Holiday Goodies

Certain people, I’m told, are particularly susceptible to taking their parents seriously, just as they might be to sunburn, or T.B.  I believe it, especially around New Year’s Eve, when a trio of my Mom’s personal aphorisms begins to clang around my head. 

“Don’t drive after dark: the drunks are out.”  Kinda true, and especially relevant.  Not only do New Year’s Eve activities happen in the dark, but most revolve around drinking.  Plus, this being Los Angeles, I drive wherever I’m going.  Looks like I’m not going anywhere.

“Don’t breathe other people’s exhalations.”  Admittedly one of her more bizarre pieces of advice, but no less applicable.  Parties, by their very nature, are full of people, and people (the unhygienic monsters) consistently breathe.  Best I stay at home.  (And ask my boyfriend to direct his exhalations out an open window.)

“Nothing good ever happens after midnight.”  Forget seeing the ball drop.  I’ll be desperately trying to will myself to sleep at that point, avoiding whatever general “not good” waits around to pounce on people in the wee hours.

For me there is no bite of chocolate more satisfying than a truffle. Named after their likeness to the rare underground mushrooms, truffles are simply made of chocolate ganache, chocolate melted into hot cream. The ganache is chilled, becoming malleable, and pieces are formed into balls that truly resemble black truffles. Then the truffles are rolled in cocoa, powdered sugar, coconut flakes, or crushed nuts. They're the perfect little chocolate dessert bites, making them ideal for a party, especially one to celebrate New Year's Eve. Enjoy one with a cocktail or a glass of bubbly, and it's the perfect ending to an evening looking toward a new year filled with hope and prosperity.

These chocolate truffles are very easy to make with no cooking or baking required. Hot cream is poured over chocolate to melt it, and then combined with sugar and pulverized chocolate wafers for a bit of texture. The mixture is then flavored with hazelnut and coffee liqueurs along with espresso powder. After chilling, the truffles are formed into balls and rolled in crushed hazelnuts.

The American media warns us at every turn that Christmas is a time of over-indulgence. Women’s magazines sprout articles about how to avoid the buffet table, not to mention an extra ten pounds. Readers flip quickly past that article to the one depicting how to decorate a sugar cookie.

Honestly, that cattle call to temptation has never bothered me all that much. My university’s English department parties tend to offer a lively selection of cheap wine, together with three different kinds of hummus. Besides, I shed calories wrestling a five-foot tree into submission, grading final papers for my Shakespeare students, and fighting my way to Fed Ex to mail late presents.

But this year my husband and I are on sabbatical from our respective universities, so we packed up loads of books, two children and four laptops, and moved to Paris. We have a rangy apartment in the 9th arrondissement, with floors dating to the 1760s, four patisseries within a block or two, and a covered market just over the border in the 10th.

All I want for Christmas is my caviar pie. Which is a jolly good thing, since it's the only dish I take joy in creating.

Born without the cooking gene, my talent was always for producing and managing parties, until Brent Power, my best friend from grade school served up a delectable dip Christmas Eve 1982 at my wedding shower and I was hooked. I actually broke down, copied the recipe (my first ASK ever) and have been serving it and bringing it as my pot luck contribution ever since to ooh's and ahh's.