I follow my own version of an anti-inflammatory diet, which I’ve felt all kinds of feelings about in my work as well as in my personal life. (Luckily for me, I use the former to solve problems in the latter, so consider myself a wholly satisfied eater-cook, even during our Christmas season.) Here are my favorite recipes to get me through.
In terms of nibbles and sips before or after mealtime — the miscellany that, in my mind, truly make the whole holiday season — I eat cheese (no, I’m not vegan) and love a good cheese board; I tend to eat my cheese nibbles on satisfying slices of apple, skipping crackers altogether, maybe set alongside a bowl of these Curried Pecans. But I get it, cheese on a slice of apple isn’t revolutionary, merely practical. You want recipes, like these Coconut Sugar Cookies, these Simple Molasses Cookies, these Plum Jumble Cookies, or these Chewy Gingerbread Cookies that I love. (I also pack the dough from these Perseverance Cookies into a Spritz cookie gun and practically load it into a holster to for a quick-draw holiday bake.) Or tips, like when I make hot chocolate for my family, I heat up milk for all of us and set aside a mug’s worth to make this Golden Milk for myself, whisked briskly in a mug with a bit of added honey; a two-step shuffle quick enough to result in everyone having a warm beverage to clink together in our mugs at the same time.
Let’s talk mealtimes, the big show. In my family, they are multiple and run in a limited series, beginning with sharing a Christmas Eve brunch with close friends — of this make-ahead cheesy millet casserole, say, or these buckwheat abekskiver that I would have stashed away, then reheated with sautéed apple slices — and ending with Christmas Day dinner. It is a two-day extravaganza of enormous festive breakfast and dinner combinations. For a few years, Christmas Eve was this make-ahead fish stew, until I got wise and informed my husband he would be making this salt-roasted fish forevermore with a blender hollandaise recipe I worked on as a baby food editor at my first job, alongside whatever vegetable my dad decides to conjure as a mate. (With the leftover flaked fish, I freeze it in portions and look forward to making these fish cakes for weeknight dinners in months to follow as deferred Christmas presents to myself.) For dessert, I brew cinnamon tea and pass a plate of Christmas cookies. Christmas Day breakfast is less formal now too, often slices of this Pain d’Epices smeared with salted Irish butter, thick wedges of pear alongside – a store in town corners the market of perfectly ripe, buttery Comice pears that inspire us to jump for joy when they show up the week of Christmas. (If I didn’t have those pears, though, I would make these roasted pears with maple yogurt and gobble them just as happily.) Our Christmas dinner menu is classic and immovable, involving recipes I follow religiously from old, stained cookbooks, shoulder-to-shoulder with my dad in the name of tradition. For dessert, maybe a slice of Date and Nut Torte or Tarte Tatin with some crème fraîche.
Still not enough recipes for you? Luckily for you, I dedicated a whole section of The Wright Recipes to Christmas; surely my unhinged holiday energy for over a decade resulted in something that sounds tasty to you.
As much as it is all about the food in our house – and it really is – what we eat isn’t as important as being together. It’s a cheesy thing to admit, I know, but there’s nothing like a terminal illness to slide some tenderness and authenticity into a cliché. The meals, the warmly spiced sweets, snacks and drinks, they all just help strike a tone of comfort that is already present in the simple act of setting aside the time and intention of enjoying the company of loved ones. It’s a season of honoring connections, decadence as celebration. This letter was my chance to honor our connection, a perfect way to start this month of celebrations. Your reading here is a gift to me, giving the bursts of creativity I’ve had for over a decade that materialize in essays and recipes a form of belonging. And for those of you who support this writing with a paid subscription, continue reading for a tasty holiday snack that we all now agree you don’t actually need to feel whole this season, but is lovely all the same. Happy holidays to all, however you spend them, and I’ll meet you back here in 2023.
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