Christmas Family Traditions and the Pfeffernüsse Cookie

In my most recent Haunting Danielle book, The Ghost and Christmas Magic, I write a lot about family Christmas traditions. Many Christmas traditions are food traditions, like what foods are served on Christmas Eve and Christmas night, or special treats. Some of the food traditions from my family I’ve introduced to the Haunting Danielle world.

In our family, my Grandma Madeline made things like Tollhouse Chocolate Chip Cookies, Chocolate Drop Cookies, Chex Mix, and cheese balls every Christmas. Dad made his fudge—a recipe he developed himself. When my kids were little, our go-to Christmas cookie was the Magic Bar cookie, which was easy to make for a busy young mom, and I thought tasted even better than chocolate chip.  And then there was Grandma Hilda’s infamous Feffernut Cookie.

Both of my grandmothers were known for being excellent cooks. In my mother’s family, the Feffernut cookie was a Christmas family tradition. Mom and my sister loved them, dad called them dog biscuits.

As a child, I didn’t like them because they weren’t chocolate. I probably tried them when I was little—although I don’t remember—I just remembered they weren’t chocolate, and I was a picky eater so for me, when I opened a cookie tin and saw Feffernut cookies, I saw disappointment.

When Grandma Hilda—and whoever helped her, probably my aunt Margaret—make the cookies, they would make a lot and store them in pillowcases.  Grandma didn’t seem to take offence at Dad’s critique. 

I was pretty young when Grandma had to hang up her apron. By this time she had glaucoma and was considered legally blind yet had some vision out of one eye. My Aunt Margaret, mom’s older sister, took over the task of making the Feffernut cookies. Cooking was never Mom’s thing, but she loved the Feffernut cookie, so she appreciated the tin of cookies Margaret sent each year.

Despite knowing my family was not a Feffernut fan, Aunt Margaret would send my family a tin of homemade cookies each Christmas, with some of them being the “dog biscuits.” As it turned out, my kids and husband shared Dad’s view of the cookie. We’d give Mom the cookies, even though she had a tin of her own. 

Now fast forward many years, and Aunt Margaret, like her mother before her, had to hang up her apron. My sister, Lynn, who always made the absolute best chocolate chip cookies, began making Feffernut cookies every Christmas, something Mom appreciated.

Then something crazy happened…I tried one of my sister’s Feffernut cookies. And I liked it…I really liked it. For one thing, it was not dry like Aunt Margaret’s (sorry Auntie) and I can’t say how it compares to Grandma Hilda’s because that was so long ago. Even my husband likes my sister’s Feffernut cookies.

Last year Lynn didn’t send us any. I suspect because Mom had passed months before that Christmas, and that’s who Lynn usually made them for. This year, when Lynn asked what I wanted for Christmas, I said Feffernut cookies. 

Yesterday my sister’s Christmas package arrived, it included the requested cookies—and they are super yummy.

But are they really called Feffernut? When I was growing up, I heard them called Feffernut—and Peppernut. Yet they are actually Pfeffernüsse cookies, a small round German spice cookie popular during the holidays. From what I understand, this is a cookie Grandma Hilda made with her mother, and I assume her sisters.

While Grandma Hilda’s father was born in Norway, her mother, Louisa Sontag, was born in Wisconsin in 1872. Louisa’s father, Jacob Sontag, was born in Germany in 1846 and immigrated to the USA around the age of six. Louisa’s mother, Margaretha Frisch, was born on the ship when her parents were immigrating from Switzerland, in 1850. 

Margaretha Frish had ten children, and died when Lousia was sixteen, at the age of thirty-eight. Jacob remarried three times after his first wife’s death. While I am not sure about the statuses of the subsequent marriages—did they divorce or die—I know his mother, Barbara Heinrich, outlived Jacob. 

Barbara Heinrich, Jacob’s mother, Louisa’s grandmother, and Hilda’s great grandmother, died when my grandma Hilda was around eleven years old. I remember hearing stories about how when Grandma Hilda was a little girl, she knew how to speak German. I suspect she learned from her Great-Grandma Barbara, and I imagine the Pfeffernüsse cookie was a tradition passed down from Barbara.

While Grandma never spoke German when I knew her—and I understood she no longer remembered how to speak it—she still knew how to make the Pfeffernüsse cookie, and that tradition has been passed down to Barbara’s Great-Great-Great Granddaughter, my sister Lynn.

Grandma Hilda’s Peppernut Cookie Recipe

  • 2 cups shortening
  • 1 quart light molasses
  • 1 teaspoon salt
  • 2 cups light brown sugar
  • 4 eggs (beaten)
  • 2 teaspoons baking soda (dissolved in a little warm water)
  • 2 cups chopped walnuts ( not chopped too fine)
  • 1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
  • 2 teaspoons cinnamon
  • 2 tablespoons pepper nut seeds (equal amounts of cardamon, anise and
  • coriander seeds ground together)
  • Walnut halves for topping cookies (Optional)
  • Flour
  • In large pot melt shortening, add molasses, salt and brown sugar. Bring to near boil, remove from heat and allow to cool. While warm (not hot) add eggs, stir. Add remaining ingredients, blend well. Add enough flour to make a stiff batter that can be stirred with a large spoon. Chill. Roll and slice. Place cookie rounds on cookie sheet, top with walnut and bake for 15 minutes at 300º.

