Rugelach

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There is something wonderfully homey and decadent about traditional rugelach. They seem to draw people, as if by magnets, and that first bite is downright addictive. For those who grew up eating them, the taste is a literal memory. But the appeal is universal.

Rows and rows of amazing rugelach

One of my friends calls them “shame cookies,” because the first time I brought some into the office for him, he was eating them so quickly I protested a bit, because they do take some time to make. So he started calling them “shame cookies.” Because they’re so good you can’t stop at just one. Or two. Or ten.

Giant block of rugelach dough

Portioning the rugelach dough for rolling

I don’t remember my mother making rugelach growing up. I do remember occasionally getting some from my grandmother, although she usually sent chocolate chip cookies. [My grandparents lived on the other coast, and sent boxes out a couple of times a year with odds and ends, and cookies. The cookies were always packed in either Quaker oatmeal cardboard canisters or Royal Danish butter cookie tins. Apparently one of their neighbors ate a lot of butter cookies and would give her the tins. It was always such a treat to crack the tin open. The chocolate chip cookies remain a bit of a mystery to this day. They were incredibly thin and crispy, with bumps showing you where the chocolate was, and I remember always tasting a hint of mint (which I love), even though I know she used a standard generic recipe. Some alchemy of her kitchen and oven, I guess, but they were very much unique.]

Smoothing an even layer of filling on hamentaschen dough

Cutting the filling-covered dough into eighths

Rolling each individual hamentaschen

Forming the perfect rugelach

My freshman year of college, a family friend sent me a container of rugelach, which was such a wonderful surprise. And while they were good, they weren’t like my grandmother’s. Hers were small, with a very flaky crust, while my grandmothers were a little larger, with a “sturdier” crust. Sometime after that, I looked for recipes, trying to recreate that ideal rugelach. The first recipe I tried was a bit of a disaster – it had you put the sugar-cinnamon-nut-raisin filling on top of the dough and roll up. Which sounds simple, until you remember that is a dry filling. With nothing to hold it in place, the filling fell out all over just from rolling and putting them on the baking sheet.

Unbaked hamentaschen on the baking sheet

Hamentaschen just out of the oven

Slightly messy rugelach out of the oven

Many recipes call for jam, usually apricot, to be spread on the dough to keep the filling in place. But the traditional rugelach I grew up with didn’t taste of fruit, just of filling, so that wasn’t what I wanted. Then I found a recipe with a genius trick – pour melted butter over the filling to make a paste. Voila!

Using fingers to trim the excess filling from the baked hamentaschen

Yes, they can take a bit of time. But every bit of time is totally worth that first bite. And the second, and third, and fourth. And “cleaning up” the oozed filling, while a bit tedious, makes them look a lot nicer, and gives you a bit of a snack while you work.

Little bits of hamentaschen filling for a snack

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