider myself a decent baker. My mom warned me that the kiffle is unlike any cookie I've ever made. She passed the recipe on and wished me a lot of luck.
The first year, I learned what I was up against. The dough is a pound of cream cheese, a pound of butter, at least 4 cups of flour and some vanilla. My hand mixer was no match for the dough - it started to smoke while I added the second cup of flour. Luckily, I was able to call in a reinforcement mixer and was able to finish the dough.
The kiffles have a nut filling and are rolled. I quickly learned that if you don't roll the kiffles just so, they all pop open while baking, creating a ginormous mess. I believe I threw out at least two trays of nutty goo until I finally discovered a way to keep the kiffles together. The finished product was far from pretty (earning the following proclamation from my brother, "they look like alien kiffles, but they taste good."), but it tasted like a kiffle.
After that year, I vowed to not let the kiffles make me cry. In 2003, my mom gave me a stand mixer to aid in the dough making. In a subsequent year, she imparted an important piece of wisdom - if you pinch the cookies together after rolling them, they will stay shut and not look like aliens. Her advice was spot on - I've only lost a handful of kiffles since changing up my technique.
This year, as I got ready to make the kiffles, I found myself thinking a lot about my Nanny and my Aunt Katie. Nanny passed away on Christmas Day when I was 2. I don't have any memories of her, but I do have pictures and stories (apparently, my love of gum is directly related to the fact that she gave me gum to chew before I had teeth).
Aunt Katie is my namesake (my middle name is Katherine). When she found out that I was a baker, she sent me a letter with recipes and told me that I took after her. She also told me that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. She told my mom that she was very impressed that I made the kiffles on my own.
Aunt Katie passed away in 2012. I found her letter and her recipes a few weeks ago, while organizing my cookbook. It was as if she was sending me a message, to let me know that she was there with me while I started my holiday baking.
I told my dad once that I always ask for a little extra help from Nanny when I start the kiffles. Today, after I did the same, I felt connected to Nanny and Aunt Katie in a way I never have. I was emotional as I rolled the dough out.
These cookies are my lone connection to my Hungarian heritage. I make them as much for my dad as I do for me. They connect me to women and to traditions that would have otherwise died out.
I am proud to carry on the Farkas tradition.
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