I recently
attended a poetry reading inside a panadería, a Mexican bakery, in the Mission
District of San Francisco. As a source of after-work, mid-week adventure and to
support a friend who was reading, we drove into the city. We were introduced to
poets who feel so deeply for their culture, and they told stories about the
lives they lead that fit into in the mile and a half of the city. The bakery,
one of many along 24th street was simple, and not unlike the other
eight that were on the next few blocks. The usual custom is for patrons to walk
in, pick up a set of metal tongs and a tray, and make their careful selections from
rows of conchas, galletas, and coronitas, flecked
with sugar and sprinkles. Trays become heavy with brightly colored cookies and
yeasted breads, then taken up to the front counter, which is usually adorned
with statuettes of the Virgin Mary and other deities. The signature white bag
of a panadería is then rolled at the top, and handed back to the eager-bellied
man, woman or child who will bring their bread home to share, or eat on the go.
Pan dulce is usually eaten with company, and served
with a cup of coffee, un cafecito,
delicately spiced with cinnamon, or simply with cream and sugar. Stories are
told around a big plate of pan at the center of the table, and the crumbs hold laughter
and memories. It is a sacred ritual, a task that is taken seriously when you
know you will have late conversations with loved ones and are going to need
something tasty, or as something to have on-hand to offer unexpected guests.
Considering all
of the routine that occurs within the bakery on a daily basis, on this
particular night patrons were surprised, and even confused by the rows of
chairs, the amplifier, and the microphone situated on top of a zarape that was
draped over a paleta cart, bells and all. It was such a lovely evening in San
Francisco, warm and pleasant. This almost never happens, and when the reading
began, we were treated to words, flour, butter, and sugar—my most precious
combination.
That evening,
the pleasant aroma of sugar and flour permeated the air, and infiltrated my
olfactory senses, taking me back to a panadería in Mexico I had gone to while
visiting my grandmother as a teenager. It smelled exactly the same.
I had to reverse
engineer this cookie, making it gluten-free. It is my wife’s favorite pan dulce and she hasn’t had one since becoming gluten-free.
Pink Cookies
(Polvorones Rosas)
Makes 15 cookies
1 ½ cups Cup 4Cup Gluten-Free Flour*
¼ cup cornstarch
1 tsp baking
powder
½ tsp baking
soda
4 oz. (1 stick)
butter, room temperature
2/3 cup sugar
¼ tsp salt
2 egg yolks
½ tsp vanilla
extract
Rainbow
nonpareils
Preheat oven to
350°
*If you are
using a different gluten-free flour blend, make sure that there is a higher
ratio of cornstarch in it, or adjust the recipe to include more cornstarch.
This creates the soft, crumbly texture in the polvorones.
1. Combine the flour, cornstarch, baking powder,
and baking soda in a bowl and whisk to combine.
2. Place the rainbow nonpareils in a small, flat
dish and set aside.
3. In the bowl of an electric mixer, fitted with
a paddle attachment, mix the butter and sugar, with the salt until smooth. Do
not over-mix.
4. Add both yolks to the butter and sugar and mix
to combine. Scrape the bowl with a rubber spatula, pour in the vanilla extract,
4-5 drops of food coloring and stir to combine.
5. Add the dry ingredients all at once and mix
just until a soft dough forms.
6. Using a 2oz. ice cream scoop, portion the
dough into balls and press firmly into the nonpareils to flatten the cookie to
approximately ½ inch width.
7. Place the cookies on a cookie sheet lined with
parchment paper and set them in the refrigerator to chill for at least 2 hours.
Letting the dough rest overnight will give the cookie the proper crumbly
texture.
8. Bake for 12-14 minutes on a baking sheet lined
with parchment paper, 3x3. Let the cookies rest on the baking sheet for 5
minutes, then transfer to a cooking rack.
