Holiday Goodies

New Year's is about a lot of things: partying into the night, getting tipsy on Champagne, sharing a moment with a special someone at the stroke of midnight. But most importantly, the new year is a reboot, a chance to make some changes, to set a goal and go for it, to choose a new direction in life. Many cultures believe there's a way to ensure a positive outcome in the new year by eating lucky foods. So to guarantee your good luck, why not eat your way to prosperity and wealth? It's worth a try!

It's tradition to eat pork on New Year's Day since the pig symbolizes forward progress due to its predilection to dig things up with its snout. Whereas other animals, like the chicken who scratches backwards, is a no-no on New Year's. Southerners equate black-eyed peas and greens with wealth—the beans look like coins and the greens like money. Hoppin' John is one of those traditional dishes you'll find on the Southern New Year's table because it has black-eyed peas and bacon—what a winning combination.

These just scream Christmas, don't they?  I wanted to show you this recipe to give you plenty of time to include this in your holiday entertaining.  I love cranberry desserts at the holidays - they are so pretty, with the cranberries looking like little jewels. These phyllo baskets are simply scrumptious and you can make the components of these ahead of time, making it a breeze to assemble right before you want them.

I've had this recipe for years, way before you could buy prebaked phyllo baskets in the grocery store.  If you absolutely don't have time to make the phyllo baskets yourself, you could use the frozen kind. I've never tried them, so I cannot tell you if they are any good. But if you buy phyllo sheets and make your own little baskets, I guarantee they will be wonderful and crisp and light and so worth the small effort it takes to make them. And you can make the baskets way ahead of time and keep them at room temperature.  The filling and topping are practically afterthoughts, they are so easy.

As with any Southern celebration, the table will be donned and decked with the literal pieces of our family’s legacy. A great aunt’s china, grandmother’s silver, or mama’s linens. We Southerners know our people and know their worth–a worth laden with sentiment, honor, and legacy if not anything monetarily per say. The memories of those who celebrated this meal are held dear as we utilize their treasures as we shepherd our lives into this New Year.

The garden shall provide our centerpieces. It is wintertime after all, and time to put the garden to bed for a long winter’s nap. Cedar, cypress, boxwood, holly, and magnolia will be clipped and set into a coiffure bouquet only the garden can provide. Pine boughs and cones, bowls of pecans in silver dishes, blue juniper berries and deep aubergine privet berries will augment the serenity of the season and a dose of color to our homage of garden greens. Touches of white from early Paperwhites, silvery artemisia, and popcorn tree will truly sparkle against the deep evergreens’ foliage, looking ever so dapper in any cachepot, tureen, pot, or pail.

We shall eat for progression, luck, health and wealth, and a myriad of good things, and will end the dining festivities with sweet morsels of Southern goodness. Our gardens and land shall be ever present as our décor–a gentle reminder of where our provisions were grown and raised. The food may be spiced with meaning, tradition, and superstition, but the lore has become a part of our culture. For a few hundred years, we had to eat what we had, what we grew. Though times have changed, eating that food, eating “poor,” is still cherished and revered so we may truly eat “rich.” We shall have rice for riches and peas for peace and be no worse for the wear. From this Farmer’s table to yours, Happy New Year!

Ah, so it begins. 

From my cousin:
“Well, so far, there will be about thirty of us.  We should talk about the menu and see what we want everyone to bring. We’ll need two turkeys. Kevin says he wants to deep fry one.”

This, from my cousin Leland in Kansas where we will meet for Thanksgiving.  I will happily fly to Tulsa from Los Angeles, then drive on cruise control 120 miles to the small town of Parsons for Thanksgiving dinner at his big blue Victorian home with a host of cousins, grandchildren, stray local teen-agers and two uncles well into their 80s. (One will bring a cream pie and the other, green jello.) 

Once we settle where the out-of-towners sleep we will find ourselves smack in this small town of 13,000 in the middle of the country, the grocery shopping dependent on a Wal Mart just outside the city limits where there is never a shortage of iceberg lettuce, year round.  (A side note: I felt slapped down, yet hopeful to discover a small plastic container of basil buried among the radishes when last there.)