Buche de Noel and Struffoli

Buche de Noel with Struffoli in the background

Reading the above title, one might get the impression that I have both French and Italian roots.  My only connection to France is my four years of high school French.........and my Buche de Noel.  Ok, I can still sing most of La Marseillaise when I've had perhaps tee too many martinis.  But, I digress. 

I believe it was Julia Child who was on television preparing a Buche de Noel, and I thought it was just the neatest dessert.  I had to make it for my family.  Eric was four months old that Christmas, and I've been serving it every year since then.  28 years.  Since I assemble the whole thing on Christmas Eve, and I wanted to post a photo prior to Christmas, this is one from a prior year.  I'll be making the meringue mushrooms later today.  Perhaps I'll even make a few snails.  They always look appropriate sitting on and around the log.  I've added sugar-coated cranberries, marzipan cranberries, holly, or have just left it in its simplest form:  The log and the meringue mushrooms.  Sometimes less is more. 

As for the Struffoli, no self-respecting Italian...or at least Neopolitan....Christmas dessert table would be complete without them.  Little balls of dough that are deep fried, drained, coated in honey, lemon, and orange zest.  They're then stacked and covered with colored sprinkles.  They are positively addictive. 

I wish all of you a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Christmas Music

Admittedly, when I'm browsing the web, I get a bit miffed when the site opens and I'm bombarded by music.  Sometimes I enjoy what I'm hearing, but for the most part, I find myself racing for the pause or mute button, so that I can "think" while reading or not disturb the entire household if I happen to be cruising the web at some ridiculous hour of the morning while having a bout of insomnia. 

As guilty as I am at spiking the eggnog, I've broken my golden rule of having readers of my blog choose whether or not to listen to the music I've selected.  Please forgive me.  It's only for the next few weeks....only for Christmas....only because the songs invading your space make me happy....or sad....or nostalgic.  It's Christmas.  And even Bob Cratchit said, "It's only one day...."  Ok.  I've taken liberties there, too.  But....it is Christmas. 

I promise to return things back to the way they were after the tinsel and lights have been stowed. 

Merry Christmas, everyone.

My Favorite Things

Once the remnants of Thanksgiving dinner are but an epicurean memory, my focus shifts to the biggest holiday of the year--at least for me--Christmas. The preparations typically begin the day after the gobble-fest.

Boxes stuffed with treasured decorations are lugged down from the attic, and for the most part of a week, I carefully place and arrange the holiday memories from years gone by.  Of course, Christmas carols play in the background.  Some silly; some sentimental.  "Dominick the Donkey" gets me every year.  My father's name was Dominick....so of course, this silly song about an Italian Christmas donkey brings tears to my eyes.  The first year I purchased Christmas Organ Spectacular, by Rob Richards, my sister and I marched around the kitchen, to "The March of the Wooden Soldiers."  (It's a Radio City memory....the sound of that pipe organ makes my eyes tear).  I know, I know...I'm so goofy!  Here's a link to the Laurel and Hardy movie: March of the Wooden Soldiers

Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without massive amounts of baking, and I'll post a few of my favorite recipes as I progress through the next few weeks, but for now, this is about the decorations. 

I received this marching Santa from my grandfather, John (Giovanni) when I was around 8 years old.  The paper covering the drum managed to get a little girl's finger poked through one year, so in order to redeem myself, I replaced it with a cupcake liner.  Pretty creative, I'd say. 

"Father Christmas"  Ok.  Donna and I think he resembles our father. 

Babbo Natale, Papa Natale, Father Christmas. 

These ceramic "Noel" letters are actually candle holders.  They stand about 3" high and hold standard birthday cake candles.  Mom used to light them years ago, but now they've become window-ledge decorations.  They rarely spell, "N-O-E-L," since my sons have taken to rearrange them throughout the season to spell, "L-E-O-N,"  "E-L-O-N," and "L-O-N-E." 

Ok, this is just a shameless display of affection for my sons.

What's a baker without baker snowmen in a wreath?

My mother-in-law stitched this treasure for me, oh, I guess around 20 years ago.  Those are her initials in the lower right-hand corner: FAS.  Florence Andre' Schmidt.

The two antique photos:  John's paternal grandmother, Olga, far right.  My father, about 4-years-old, far left.

Coming soon:  My Marx Trains