Column: Adventures with ammonia cookies

While our babysitter, Mrs. Wagner, dealt with my brothers, Bob, 5, and Ron, 2, I sneaked out into her kitchen, craftily opened the bread drawer and palmed a cookie. I had to gobble it as not to get caught, so I didn’t enjoy it as much as the first one she gave us — which was how I knew where the cookies were. I was 4.

Not just any cookies — but ammonia cookies, a Germans-from-the-Ukraine (or Gf Russia) staple, indescribably delicious, with rich frosting. And Mom recognized how much I loved cookies — she called me siess goosh, or sugar mouth.

Mom needed babysitters as she did part-time work in search of a regular job. A few weeks ago I reminisced about ammonia cookies at my hometown’s 125th anniversary. Several women spoke of babysitting us, and giving us ammonia cookies. But remembered them without frosting, and rather blah-tasting. Not for me. I loved them.

Another time mom left us three boys — still 5, 4, and 2 — alone while she walked three blocks to the Red Owl, figuring we couldn’t get into trouble in that short a time. That gave me the opportunity to dress up in her nightgown and high heels.

Then I wanted to see what I looked like. The only mirror was on the bureau above, so I clambered onto the top of the bureau — and promptly slipped and fell and cracked my head against a sharp edge. Blood flowed. And I didn’t get to see how I looked, because just then Mom returned home with groceries. First she laughed seeing me in herbloomers, then she saw the blood.

After removing the clothes, cleaning off the blood and kissing me, she offered ammonia cookies — two of them. Two! Unheard of! I felt so lucky.

Another sweet cookie day when I was 7, and my brother and I were walking home with milk from my uncle’s cows. On the way an old woman on a porch cried out, "Boova!" Beckoning us with her hands. "Boova. Coom doh a bissel." (Boys! Boys, come here a bit.) A old man sat in his rocking chair.

She jingled coins and held them out to us, so we rushed across the street and up onto the porch, and grabbed the money.

The woman hugged 5-year-old Ron, and then me, until I ran out of breath. "Coogies?" shesaid, "Coogies?" We said yes. She brought out a plate heaped with cookies. Warm freshly-baked ammoniacookies. What a wonderful aroma.

Soon we were sitting on their laps, clutching coins, and stuffing cookies into our mouths, whilethey clasped their arms desperately around our midriffs. "Bik boyss!" the man said, "Bik boyss!"He laughed wildly and ruffled my hair. I smiled and leaned back against him, feeling his warmchest, smelling tobacco that reminded me of my long-gone father. I smiled. I felt good. I felt loved.The adults traded us and the woman crushed me to her warm, ample bosom. She moaned,slobbering wet kisses on my cheeks, sobbing, "Boova, boova, mina gloyna boova." (Boys, boys, mylittle boys.)

Finally, cookie-sated and restless, we wrested loose. The old woman glanced wildly around, andthrust the plate of cookies at us. Two flew off and shattered into pieces. When I shook my head thewoman grabbed her husband's arm and said shrilly, "Mehr Gelt, Gelt, schnell, schnell!" (More money,money, quick, quick!) But we clomped down the steps, eager to get home with the milk.

I did not know until many years later that they were our Vossler grandparents — the only time Iever met them because of the animosity between our families. When people hear “ammonia cookies” they might think of the harsh smell of ammonia, and wonder how that could possibly be used to bake cookies. It isn’t that kindof ammonia, but instead ammonium carbonate, or bicarbonate, called baker’s ammonia, which was the primary leavening agent used by bakers in the 19th century, before baking powder and soda.

Ammonia cookie recipes are on the internet. Now that my sources have quit, I’m going to bake my own ammonia cookies for our next family reunion. With plenty of frosting.

This is the opinion of Bill Vossler of Rockville, author of 18 books including his latest, "Days of Wonder: A Memoir of Growing Up." He can be reached at [email protected].

This article originally appeared on South Bend Tribune: Growing up, I loved ammonia cookies, a Germans-from-the-Ukraine staple