These are an annual tradition around here. I probably told this story last year, but I'll tell it again anyway. One year when I was about 13 or 14, my mother and I were in the kitchen baking these cookies. The recipe comes from a friend of hers named Izzie, and mom calls the recipe Izzie's Lizzies. The original recipe makes a LOT of cookies. Nowadays, I cut it in half, although, I could easily eat them all.
Mom and I started these cookies around 9 a.m. that day, and my godmother, Cissy, came by for coffee. Oh, the kitchen smelled so good - cinnamon, cloves, allspice - just like Christmas. And we baked. And baked. Cissy had her coffee and left. That afternoon, she came by again for a beer ("bee-yah" as she said it; she was VERY southern!) We were still baking. Cissy just died laughing to see us up to our necks in fruitcake cookies.
That story gets told every single year when we make cookies. My mom can't do them anymore, so I've bagged up a lot and will take some to her today. And she will tell me that story again. And we'll laugh!
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