The ghost of Christmas Cookies Past
The long-lost recipe of my childhood Christmases that took me 20 years to find.
I grew up in a small, picturesque town in the Venetian countryside and lived there for the first 23 years of my life, until the day I moved to London. My first home was a cosy three-bedroom, end-of-terrace house in a residential complex built, I imagine, in the 1970s. While the concept of council housing isn’t quite the same in Italy as it is in the UK (and I’m not even sure the houses belonged to the council), the aesthetic was similar: four high-rise blocks of flats—the towers, as we called them—and a row of identical terraced maisonettes snaking between them, with a large, green park at the centre.
We lived at No. 36, the very last of the detached houses. To my older, design-trained eyes, the buildings now seem rather ordinary, even a little unattractive. But some of my fondest childhood memories are tied to that house, and among them, my most cherished are the Christmases spent there.
Back then, Christmas truly felt magical. Snow was far more common around Christmas—a stark contrast to the increasingly warm winters we experience today. On Christmas Eve, I would go to bed brimming with excitement, vowing every year that this time, I’d catch Santa in the act (spoiler: I never did). I can still feel the adrenaline of running downstairs in my pyjamas on Christmas morning to open presents, followed by donning our finest clothes to go to mass together. Mass, usually tedious, felt a little special on Christmas Day, with everyone dressed up for the occasion.
Afterwards, we’d head back home, always stopping by our lovely neighbour, Rita, along the way.
Rita and her husband Vittorio lived next door to us at No. 34. They were a little older than my parents and had two grown-up sons, one of whom was married to Gina, a lovely Taiwanese woman he met in London. In the nineties, this was highly unusual in my small hometown, instantly making them very cool. How much our families socialised throughout the year, I can’t quite recall, but our yearly visits to Rita’s house on Christmas Day were as sacrosanct as going to mass—a tradition that became an essential part of my childhood Christmas joy.
Rita always had the most beautiful Presepe—a miniature nativity scene complete with real moss, tiny fountains with running water, and intricate gravel paths. Under her tree, she always had gifts waiting for me and my two sisters. But the greatest gift of all was her cookies, which she baked without fail every year. The whole house smelled of them, and how we managed to devour so many without spoiling our big Christmas lunch remains a mystery—a true Christmas miracle.
When I was 14, we moved house, and our visits to Rita’s became less frequent. She passed away a few years ago, by which time I had already moved to London. The recipe for those beloved cookies, a cornerstone of my childhood, was lost with her.
It took me over 20 years to find it again.
It all started by accident, as I was lazily flipping through a Martha Stewart cookie cookbook my mum had lying around. I immediately recognised the iconic half-moon shape and dusting of icing sugar. Vanillekipferl cookies—a traditional Austrian recipe. Rita had Austrian roots, so that made sense. My first attempt was a disaster: Martha’s recipe called for ground almonds (the most common version of Kipferl), but they tasted nothing like Rita’s. Then it hit me—the moreish flavour I remembered so vividly was hazelnut, a less common variation. After a bit of research and several rounds of trial and error, I finally landed on a recipe that comes closest to the flavours I remember.
I’ve always been a sucker for tradition, especially a Christmas one, and I really wanted to honour Rita’s memory and generosity. This year, just before Christmas, I made a huge batch of her cookies and gave them away as little presents to friends. A decent portion even made it to Italy, where I watched my family with trepidation as they sampled my efforts, eager to hear their feedback. After all, as the youngest sibling, they’ve had many more years to enjoy Rita’s cookies than my 14.
Turns out, we all remembered them differently: my parents thought Rita’s cookies had a crunchier texture rather than a crumbly one; my eldest sister said my flavour and consistency were spot on, while my middle sister agreed about the texture but thought Rita’s were even nuttier in flavour. Point taken—next time, I might give the hazelnuts an extra toast!
And so, after 20 years, I finally found the recipe I had been searching for. It’s not just about the cookies themselves; it’s about the memories, the traditions, and the love that they represent. Every bite takes me back to those Christmases spent in Rita’s home, surrounded by family and a sense of magic that I’ll forever cherish. These Vanillekipferl are more than just cookies—they’re a connection to a piece of my past, and now, they’re a part of my present too.
And perhaps they could become part of your tradition too?
Rita’s Vanillekipferl
Prep Time: 20 minutes (plus 1 hour chilling)
Cooking Time: 12–15 minutes
Makes around 30 cookies.
