My Turn: Time travel via butter cookies

The smell of butter cookies fresh from the oven, made from scratch and molded into small saucerlike bombshells of fanciful flavor. Some jellied, some chocolate and others with walnuts and pecans.

One smell and I am a child in Brooklyn, standing by the oven waiting for my mom to put on the trusty oven mitt, release these cuties from their fiery furnace and let me have my first bite. My little brother, Ira, stands by my side politely asking to have one and I retort, "Me first, kid." We are waiting for my dad to come from the subway as Mom says, "Cookies are for after dinner."

The smell of the sugar, vanilla and butter was just as enticing as the flavor itself.

Another whiff of butter cookies transforms me back to the early 1980s. My family and I are just arriving at my parents condo in Sunrise, Fla., where the same scrumptious cookies are fresh off the tin and on the table waiting to be gobbled up with gusto. My dad is standing in his blue shorts, light blue knee socks and white tennis shirt with a wide grin. He is so happy we arrived safely.

We rush into the apartment on ground-floor level. A huge tray of cookies is waiting for us, steaming from the oven. Mom says to my kids, "Cookies are for after dinner."

My children, not disciplined as the generation before, cannot resist and grab as many as they can before she tugs the treats away for later.

It is impossible to smell or taste any vanilla buttery cookie and not relive those magic moments with my mom and dad. I don't buy them because I would eat the whole bag, yet, with heartfelt warmth, butter cookies bring a tear to my eye.

--Phyllis Weinberger, North Woodmere