Easter cookie box
Three whimsical springtime 'cookies'—sweet, simple, and perfect for gifting
Spring, for all its sudden moods and half-promises, has always seemed to me to be the season of quiet repair and restoration, arriving not with fanfare, but with soft light and the first green shoots - hesitant, hopeful, welcome. And, for many of us, this season is associated with Easter, a time to remember the cost of sacrificial love and the assurance of new life.
Commercially, Easter is less insistent than Christmas, less fevered than Valentine’s Day, even if chocolate and flowers are still top of the gift list. Easter is a wonderful opportunity to mark time through small, deliberate acts. A walk in the garden. A roast meal shared with family. A surprise parcel of something homemade left on a doorstep. In a culture calibrated in terms of speed and efficiency, there’s something almost radical, rebellious even, about taking the time to make something, and quietly give it away. There’s always someone to consider. A neighbor. A friend. Family.
This year’s Easter cookie box was made for sharing, preferably with people who won’t judge you for eating three in one go. We’re not chasing perfection here—just the quiet delight of assembling something playful, where the making is every bit as joyful as the eating.
This is a rather long post, so feel free to view via the website or app if the email cuts out.
More an art project than a recipe, this is less about precision than pleasure - an ideal way to spend a quiet Sunday afternoon with sleeves rolled up and icing sugar in your hair. The dough is reassuringly simple to bring together; soft, short, and forgiving, with just enough structural integrity to hold a shape, it is tender enough to melt obligingly on the tongue.
The real fun, of course, is in the icing. Royal icing can be used rather like silk paint - brush it on in fluid, loose washes so that pastel pigments swirl and unfurl like spring skies. As your creation dries it will develop a soft professional looking sheen which is strangely satisfying, not least because it will convince recipients that your endeavor has involved hours of preparation!
This recipe is endlessly adaptable: add orange zest or a few drops of almond extract; brown the butter for depth, or fold in lemon zest for brightness. What matters here isn’t perfection - it’s intention.
You’d be forgiven for thinking I’d taken leave of my senses - but bear with me. Strawberries and vinegar have history. In certain corners of Emilia-Romagna, a drizzle of aged balsamic on ripe fruit isn’t just accepted, it’s expected. The vinegar doesn’t fight the sweetness, rather, it intensifies it.
Here, the humble rice krispie treat gets a thoroughly grown-up reimagining. The base is a golden tangle of browned butter and marshmallow - rich, toasty, unapologetically chewy. Crisped rice and shards of salt and vinegar chips/crisps (yes, crisps!) are then added, their briny tang subtly cutting through the sweetness with a wink. Finally, freeze-dried strawberries are folded in, shattering into sherbet-like fragments that dissolve on the tongue with a tart, perfumed fizz.
I love it when food feels like play, when each bite makes you grin before you even know why. This treat is bright, bold, and just a little bit unhinged - and all the better for it.
If the addition of salt and vinegar crisps is a cause for alarm, you can always opt for either plain salted crisps, or simply substitute more rice krispies. But really, where’s the fun in that?
If you make just one thing from this menu, let it be this. The inspiration came from a bakery on instagram, where I spotted an amazing cube cake clad in buttercream and a riot of colors. Taking this concept as my starting point I decided to create mini versions and they’re not just adorable, they’re dangerously addictive. There’s nothing better than happily munching your way through an irresistible assortment of dainty mouthfuls, especially when they consist of a sponge soaked in lemon syrup, layered with jam and salted honey buttercream and then enrobed in more buttercream. Sheer indulgence? Absolutely.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to A Good Table to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.