My Grandma’s cookie jar was always full.
If the jar didn’t hold your favorite, you’d raid her giant freezer and pop up Tupperware lids until you found other options. When Grandpa caught me sharing an oatmeal raisin cookie with the dog, he scolded and said it was a good thing Grandma didn’t see it.
I often spent a week or so of summer vacation at my grandparent’s dairy farm while growing up.
Grandma had raised eight kids and was all business-like when it came to chores — from picking up eggs in the hen house, to picking beans in the garden, to picking up yet another potato to peel. But baking was her pride and joy, and she was known in the neighborhood for lemon meringue pies and homemade bread. She took her cookies pretty seriously too, and generously shared with others. Church bake sale, yes. Nursing home residents, yes. Neighbors stopping by, yes. But not dogs.
You knew something good was about to happen when Grandma got out her big spiral bound notebook which was filled with lists of ingredients (often no measurements) plus recipes clipped from the newspaper. “I think we’ll make Cherry Winks,” she’d say. Or “check the drawer and if we have butterscotch chips we’ll mix up a batch of Great Scotts.”
Best of all was when the holidays rolled around: the melt-in-your-mouth Snowball (made with lard), the chewy Molasses Crinkle, and the ubiquitous, chocolate kiss-studded Peanut Butter Blossom.
One cookie variety that never made it into my Irish Grandma’s holiday lineup was the Bratzeli. Bratzeli (sometimes Bratseli, Bräzeli or other variations) are a traditional Swiss treat, cooked to crispy deliciousness on a special iron. The dough (not batter) is pressed between two decorative hot metal plates, bestowing each cookie with the kiss of an iconic Swiss imprint on each side — for example a canton shield or an Edelweiss flower.
Making Bratzeli cookies is a super cool Swiss tradition. I’ve heard stories about Bratzeli irons being handed down through the generations. Martha Bernet once showed me her old fashioned antique iron — no power cord — it was simply placed over a stovetop burner.
Lacking Swiss ancestors but pining after an iron of my own inspired me to take action. But snap! Bratzeli irons are not available in the United States. I guess they are outlawed, something about a lawsuit, a fire, I’m not sure. And no, a Pizzelle maker is not the same thing so don’t even go there.
Last December I heard about a local connection for some European irons rewired to 110-volt. I did not hesitate to hand over a considerable amount of cash in what seemed like a backroom mob deal. The Jura brand “Brazeli Bricelets” iron was mint in box, and I couldn’t wait to try it out. The recipe booklet was in German, French and Italian.
For me, Bratzeli making began with trial and error. I generated plenty of “seconds” that didn’t look anything like those I had purchased at Turner Hall’s Christkindlmarkt. I asked local experts for guidance, and Gloria Scherer offered the following: chill the dough, use good quality Kirsch, and get your husband Louis to cook them. In addition to Gloria’s recipe which includes lemon, I just made a batch with brown sugar and cinnamon. Next up — almond.
When I think of Bratzeli cookies, I think of two ladies: my Grandma, who would have enjoyed making them even if she was mostly Irish, and Martha Bernet, who is 100% Swiss.
Bratzeli are a bit habit-forming. Like potato chips, “betcha can’t eat just one.” Gloria and Louis have already turned out a number of batches of Bratzeli this year, delivering many to friends, like Martha. But her stash is probably gone, because like Martha once
said, “In my whole life, I could always eat one more Bratzeli.”
— Noreen Rueckert is director for Green County Tourism and Green County Cheese Days. Her favorite cheese is rumored to be Feta. She has the best office in the county — overlooking Monroe’s Square from the tower of the Historic Green County Courthouse. She dabbles in photography and graphic design, adores cats and iced coffee, and secretly loves the Cheese Days Song.