When I realized I was a real author…

It’s been ten days since I released The Ghost and Christmas Magic, the 37th book in my Haunting Danielle series. It is also the fourth Christmas themed book in the series. I am happy to report, thus far it has been well received by my readers. 

When I first started the Haunting Danielle series I wrote four books a year. That wasn’t something I planned in the beginning. As I have mentioned in previous blog posts, I never intended for the series to go on this long, it just sort of happened. Readers asked for more books, I had story ideas, and I enjoyed writing the books—so I wrote.

 I did learn early on that pre-orders were an effective marketing strategy, so I started putting the eBook formats on pre-order at Amazon, and then later at other venues. Back then, Amazon offered a limited window for pre-orders, so basically, I needed to put out a book every 90 days if I wanted to utilize the pre-order at Amazon—which brought me to four books a year.

After Amazon removed the maximum 90 day preorder, I began rethinking the four books a year. While I love writing, life is short and I am getting older—much older—so I felt it was best to maybe write three books a year—then two. Writing two books a year gives me more time to spend with family and friends, in the garden, or exploring new recipes. This past summer my husband and I took a car trip down the coast, visiting with my daughter and grandchildren, my sister and her family, and two of our closest friends, Carolyn and Dave. Then in October, we spent some time on the Oregon coast with our son and daughter-in-law, at an Airbnb.   

Anyway, as to now….

I don’t intend to start my next Haunting Danielle book for a couple of months. So, what are my plans? Currently, we’re in the rainy season up here in Oregon. With the shorter days (sun currently setting by 4:30 p.m.) and wet roads, we won’t be out exploring.

Do I intend to winterize my greenhouse? That’s something I should have done before my poor basil plant (which had been thriving in the greenhouse) would have benefited from, since it has since been attacked by mold (too damp obviously) and I must throw the poor thing in the compost pile.

Will I spend time in the kitchen figuring out how Oma Head (whose divinity inspired Marie’s) made such amazing divinity?

Nope, it seems I am starting a new book—inspired by my recent 71st birthday. Had you asked me a month ago if I would be starting a new book during my Haunting Danielle writing hiatus I would have thought that a silly question. But silly question or not, it is exactly what I am doing.

I’m writing the book more for myself—more so than my previous books. I already have a title—one that is not chiseled in stone and may change. The title? An Author’s Journey.

The catalyst behind this manuscript: turning seventy-one along with countless Indi-author TikTok videos I’ve consumed in the last few years.  Let me explain…

Self-publishing has been around for years. Notable authors such as Mark Twain and John Grishman started with self-publishing. I even self-published Where the Road End’s, Havasu Palms, Recipes and Remembrances, thirty years ago. 

Despite some of those notable authors I mentioned, self-publishing has typically taken on a negative connotation. Those weren’t real authors. Many self-published authors used what we call vanity publishers, publishers who charge the author for things like printing, editing and cover design, things a trade publisher typically pays for.

Back when I was in real estate my broker would sometimes mention I was an author when introducing me, which always made me uncomfortable, leaving me feeling like an imposter. I had written Where the Road End’s, Havasu Palms, Recipes and Remembrances for specific reasons, and one of them was not to be able to tell people I was an author, because quite frankly, I didn’t see myself as one back then.

Now fast forward to the first decade of the twenty-first century and Amazon’s launch of Kindle Direct Publishing (KDP), a platform giving writers an easy way to self-publish. eBooks readers had been out a few years and were starting to get popular. They also needed more content.

KDP gave writers a way to not just side-step traditional publishers, but to reach readers in a way self-published authors had never been able to do before. And it was free. 

Self-publishing was still seen negatively—yet with successes of new Indi-authors, that perception began to change. While come still see self-publishing negatively, the perception of self-publishing has drastically shifted since the advent of eBook readers.  

Now, back to the catalyst behind my current manuscript. I self-published my first book on KDP around fourteen years ago.  When I watch videos about indie authors, most of whom started their author’s journey within the same fourteen year timespan, the general opinion is that very few people can ever make a living from writing.

At first, I disagreed with this contention. I have a number of author friends who do support themselves primarily from their author income, including myself. I wondered why some of the authors who had been doing this for as long as me weren’t as far along on the game board, so to speak. Had I just been extremely lucky? 

Then, right around my recent birthday, as I was processing the fact I was about to turn seventy-freaking-one, reality smacked me.  We hadn’t started at the same time—all those talented and much younger authors who I had seen on TikTok. Sure, I might have uploaded my first manuscript to KDP within a few years as them, the fact was, I’d started my author journey decades earlier. 

