December always feels different in the studio. The pace shifts, the light softens, and my sketchbooks slowly fill with small seasonal moments. This year one of my December traditions, making gingerbread people is a theme, both in the studio and in the kitchen, with holly sprigs, candy canes, all the sweet stuff, balanced by the curl of steam from a mug on my desk, (though caffeine is very much a staple all year round). 

By mid-December, I naturally settle into one of my favourite rituals: baking gingerbread people, turning them into a small creative celebration of the festive season.

For me, it’s never just about the cookies. It’s about who they’re for. I started baking every Thanksgiving and every Christmas. Firstly, because they’re my son’s favourite (his birthday falls over Thanksgiving, and even though we live in the UK now, we still acknowledge the holiday), and second, because the scent of these cookies marks the true start of December for me. It signals that Christmas is here, and that time with family matters more than anything else this season.

Baking, for me, is another form of making. There’s a rhythm to it: checking ingredients (the mild panic of “do I actually have everything?”), rolling dough between sheets of baking paper, and waiting as the house fills with that unmistakable gingerbread warmth. It’s familiar, grounding, and usually very comforting.

This year, I had planned to turn that ritual into hand-painted Christmas cards. Gingerbread people, watercolours, the shiny metallic “gold”, and “biscuit brown” paint, a small creative project to send out to friends and family.

In reality?
Not every creative idea wants to cooperate. Aaargh!

Some of the cards just didn’t land the way I hoped. Others felt rushed. A few made me smile… but not in the “yes, these are ready to send” way. And somewhere between studio time, real life, and December deadlines, I realised it was okay to stop pushing.

Instead of perfect handmade cards, store-bought ones will be heading out this year — and that’s fine, (I’m supporting another artist out there somewhere). Creativity isn’t always about finishing everything. Sometimes it’s about knowing when to pivot, when to laugh, and when to protect your energy.

The gingerbread, though, stays.

One of my favourite gingerbread bakes — a large one made for my son’s birthday — still makes an appearance here. It’s a reminder that not everything has to be new or perfectly timed to be meaningful. Traditions carry stories with them, even when they resurface years later.

So I’ve included the recipe for you here.

This is the gingerbread recipe I come back to time and again. It’s forgiving, gently spiced, and works well whether you’re baking for a celebration, a family tradition, or simply because December feels incomplete without gingerbread somewhere in the house.

I’ve adapted it slightly over the years to suit how I bake, especially when I’m fitting it in around studio time.

Ingredients

Dry ingredients

• 3 cups all-purpose flour
• 1½ teaspoons baking powder
• ¾ teaspoon baking soda
• ¼ teaspoon salt
• 1 tablespoon ground ginger
• 1¾ teaspoons ground cinnamon
• ¼ teaspoon ground cloves

Wet ingredients

• 6 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened (approx. 85 g)
• ¾ cup packed dark brown sugar
• 1 large egg
• ½ cup molasses
• 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
• 1 teaspoon finely grated lemon zest

To decorate (optional)

• Chocolate chips (my preference instead of raisins or sweets – added before baking)

Method

1. Whisk together all the dry ingredients in a bowl and set aside.
2. In a separate bowl, beat the butter and brown sugar until well blended.
3. Add the egg and mix until combined, then beat in the molasses, vanilla, and lemon zest.
4. Gradually stir in the dry ingredients until the dough is smooth and evenly combined. (It does seem a little on the dry side but as long as you can stick (squish) it together – it’s good)

Divide the dough in half, wrap each portion in baking paper or plastic wrap (or use reusable wrap or baking paper), and let it rest at room temperature for at least 2 hours (or up to 8 hours). The dough can also be refrigerated for up to 4 days (I usually do it overnight before baking. Just return it to room temperature before rolling.

Rolling & Cutting (My Way)

I roll the dough between two sheets of baking paper rather than flouring the counter.
One sheet underneath, one on top, and I work with small portions at a time. It’s far less sticky and much easier to manage. (My trick – warm it up between your hands (like plasticine – excellent stress relief) and then roll out.

Roll the dough to just under ¼ inch (about 5–6 mm) thick, then cut out your gingerbread people.

Baking

• Preheat the oven to 180°C (350–375°F)
• Place the rack in the upper third of the oven
• Bake one tray at a time

Bake one sheet at a time for about 8 minutes — this timing gives the perfect balance of softness and structure and prevents the cookies from becoming too hard. Also rotate the tray halfway through baking for even colour.

Edges should be just beginning to darken, (you’ll see it just underneath slightly).

Transfer the “people” to a rack to cool completely before decorating.

Decorate

I prefer just as they are with the mini chocolate chips for eyes and buttons — simple, neat, and delicious. But you can add icing details once the cookies are completely cool.

A Small Note

This recipe has lived in our kitchen for years and has been adapted along the way. It’s shared here in the spirit of tradition and creativity rather than perfection — exactly the way it’s used in our home.

From Baking to Pattern-Making