If you have any Canadian friends who are good cooks, they can sometimes
go to the effort to recreate dishes often referred to in Christmas
Carols. Its that whole British thing and “Hey, I’m a Royal Subject,
eh?” But after Pfeffernusse, Sugar Cookies, Flaming Plum and Figgy Pudding,
parties with lavish cheese plates and the holiday Honeybaked Ham, I get
a little toxic.
I start to crave more than your every day palate cleanser. It’s more like a yen for a culinary high colonic. A clean fresh salad is what my body calls for and I’m always amazed when this happens.
When my kids were young and I’d fret about not being able to get them to eat enough vegetables and fruit, or protein, the ‘experts’ would invariably assure me in that annoyingly supercilious New Age Parenting tone that “They’ll just naturally take the nutrition their bodies need.” Yeah, that was some bullshit. Like they’d just select the carrots and celery from a table with the big bowl of Cheetos.
Some people think 
Spending countless hours trapped in a cold, dimly lit basement -- that's what I remember about Christmas.