The Ubiquitous Snickerdoodle

After three nights in the new house, we got tired of looking at stacks of unpacked cardboard boxes, so we took a quick jaunt down to Atlanta to spend New Years' weekend with my family. Given my newfound interest in cooking, I decided to raid Mom's recipe boxes while we were there. (There were several boxes overflowing with recipes -- we consolidated them during my raid.)

It was a blast -- I found lots of great recipes from my childhood, most of which are made in shallow Pyrex dishes, which is only proper for a Southern childhood. If you couldn't make it in casserole form, we didn't want it.

But the most hilarious part of my recipe box treasure hunt was sitting with Mom on the couch with the box in our laps, pulling out recipes one-by-one and watching certain recipes show up again and again. For example, Mom had at least eight copies of a "Hashbrown Casserole" recipe in several variations. We giggled more and more with each appearance.

But the most popular recipe in the box(es)? The one that kept making an appearance, over and over, until we doubled over with laughter each time I pulled another copy out of the box?

The one, the only... The Snickerdoodle.



In case you are unaware of the vast glory that is the Snickerdoodle, let me clue you in. They are heavenly. Crispy on the edge, soft in the middle, and coated with cinnamon-sugar that caramelizes in the oven just so.



Clearly, one copy of the recipe would never be enough.



The strangest part is that all of the recipes have one ingredient in common: cream of tartar. Why do these cookies specifically require cream of tartar? I have never seen another cookie recipe require it -- just the Snickerdoodles. Could one of you people that has more culinary knowledge than me (read: all of you) enlighten me here?



Well, after all of those recipes, we knew we were destined to make a batch of Snickerdoodles. You can't repeat the word Snickerdoodle more than three times without wanting to sink your teeth into that crispy cinnamon cookie crust.



They were just as good as I remembered. As you might expect, I devoured them by the fistful. Mom sent us home with a Ziploc baggie full of them, with the idea they would last us at least a few days, maybe even a week after we got back.



I finished off the last one before our plane touched down at Dulles. The first place I headed after the taxi pulled into our driveway? Straight to the cupboard to check for Cream of Tartar. I sense another batch in my near future.

Now if only I could find a copy of that recipe... I know I put it somewhere...