When I was growing up, my mother’s raisin cookies were a family favourite and making them was a regular Saturday afternoon mother-daughter event.
Instead of adding whole raisins to the butterscotch-flavoured dough, my mother used an old-fashioned meat grinder to mince the fruit. I would turn the handle on the grinder as she fed raisins into the mouth of the machine. We would take turns stirring the thick batter and sing Patty cake, patty cake, baker’s man, as we patted the dough into a log. When the cookies were in the oven, we would sit at the kitchen table and sip milky tea while we waited for the timer to chime.
Elizabeth Murray is the author of Holding on to Mamie: My Mother, Dementia and Me holdingontomamie.ca