Twenty-four years ago, when my broker was telling people I was an author, and I was thinking No, I’m not, I had forgotten about the manuscript sitting in my drawer (that would later be published, made into a book series, and its audiobook rights bought by Dreamscape Media); I had also forgotten about the documentary I wrote and produced my senior year of college, that was shown through the Santa Ana school district public television station; I had forgotten about the finished screen play sitting in my garage that I wrote for my film writing class, during my third year of college; I had also forgotten about the first book I wrote during the summer when I was fourteen. Yet the biggest forget was probably Mountain/Hi-Desert Guide, the monthly community magazine I had published in the 1980s, along with Wrightwood Magazine.

My point being, I had been doing this authoring stuff for my entire life. It wasn’t just the last fourteen years; it’s been almost sixty years.  While I haven’t reached the fame as some authors, that’s okay. It’s been a fulfilling journey, and I am exactly where I want to be in life. How many people can say they have achieved their childhood dream?

An Author’s Journey is part letter to aspiring authors and part memoir to my family. I’ll be writing it between book 37 and 38 in my Haunting Danielle series and may have to put it on pause and return to it after I write and publish book 38.  Will anyone read it? Will anyone want to read it? I don’t know, but to be honest, either way is okay as I’m primarily writing it for myself. 

Christmas Memories

I turned seventy-one less than two weeks ago. My age and current reflections on the Christmas season influenced the writing of The Ghost and Christmas Magic. I’ve been thinking a lot about the elders in my life who no longer join us around the Christmas tree. Or maybe they are in spirit; I just can’t see them.

When writing The Ghost and Christmas Magic, I thought a lot about family Christmas traditions. In truth, it was a highly personal reflection. Growing up, my Christmas stocking was one of my favorite traditions.

It wasn’t about getting stuff; it was about the love Mom poured into the stocking stuffers. Gift giving was Mom’s love language. She would wrap each tiny stocking gift in Christmas wrapping paper. And every Christmas as my sister and I would eagerly open our stockings, Dad would remind us how he just got oranges and walnuts in his stocking when he was a little boy, and how he had to wait until after Christmas dinner to open gifts. Oh, it wasn’t said in bitterness, but playful teasing—however, it was all true.

On our first Christmas at Havasu Palms, I had just turned fourteen, and my sister was eighteen. Our previous Christmases had been extravagant, with an abundance of gifts—but that year my parents had poured all their money into the new business venture, they had no extra cash, and we understood instead of a mountain of gifts that Christmas, my sister and I could each ask for one thing we wanted. I believe my sister asked for a makeup mirror, and I asked for a sewing box.

That year, my sister’s and my stockings proved to be the most memorable. We were living out in the middle of nowhere—literally. There was nowhere for Mom to go Christmas shopping for stocking stuffers, and Internet shopping was not a thing. And we didn’t even have a real telephone—only an unreliable mobile phone in Dad’s truck, which wasn’t something you could use for catalogue shopping.

Despite the shopping challenge, our stockings were stuffed with tiny, wrapped packages, as they had been for all our previous Christmases. Upon unwrapping the stocking stuffers, we soon discovered where Mom had gone Christmas shopping—Havasu Palms’s little store (I wrote about that store and posted a picture in the previous blog post).

My sister and I found it utterly hilarious. Mom had wrapped candy bars, packets of gum, and cheesy Havasu Palms souvenirs the previous owners of Havasu Palms had stocked in the store. One was a little hula girl that both my sister and I wish we still had. There was also a little metal tin of pain medication (I remember Midol, my sis remembers Bufferin) in each of our stockings—but instead of the pills, they each contained a neatly folded five-dollar bill.

My sister and I agree that the stockings from Christmas 1968 were our favorites, which proves, if gift-giving is your love language, it doesn’t mean it has to cost a lot of money.

This Christmas will be a quiet one for my husband and me. It will be my second Christmas without my mom. It will be over thirty Christmases without my dad. I know some people complain about how the mental load of preparing for Christmas falls on the mother—while the men in the family just show up. But that was not true for my parents or my marriage. And I don’t think that is the case in the marriages of my daughter and son.

My dad was like a big, excited kid at Christmas. I remember him painting Christmas murals on the windows of our first Covina house. (Dad was artistic, like my daughter.) He made his homemade fudge and popcorn during the holidays, oyster stew on Christmas Eve, eggs benedict on Christmas morning, and prepared the turkey and stuffing for Christmas dinner. He and Mom worked side by side in the kitchen. And Dad was usually the one to take my sister and me to buy the Christmas tree.

While Mom was the primary gift shopper, every year Dad would pick out something special for my sister and me—something just from him. His gift for Mom was always last minute and extravagant.

I know our adult children often roll their eyes when we tell stories and reminisce about days gone by. They see it as us living in the past, and they find it especially annoying that we often repeat the same stories.

But the truth is, it’s not about living in the past—it’s about embracing the rich memories of our life, which is especially comforting as we look down the road and understand this journey of ours is coming to its final mile. That doesn’t have to be a sad thing—it’s not if the journey was filled with adventure, memorable experiences, and people we love, even if those people are no longer with us.