Prep 12 minutes Internalize 10,000+ minutes 

Yield 1 purified soul

Men have killed themselves trying to find the secret to eternal life in technology and alchemy; Siri, the philosopher's stone, and the Fountain of Youth. Women, instead, have historically been given the less fanciful task of creating and sustaining ordinary mortal existence – first, with their wombs, then, with the flour and oil they mixed with their hands. "I am the bread of life," Jesus said, women listened, and eventually, people made lebkuchen.

Lebkuchen are German cookies invented by 13th century monks, who had the good sense to combine cinnamon, cloves, and ginger with honeyed dough. This stroke of inspiration created soft cookies with warming spices, ideal for neverending snowstorms when meat and morale were scarce. Now, lebkuchen are a Christmastime staple, and they're also the name of my love interest in developer AstralShift's horror fairytale from 2023, Little Goody Two Shoes.

Folk etymology tells you lebkuchen means "life bread," and biting into one of the cookies – sometimes fortified with nuts, brown sugar, or dried fruit – instantly explains why. The cookies are more delicious than the cube of white bread I take in church, hoping I got the part of God's body that will show me through disappointment. Lebkuchen are a sacrificial woman's body – richer than a gingerbread man, with more subtle sweetness than a chocolate chip, and a lot more dignity than an Oreo. Those, I like to drown those in warm milk. 

But I don't want soybean oil, vanilla cream right now. I've been attached to the idea of wholesome, healing lebkuchen since learning about them through Little Goody Two Shoes, where I play as the village girl Elise, who finds her life transformed by a gorgeous pair of red Dorothy slippers. A witch promises all my dreams will come true – namely, "fuck you" money – as long as I pursue complete selfishness and turn on everyone I love. Sounds easy enough. 

But being around my faithful childhood friend Lebkuchen makes me wonder, is this a good use of the hate inside me? I often find her alone in the moonlight, waiting for me with a loaf of bread near her granny's bakery. She sits on a wooden swing rocking gently, emphasizing the frills on her Lolita nun's dress. 

I know from what Lebkuchen's told me that she's been losing her faith, but she still wears a string of pears with a white cross on her head like a tiara. A princess of God or a princess of pastry – there's hardly any difference. While I let my soul get torn apart by my feeling misunderstood, either as Elise or as a real girl scrolling for too long on Instagram, Lebkuchen remains empathetic. Even when I'm disgusting and angry, I know she has a frosted lebkuchen designed with almonds and candied cherries to make me reborn.

So I don't think I'll ever have any use for botox or the Holy Grail. I'm certain it's dessert that keeps me alive, both in Little Goody Two Shoes and in person. A slice of flan on laced porcelain turns the hate inside me into stardust; a berry scone on a cotton handkerchief makes me feel like I'm being held by angel wings. I pursue Lebkuchen, and I pursue lebkuchen, because I want that feeling as often as possible – at every breakfast time, every night, and even when I don't notice it, because I'm crying. Crying because the snow is melting. Tearing up because someone might be mad at me. Or, when I stop pretending, because I know I'm angry at the putrefying world.

I'll let Google Gemini or the lost Holy Grail find out how to keep it spinning. Butter, egg yolks, and a natural death with my lover's hand on my face, that's all I'm really looking for.

What about you?

Ingredients 

Lebkuchen 

♡ ¾ cup honey
♡ 1 cup dark brown sugar
♡ 1 tsp. ginger 
♡ Unconditional love
♡ Unconditional love, and the willingness to forgive
♡ Unconditional love, and the willingness to forgive yourself and others
♡ ¼ cup blanched almonds