The holidays don’t officially start until the coquito gets made in my house! I have spent several years revamping, fixing and tweaking the recipe and have finally felt that it was just right. Coquito screams  “Joy” it means spending time with family and friends. It means forgetting about all our problems and having a moment to just be .  It means, I can carry a gift to someone and see them smile in appreciation. It means I can contribute something to a meal, a party, a gather. Coquito evokes the feeling of belonging, like a clan, a group, a coven, a family. So in full food magic form, Coquito making is a well calculated ritual performed on a specific day, and an almost specific time. The music has to be just right and the kitchen has to include all of my ritual participants ( my hubby opening cans, my daughter bouncing around getting in the way and the dog, totally underfoot causing mayhem. The scene may look chaotic but the energy is euphoric. I stir my giant black cauldron and mix away, adding ingredients as needed, invoking the spirit of happiness and guiding it through my hands into my mixture in the hopes of reaching all those who will consume it… So mote it be!!

Every thanksgiving I visit my mother and grandmother (she’s 96 and a firecracker). I ask mom “Hey, what should I bring?” and her response is the same. “You don’t have to bring anything just come! We always welcome anything you want to contribute but please, don’t forget to bring your grandmother coquito!!!” . I laugh and say “I would never forget!”  My grandmother was never a drinker in her youth and always vehemently opposed  its consumption in her presence but coquito… that doesn’t count at all! My greatest joy is pulling out those bottles and her face lighting up.

The first round is over and as we get closer to Christmas I need to make a new batch, I love to gift these and do drive by drop offs! With the last bit hanging out in my fridge, no one daring to take the last sip, I decided to use it for a cookie and boy was it worth it! Check out the recipe below! Hope you enjoy them as much as I did! Happy Baking!

Coquito snickerdoodles

Makes about 36

½ cup butter, softened

1 cup +1 Tbsp sugar

*2 eggs

½ tsp vanilla extract

½ cup coquito

2 ¼ cups flour

1 tsp baking powder

½ tsp salt

⅓ cup sugar, for rolling

½ tsp cinnamon, for rolling

In a large bowl or in a standing mixer with a paddle, combine butter and sugar and cream until light and fluffy, scraping down the bowl often.  Add the eggs one at a time, then add the vanilla.

In another bowl soft flour, baking soda and salt. Add flour to butter mixture, alternating with the coquito until fully incorporated. (dough will be soft, and batter like)

Shape into logs using plastic wrap or put into a container and refrigerate for 1-2 hours or until it has hardened enough to scoop.  (if you’re in a hurry, you could put it in the freezer for 15-30 minutes)

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

Combine remaining sugar and cinnamon in a bowl. Working in batches, use a tablespoon to scoop the dough and form a ball, then roll in the cinnamon sugar. Place on a parchment lined cookie sheet and bake for 8-10 minutes or until edges begin to set and starts cracking. Remove from the oven and let cool.

*If your coquito contains eggs/eggnog then cut back to only 1 egg

If you make these, please #foodmagic and #gourmetwitch_cookbooks I would love to see how yours come out!

“Noonycakes” Amelia said calmly, “We are running out of fuel…” “I know, sweet pea” Fred answered, squeezing her shoulder. “Just fly till she gives out, we might spot land!” he encouraged. She got back on the radio one last time “”We are running on line north and south. We should be over Howland Island. Itasca, can you hear us? Do you copy? We are almost out of fuel, do you copy? ” All they heard back was static, radio transmission had been lost for a while, cutting in and out, mostly inaudible. The morse code signals had come through but they were still off course and there was no sign of the Itasca which was meant to help them navigate the rest of the way or at least provide relief should something happen. The ship was large and yet Amelia could not locate it either.  Her insides were screaming with fear, but she had to remain calm in case there was still a chance, even the slightest that they could survive this.

Amelia was a modern woman for her time, relied on logic, science and technology while promoting women’s rights, leading and participating with many activist groups. She had gone to university, excelled and followed her passion to became the first female aviator, who was also the first to fly alone across the Atlantic. Speculation on how she was able to achieve all this on her own was the main topic of conversation that surrounded  her but she never paid it any mind. She was happily married to George Putnam and that was all she had to say on the matter, ever.

In these last moments she reached into her pocket and produced a small book of psalms. She found comfort in prayer though she never really enjoyed the whole idea of church. Hands shaky, she tried to open the book and say her favorite psalm, one last time. Out from between the pages fell a folded piece of paper.

“My Dearest Amelia,

I can’t get the idea of you and Fred Noonan out of my head. I know you’ve said countless times that you weren’t together but my gut says otherwise. I’ve supported you through your career, I’ve been your lap dog this whole time. I went as far as setting that fire so that we could have the money to move to California and this is the thanks I get! It’s a slap in the face to a faithful man. When we married, you made sure that I knew we were partners, equals and not bound by any conventional ties… I didn’t know you also meant the ties of our hearts and our bed. I hope in your final moments that you think of me, the love we shared and how much you meant to me. Your career and your incessant need to fight for equality has brought you to where you are now. The men you think were colleagues wanted more than anything to be rid of you and so your coordinates were tampered with…You will never find Howland Island, I made sure of it. I hope noonycakes can comfort you during this time and I pray that your corpses are devoured by sharks or never found. I hope one day after you have passed that your spirit will forgive me.

Goodbye dear wife,

George Putnam

The engine began to sputter and the plane began to smoke as the last of the fuel was burning. The alarms were going off, loudly beeping as if this racket would help them in any way at this point. “We are losing altitude” she said to Fred. “You have been a great navigator my love!” she yelled over the wind picking up as they dropped from the sky. “Don’t lose hope!” he shouted back. She carefully lifted her hand with the note over her shoulder. Fred grabbed it and tried to open it “No need! We aren’t going to make it to Howland Island, George knows about us. He changed the coordinates, and we will die here.” there was no need to turn around, she knew the color had drained from Fred’s face. She was sorry that he would meet his end by the hand of a cuckold.  Amelia focused on straightening the plane as best as she could but they continued to drop rapidly. “Brace for impact!” she screamed and in a flash, they were in the water.

Tall, handsome, silverfox

Wealthy and established

CEO and Ruler of his own dominion

Looking for a lady who loves the nightlife, you know, the dark.

Ok with snuggles by the blue flamed lake of damnation

Doesn’t mind the dead or their wailing

Willing to be loved for all eternity, dotted on constantly

Must love pomegranates and  dogs

-Hades, Lord of the Underworld