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.
We have a traditional Christmas dinner. We've been doing it for twenty-two years. There are fourteen people involved – eight parents and six children – and we all get together at Jim and Phoebe's during
Christmas week to exchange presents and make predictions about events
in the coming year.
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.
Jeff and I have been starving ourselves for the past few days. Well, not actually starving. We did have our morning coffee. Oh, and I sneaked in a couple of double chocolate pomegranate cookies yesterday. But those don't count. I was recipe testing.
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.