Chances are if you live outside of the northeast corner of the United States, you may never have experienced the singular delight that is the hermit. What's that you say? A hermit? You mean dudes who live in the woods alone? Oh no, all two of you dear readers. Not only do I suspect those dudes may not be delightful, but I also frown on cannibalism. I'm talking about the second definition of hermit in the Merriam Webster Dictionary, and the first definition of favorite cookie in my heart:
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| Merriam Webster |
I double dog dare you to use beadsman in a sentence. I mean, what's not to love about a spiced molasses cookie (unless you like neither spice nor molasses, in which case: look away, you're not about to like what's about to happen below).
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| Hermits |
I digress though, which is a shame because I could talk for days about how much I've loved hermits since childhood (New England grocery stores do a pretty good one, for the record) and how I decided that I needed to learn how to make my own, motivated in part by being trapped inside during the Big Snow from basically January to March of 2015. There was much research that happened; I consulted the Internet via the Googles and Pinterest, my cookbook cache (Joy of Cooking, New Best Recipe) and cobbled together something that I determined on my first try would be my only try going forward...until just this weekend when I got it into my head that adding candied ginger in lieu of raisins would be either a terrible idea or a highly delicious idea.
Spoiler alert: it's a highly delicious idea. Because it is the time of year when we survive on a diet comprised primarily of sugar, tidings and yule, washed down with nog, and also giving, I give to you, all two readers, the best ever hermit recipe (but yeah...I'm a librarian who teaches your kids to think good, so consider the source bias, duh), times two!
