Hoarded Scrolls

I didn't have to look through quite as many dusty old papers as Gandalf, but it did take some searching to find the exact document I was looking for. I am in possession of recipe collections from *both* Grandmas, and a number of church auxillary cookbooks (the kind featuring entire chapters on jello molds/salads, and many recipes calling for 'oleo'). Surely I had a recipe for butterhorns in the house. Turns out I did. A much-thumbtacked yellowed newspaper clipping. I set down my coffee cup and read the ancient script.

Yesterday's funeral for Aunt Dorothy prompted post-funeral lunch discussions of that highly praised baked delight. The butterhorn seemingly is the epitome of German Lutheran baking prowess. I've attempted them once, an unknown number of years ago. They didn't look a whole lot like the precisely equal, lovely, melt-in-your-mouth rolled up horns of sweet, gooey goodness turned out by Tim's aunts.

Turning up at the family reunion with a big old container of these in July will delight a whole lot of people. Especially if they *look* like butterhorns. This will probably take a bit of practice. I've made danish dough, I've made croissant dough, I've made untold batches of yeast dough...surely I can handle these.

Unrelated notes today: What bliss it is to reach into the closet in a hurry, grab the pair of dress pants you think are the right ones, put them on, and discover you've got a pair you haven't worn in years, and they fit perfectly. Especially when you notice the zipper has had to be repaired once by a tailor because *someone* had a bit of a bigger gut in the past and ripped it out. I guess I'd better be cautious with these butterhorn practice sessions. I'll inflict them on my coworkers!

Not so nice thing today: an ice/snow storm. Luckily we're home from church now, and have no plans to go anywhere else.