We grew up with Christmas Kifle. My Aunt Helen used to make oodles of it. We would sneak into the kitchen at her house where they were beautifully displayed on a tiered rack. Mom would tell us "Two apiece! Only take two each!" And we dutifully obeyed.
Until she left the kitchen.
Now, she was not silly enough to leave us with the kifle unattended. Oh, no. She would make sure she shooed all four of us out of the kitchen in front of her. We would wait - a pride of lions stalking their prey - and do our best to appear engrossed in the Serbian conversations we could not understand since we were not taught the language. Then the signal from the lookout that mom's attention was diverted - the signal usually just slipping back into the kitchen. The rest would move quickly (afraid the lookout would bogart most of them) and, hamstringing the tiered tray, inhale as many kifle as we could without being too obvious which we probably were anyway. I imagine we looked (and sounded) like puppies fighting over a too-small bowl of kibble.
We would then artfully arrange the survivors so the tray didn't look too decimated and rush back out. Stealth was not so much called for as speed. We had to be quick, not quiet. Aunt Helen knew exactly what was happening and would never stop us - she apparently had plenty of kifle in reserve.
Today we don't make kifle as often as we should. It has been a few years since our last batch. I informed my niece that she needed to learn to make kifle as she needed to familiarize herself with the pain and suffering of her Serbian ancestry. Coincidentally, she came up from Fresno "too late" to make some.
There is always her birthday...
http://www.recipezaar.com/Kifle-Yugoslavian-Walnut-Cookies-307432
