THE DAMN GREEK COOKIE DAY VERSION 40.0
Mom, I've been trying to bake these damn Greek cookies every Christmas since I was 19 years old in my first little crappy apartment at the edge of campus? Remember how you and Dad begged me to just try one more year in the dorm, but I knew better? Well, if admitting that you were right and I was wrong will release the curse of the damn Greek cookies...
You were right.
I was wrong.
I have your recipe...the one that is in your handwriting on the back of an envelope. I'm guessing that you scribbled this down one year while Aunt Mary was on the phone from California, and since long-distance calling was pricey...you "abbreviated".
I'm also guessing that you might have had a bad connection and mis-heard the amounts of the ingredients, because I can tell you absolutely positively without any doubt whatsoever that these ingredients, when mixed together, in no way shape or form result in anything that at all resembles...dough.
Siggy, I watched no less that thirty-five videos of nice Greek ladies making these damn Greek cookies, and not a single one of them uses "a dozen egg yolks, a cup of orange juice, or a box of Swan's Down Cake Flour" and then uses "get the dough so it isn't sticky" as the instructions.
If I didn't truly love you as much as I do, I would tell you what you can do with the box of Swan's Down Cake Flour, but based on experience (like when you took me down a flight of stairs and spanked me while wearing your velour robe because my sixteen-year old self got fresh with you after breaking my 9:00 curfew), I will simply say...
You. Win.
Year 40 of the damn Greek cookies started with me carefully gathering and measuring all of the ingredients according to your recipe:
The first thing I did was cream the butter and sugar together, and I even made sure that the butter sat out until it was room temperature:
Then I added the stupid dozen egg yolks, one at a time...and they were room temperature too:
Then, I put the baking powder into the orange juice so it would foam up and added the vanilla, and I didn't panic when it looked like scrambled eggs, because one of the nice Greek ladies on the YouTubes said it would look like scrambled eggs:
And then...because I'm older and wiser now and this is the 40th time I've tried to make the damn Greek cookies, I SPLIT THE BATCH IN TWO so it wouldn't be so hard to mix! 
This is where I really think you're screwing with me, Mom. Not matter how much I mixed, not matter how much Swan's Down Cake Flour I used, and no matter how many times I tried to just calm down and take my time...whether with the big mixer or when I gave up and tried it by hand after soaking my hands in ice water for ten minutes...
The damn Greek cookie dough is...S.T.I.C.K.Y.
If Rich knew how to spackle (or even what spackle was), he could adhere granite tiles to the side of a building with this stuff. You'll notice that there is a good amount of it stuck to the bowl? Well, it lives there permanently now, and if I ever get the energy to lift this out of the fridge, I would be better off just chucking the whole damn thing in the dumpster (assuming I can find a forklift to get it down there) and buying a new one on the amazons.
David wrote to me a few weeks ago to tell me that Aunt Mary passed away sometime in October, so I'm sure that you and Aunt JoAnn and now Aunt Mary are up there just laughing your heads off, and Grandma is probably saying "Oh, poor Connie Dough. Why do you suppose she does this every year?"
And then a tiny little voice pipes up from the background "Because they are delicious, Great Grandmother Josephine, but she's just not bright enough to use a different recipe".
I know that you love me and are watching out for the important stuff like labwork and helping me learn how to be a good 1950's housewife, but could you also take pity on me and send a YaiYai over to show me once and for all how to make these damn things?
Please give Dad a kiss for me and tell him not to give Bosco too many Snyder's hard pretzels today while watching football. I love you, Mom. Merry Christmas!
EDITED TO ADD:
Eleventy-seven hours later, and the first two dozen are out of the oven. 😖 This didn't make a dent in the vat of dough and I'm pretty sure I have another ten dozen to go before hitting the bottom of the bowl. 😮
No, Betty, I cannot cut the recipe in half and only end up with 60 or 70 cookies instead of the 130-140 that will finally come out of my cold dead hands. If I did that, I would have nothing to complain about, would probably have great ease and success, and you wouldn't have to read about me sweating through my big girl sports bra to create SPACKLE.
Tradition, Betty. Tradition.
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