Pithy and Cleaver » A tradition, a talisman: Lebkuchen

A tradition, a talisman: Lebkuchen

My family is not terrifically big on tradition. I think it might have something to do with the fact that we’re scattered all over the globe, rendering family holidays sort of an impossibility most of the time; it might just be that we’re too scatterbrained to stick to much of a plan for more than a year or two. The one exception to the rule has to do with our holiday baking–specifically, a treat we call Lebkuchen, a divine spice cake that has been handed down through the generations.

At this point, Lebkuchen is kind of a misnomer; as with any heirloom recipe worth its salt, each generation has added its own spin to it, and over the years we’ve bastardised it so aggressively that it bears simply no resemblance to the version made even a generation ago, much less its original form. Frankly, it’s kind of an apt metaphor for our family; I wouldn’t have either any other way.

Unlike anything else, this recipe was a steady beat while I was growing up. It was a thread I could hold on to as my father and I stopped understanding each other for a few years there (no matter what else happened, we always had lebkuchen in common) and as I figured out the world around me; the act of baking it was a continual lifeline for my relationship with my mother during my tumultuous teenage years. It was the recipe I knew backwards and forwards even before I knew how to cook, nearly an extension of my fingers, and as such I was eventually appointed its keeper. Every year, it is my job to bake the lebkuchen, to keep the recipe safe, to make sure that everyone we love gets a bit.

Or, at least, it’s supposed to be. It would be no exaggeration to say that I’ve spent the last few years being utterly remiss. Something to do with a total lack of holiday spirit has kept me from the hearth.

So why return to it now?

Because this year has bled me dry, and I can’t think of anything more restorative.

Because it reminds me of my mother, and my grandmother, and all the L women who came before.

Because there is nothing that smells as good as it does.

Because it has always been my father’s favorite.

Because this year, my father is sick.

Because he is sick, and I can’t wrap my head around the fact that my universal constant is not indestructible; I can’t parse the evidence of his vulnerability. Because he goes in for surgery in a few days, and the only way I know how to deal with this feeling of paralyzing helplessness is to bake up a batch of this for him. Because keeping my hands busy is the only way I’m going to avoid clawing my limbs off out of stress and worry, and because if I make it, he has to eat it.

He has to eat it.

Everything will be fine because he will have to eat the damn lebkuchen that I will be hauling all the way to Texas.

Right?

Basically, I bake this because, in times like these, when every minute spent away from your family is an hour too long, you need to do anything you can to feel closer, faster.

I don’t know if I’m going to be able to post much for the next few days, so I leave you with this: I wish you the happiest, healthiest of holidays. May you spend it with the ones you love best; may you tell them often that that’s who they are. Wherever you are, I hope you are warm, and safe, and loved.

Happy holidays, y’all.

Lebkuchen
(Do not tell my mother I have posted this recipe. She will disown me. Serious.)

2 c sifted flour
1 tsp each ginger, mace, cinnamon, and cloves (when I’m feeling whimsical, I’ll use grated fresh ginger)
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 stick (4 0z) butter, softened
1 lb (2 1/3 c) brown sugar
small handful each of: chopped dates, chopped dried apricots, dried cherries, raisins
4 eggs
Pinch salt