The sugar dust hit the air before I even opened the window. it hung there. still.
And I thought—maybe I won’t make the cookies. maybe I’ll just sit here and remember the last time this house felt full.
But the egg whites were already out. and the lemon juice. and the glass bowl with the chip on the rim—the one from when Mae was still small enough to lick the beaters without me worrying about salmonella or sadness.
The Royal Icing recipe showed up in that Martha book with the broken spine. page folded. lemon zest stains.
Her Highness says: beat the whites stiff, sift the sugar like snow, finish with lemon. it’s elegant. silent. a cathedral of a recipe.
What the Original Looked Like
Martha’s royal icing is clean. obedient. no color, no noise.
Just two egg whites. four cups confectioners’ sugar, sifted into air. a few teaspoons of lemon juice to keep it bright.
She whips it to peaks that don’t fall.
It holds its shape like she holds her legacy—immaculate, uncracked.
You’re supposed to pipe it. flood it. trim the edges with silver dragées and restraint.
The kind of frosting you make if your life has never been loud.
What I Did Differently
I didn’t sift the sugar.
Didn’t even pretend to. Just dumped it in, bit by bit, like grief.
And the lemon?
I added more than she said. maybe double. it needed sharpness. something to fight the quiet.
Also—I used the eggs that had been sitting in the fridge since last week. not old, just… not new.
Felt like the right energy.
The Way It Happened In My Kitchen
I started beating the whites with that little hand mixer that still smells like burning plastic.
Didn’t even get the big mixer down. too heavy. too clean.
Mae used to beg to turn it on. Now she just texts. “you making the cookie thing again?”
They peaked. kind of. not stiff, more… slouched with confidence.
I dumped the sugar. it poofed back at me like the ghost of a better December.
And the lemon—god, the lemon. It hit the bowl and it was all her again. not Martha. My mother.
The last time we made cookies together was 2008.
She wore that red apron that said “bake it nice or not at all.”
She died the next spring.
I still wear the apron.
Anyway—
I kept mixing. It got glossy. too glossy, maybe. like icing trying to hide something.
I touched it with my pinky.
Too thick. added a whisper of egg white.
Too thin. added a snowstorm of sugar.
Eventually it held. not stiff like Martha wants.
More like me—barely upright, but still trying to be beautiful.
A Few Things I Learned
Let it sit. even icing needs a moment to settle its thoughts.
It tastes like lemon and loss if you do it right.
Don’t make this if the house is too quiet.
Or do. Just be ready for the ghosts.
What I Did With the Extras
I didn’t pipe anything.
I smeared it with a butter knife onto broken sugar cookies I found in the freezer.
The ones shaped like stars. some missing points.
Mae ate two. didn’t say anything.
Just smiled and left the plate on the counter.
Would I Make It Again?
Yes. but only in December.
And only if I have something to remember.
That’s As Much As I Remember
The bowl’s still on the counter.
The sugar’s still in the air.
And it’s snowing again—quiet, perfect, like Her Highness would prefer.
But mine’s got cracks. and a bit of lemon pulp.
I like it better that way.
If you need something louder, I did a version of Martha’s lemon tart once with a crust that shattered like glass. It helped. Sort of.
FAQs
you can, technically. but it gets weird. grainy, like regret. i wouldn’t. just make less or eat more.
it’ll still work. but it’ll miss that little spark. you can use vinegar in a pinch—white, not balsamic (please). it won’t taste the same, but neither do memories the second time.
Her highness says yes. i say… maybe. i didn’t. mine still held its shape and made the cookies feel fancy. if you’ve got the energy, sure. if not, just mix it longer.
Yeah, but go light. gel food coloring works best. too much liquid and it turns to soup. mine once ended up the color of regret. didn’t stop us from eating it.
Check out More Recipes:
- Martha Stewart Sugar Cookies
- Martha Stewart Shortbread Cookies
- Martha Stewart Peanut Butter Cookies
- Martha Stewart Chocolate Chip Cookies
- Martha Stewart Chocolate Cake
Martha Stewart Royal Icing
Description
A little too lemony, a little too emotional—held its shape anyway.
Ingredients
Instructions
- Make the royal icing: cracked two eggs and stared at them first. don’t know why. whisked the whites until they got stiff-ish—glossy like old vinyl. not perfect. not trying to be.
- Add the sugar: sifted, no. dumped in slow, kept mixing. clouded the counter in sweet fog. it clung to my sweater. added lemon juice like i was seasoning the air, not a bowl. tasted. it needed more. added it.
- Adjust the texture: too runny at first. added more sugar by instinct, not spoon. if it’s too thick, you’ll know. mine was stubborn, like me. i added a breath of egg white to coax it back.
- Rest and store: let it sit while i wiped the counter and tried not to cry. put it in a jar with no label. shoved it in the fridge like a secret. it’ll hold for a few days. longer, if you pretend it isn’t just frosting.