Gingerbread Graveyard

Friends here who know me as Ambi - yoga teacher, writer, runner, believer in astrology, psychics and alternative medicine would probably be surprised to hear I was in high school a bow wearing cheerleader. Go Hoover Tornados!!! Although most days I don't recognize the self of two years ago much less that 17 year old in pom poms and purple bloomers - every once in a while she makes an appearance. This week the pom poms rustled and swayed themselves into a tizzy. We have got to cheer this girl up! We can't let her mope around the house all week they insisted. So what its the holidays and it doesn't feel like it. So what there are no festive parties to attend, no sparkly gold tops to wear before heading out for eggnog and a gift exchange. So what family is far away and missing you almost as much as you miss them. So what we have no plans for Christmas Eve or Day. Buck up and get with it they cheered on. You need a bit of ritual that's all. Something to bring the holidays from home to sweaty Buenos Aires.

So I got to baking. There was no question what kind - it had to be gingerbread cookies and no substitute ingredients. No swapping dulce de leche in for molasses. No leaving out the cloves or the cinnamon. Wednesday I took 3 buses and walked nearly 5 hours in my hunt for ingredients, cookie cutters and frosting accouterments. Then of course was the packaging - green plates, red napkins, white doilies, red ribbon - each sold at a different and mysteriously difficult to locate shop in a far away neighborhood. It was a treasure hunt and although nearly defeated at the end of the day, I secured my final ingredient (molasses) in a health food store just 3 blks from the apartment after visiting 20 different shops that day that didn't carry nor had heard of the stuff. Whew.

That night I stayed up until one in the morning sifting, mixing, rolling dough, baking and tasting. I got the "your crazy" eyes from Hugh. The first two trays went straight to the gingerbread graveyard - burned to a blackened crisp. The oven was unfamiliar and ran much hotter than expected. I got the hang of it by the 6th tray and then realized I would need to make another batch to have enough for all of the gifting I had in mind. The next day I baked again and decorated the first batch. Mixing red food dye in with Royal Icing, the gingerbread ladies got swirls on their skirts, the men buttons, the stars various designs of circles and lines. Everyone got eyes and wide smiles. Friday the green dye exploded all over the kitchen and the cookies started looking like decorated trees of brown, red, green and white. I lost myself in brown sugar, the shape of a perfect star, lifting the gingerbread men off the cookie sheet carefully so they didn't lose an arm or worse, head and in squeezing colored frosting through a thin plastic baggie with a silver nozzle top. Gingerbread picasso moments.

Deliveries made to the owner of our apt (who also lives in our building), the neighbor lady that brought me a piece of her aloe vera plant when she saw my burned leg, the portero/doorman Carlos, the flowerstand guy across the street we talk to every day, the people who work at the fruit/vegge/meat store across the street, my writers group, laura/brad/gaby, my friend Magdalena, our friends Rodrigo & Laura, Martin my running coach, Cheryl my yoga teacher, Mariano Hughs boxing coach and Marta. Once a cheerleader, always a cheerleader.