A Challah in the House

Mention mince meat pie and most people wince. I do not. My upbringing included a substantial amount of this traditional treat. It may be a Southern thing. I always found the combination of raisins and spices very palatable. Therefore, one can conclude that I'd be a fruitcake aficionado as well. It is true. The much maligned fruitcake is actually very tasty. How can a combination of fruit and nuts provoke such agitated responses from potential eaters?

My family always, always served fruitcakes at Christmas though my mother did not generally make them herself. She'd buy a big one at the grocery store or some obliging family member would ship one to our house. I vividly recall the pleated red paper in which the fruitcake was encased. Though I've lost the brand name of our favorite variety, I can summon the richness of a thick slice without any difficulty.

Having spent the last thirty-five years with someone whose heritage is thoroughly New York, mincemeat pie and fruitcake have been mostly absent from our table. I recall that at least once I bought all the various dried fruit needed to assemble a fruitcake. I believe I followed through and baked the cake. I've erased any memory of what happened next. With my Southern mother living with us, most likely at least two slices were eaten. The rest of the cake was trashed, I am sure. I never attempted to sway my family towards mincemeat pie.

It is an established fact in this family that I am a subsistence cook. I can keep people alive, generally healthy. I have no specialties unless you consider a turkey sandwich on whole wheat with honey mustard something unique. No, I don't think so. I've recounted my many culinary catastrophes in previous blogs and can mainly laugh about them now that enough time has passed.

Holiday traditions at our house include a breakfast with an inviolate menu. This food is served just once a year at Christmas time. I have a dark brown pottery bowl that is removed from a top shelf in the kitchen for this singular purpose. So it has been for the last 30+ years.

Carefully kept is the practice of enjoying French toast once presents have been opened and admired on Christmas morning. In anticipation, a large challah from the bakery is tucked in our freezer.


Real maple syrup resides on a pantry shelf. An ample supply of "fakin bacon" is ready for tasting.


In years past, when the people living in the house numbered five, I'd cook a whole turkey, amply stuffed. The bird was dusted with paprika, just like Mother prepared it at our farmhouse in Mississippi. This spice addition made no sense, but some traditions just 'are.' For a long time, I served the ubiquitous green been casserole. Four people ate it in dainty portions. My all-things-green adverse husband politely declined. (He was probably the clever one.) Ocean Spray cranberry sauce filled my Granny's pickle dish, just as it had in my childhood. I never even considered making my own sauce. Desserts often included an Apple Crumb Pie, Henry's favorite.

Through the years, the number of residents at the house has shrunk. Our daughter is a devoted vegetarian. No longer does a whole turkey roast in our oven. A few years ago, I found a fabulous recipe for Cranberry Sauce (Thank you Southern Living.) and now make it in large quantities to share with neighbors. The green bean casserole has been abandoned for a much healthier (and better tasting) Green Bean Salad. It, too, is requested by friends and neighbors and often the recipe is multiplied to accommodate those additional tables. My gravy boats are gathering dust.

I very much enjoy setting the Christmas table with red and green linens. Polishing the silver, washing the crystal, these are tasks laced with love. Each chair around our 1980-era dining room evokes a memory of some loved one who has sat at that particular place over the years. Their faces and individual cadences continue to enliven the room even in their absence.

I think I glimpse a small, dark-haired Caitlin who barely peeps over the table when she asks for more turkey. Mother sits quietly, probably reminiscing about the absence of Daddy and Brother, and eventually engages with the family surrounding her. One special Christmas, niece Diane and nephew Keith share the holiday with us. Can that really be twenty years ago?

While we still lived at our old house, and on Caitlin's very first Christmas, she was surrounded by her three surviving grandparents. Photos and videos from that day capture three generations opening presents and enjoying the holiday meal. Nine-month old Caitlin is mostly oblivious, completely fascinated by the wrapping paper and boxes which contained a plethora of gifts. Her elder brother patiently demonstrates each toy and tries to distract Caitlin from her paper obsession.

With only a threesome assembling for Christmas 2011, we'll not be sitting at our table. Instead, we'll dine at the Great Wall, a Chinese restaurant in downtown. Owned by the parents of Maureen, President of Caitlin's high school graduating class, the venue is a very comfortable place for celebrating. We may be inaugurating a new tradition that is free from preparation, presentation, and ultimately, removal of the Christmas meal. Not one of us is troubled by this decision, rather, we are each elated. Doubtless new stories will emerge from this culinary deviation.

It's been decided that we'll 'dress' for dinner. A new festive red frock for Caitlin. Muted grey for me. Henry will be dashing in navy. We'll linger over soup and special entrees, sharing stories of our family's past. It will be the very best Christmas dinner ever.