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Along with holly, laurel, rosemary, yews and the Christmas tree, mistletoe is an evergreen displayed during the holiday season and symbolic of the eventual rebirth of vegetation that will occur in spring. But perhaps more than any other of the Christmas evergreens, it is a plant of which we are conscious only during the holidays. One day we're kissing under the mistletoe, and next day we've forgotten all about it. The Druids considered the mistletoe to be a sacred plant and believed it had miraculous properties which could cure illnesses, serve as an antidote against poisons, ensure fertility and protect against the ill effects of witchcraft. Moreover, whenever enemies met under the mistletoe in the forest, they had to lay down their arms and observe a truce until the next day. From this has seemingly come the ancient custom of hanging a ball of mistletoe from the ceiling and exchanging kisses under it as a sign of friendship and goodwill. Another version, however, says that this custom, which was widespread among the Anglo-Saxons, was connected to the legend of Freya, goddess of love, beauty and fertility. According to legend, a man had to kiss any young girl who, without realizing it, found herself accidentally under a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. Even if the pagan significance has been long forgotten, the custom of exchanging a kiss under the mistletoe can still be found in many European countries as well as North America. It was once believed that if a couple in love exchanged a kiss under the mistletoe, it was a promise to marry, as well as a prediction of happiness and long life. So, be careful who you choose to smooch this holiday season! |
Happy Holidays! One of our favorite quick appetizers are these Italian Stuffed Mushrooms. They usually show up on the holiday table because they are so easy to make and serve.
When I was growing up, my favorite grown-up restaurant was SCANDIA in
Hollywood. Run by Ken Hanson, this award-winning Scandinavian eatery
was the place my family flocked to for holidays, not just birthday
dinners and Sweet 16 luncheons, but also un-Hallmark events—like when I
cut my head and all I wanted was Scandia’s Swedish meatballs so my dad
got them on his way home from the set of “The Untouchables” episode he
wrote.
It just wouldn't be Christmas at my house without Thumbprint Cookies. This old recipe that my Czechoslovakian/ Bohemian grandmother used to make created cookies that were my dad's favorite at holiday time. My grandma passed the recipe to my mom. They'd always have centerstage on the plates of cookies my mom would assemble and give to friends during the holidays.
Every Christmas morning, my sisters and I tumble downstairs, pause
to survey the adorned Douglas Fir and its outlying territory, then
continue to the kitchen. It’s a family tradition that before
fingertips ever meet wrapping paper, we sit down to a big breakfast of
bagels and lox and scrambled eggs with onions. In my less ripe years,
I considered this practice illogical frivolous excruciating;
however—predictably—as the son of God’s