The story of Butterhorns.

Today I am making butterhorns. If you are not family, you have no idea what I'm talking about, but, if you were raised in our house... or lived anywhere in the vicinity at Christmas time... you know that butterhorns are an Eaves family tradition that dates back to 1957... when Mom got her copy of the recipe from her friend. It just isn't Christmas if you can't have a butterhorn. :)




My mother made few friends in her lifetime... lots of acquantances, but few friends. One of those friends was Lorraine Ditlefsen. Lorraine Ditlefsen was of Norwegian decent and the recipe for butterhorns had come from her great grand-mother in Norway. She made these flaky buttery dessert roles - kin to a danish - on special occasions. Mom had always loved them. She had asked Lorraine for the recipe many times but Lorraine had always kindly refused. When Mom was moving away from the neighborhood, and since they had become good friends , Lorraine finally gave Mom the recipe... but with a promise required. The promise was that Mom would not share the recipe with anyone else, except family. Mom held to that promise. If you have a copy of Mom's butterhorn recipe... you are family. She would ask that you honor her promise and only share it with family.



I haven't made butterhorns in years. Not that I don't like them. I do, especially when someone else makes them! But... they are a lot of work. And I can be lazy about those kind of things. John doesn't really eat them.. maybe one.. (he prefers the cookies) and I don't really need them (calories). But this year, I felt the need to make butterhorns. To share them. To tell their story. To be part of the tradition. And to remember.



I of course couldn't find the recipe. My filing system is somewhat akin to my mothers'... (uh.. no... I'm not one bit organized). So... I put out a plea to my big brother Lee... and lo and behold a recipe arrived in my inbox (Thanks Donna). As I pulled out all the ingredients and got them settling in to the required "room temperature"... I thought of the many many many times in my life that I have made butterhorns. Almost always with Mom. She'd put us to work... when we were younger we'd ice them fresh from the oven. (By the way, that's when they are BEST). As I got older, I was allowed to learn/do the twist that gives them their shape. Each year, plastic Christmas plates piled high with horns were delivered to our neighbors and friends on Christmas eve ... with a reminder of how Santa loves these horns much more than any cookie. They were always welcome, always appreciated. Mom had one of those big yellow tupperware bowls... you know the ones with the lids... and she used to put the ones we didn't give away (or eat right then) in that big bowl and set it up on top of the fridge ... and watch them disappear. Dad loved them. Had two or three for breakfast whenever they were in the house. It never took long for them to dissappear.



Now... I haven't made butterhorns by myself before. OK, maybe once... but Mom was probably on the other end of the phone telling me what to do. So today... I was on my own. I read the recipe and started in. I knew exactly what temperature the milk needed to be... I remember Mom showing me how to test it. I knew how to tell if the yeast was good... Mom had showed me the tricks many times. As I made the well in the flour and began to pour in the ingredients... my hands looked just liked Moms.. spotted, wrinkled, covered in dough and moving just as they should....kneading it all together to form the soft dough. So... the dough is resting now. The butter will be incorporated shortly and tonight... I'll bake. Tomorrow, I'll pile up butterhorns on plastic christmas plates and deliver them to the homes of my friends. I'll be too late to suggest they offer one to Santa... but I'm sure they'll all get devoured quickly.

Mom passed away on January 8th this year. Making butterhorns is a Mom thing. I had to do it. Thinking about her made me smile and gave me exactly the gift I was looking for for Christmas. It gave me a sweet memory, and made me happy. She would be tickled pink to know that batches of "her" butterhorns were being baked this Christmas and that her tradition of making and sharing was being carried out, not just in my kitchen but in the kitchens of several of my brothers. That would delight her.

Merry Christmas Mom.


So... I posted this on my Facebook page Christmas Eve 2009.  What a wonderful response I got back from the family.  Many had not recalled having heard the story... others wanted to let me know they were making or had already made butterhorns this year.   It was such a sweet confirmation of the power of tradition, of how they unite a family even accross generations.  In the kitchens of Mom's sons, daughters, grandson's, grandaughters and even great granddaughters... butterhorns were being made and their story listened to.     How sweet is that.  I love traditions. :)