Christmas traditions

It's funny how childhood traditions can become sticking points in a relationship. I find it fascinating how a couple can learn to maturely compromise on meal times and who does the laundry/shopping/childcare, yet lock heads over whether to hang the stockings by the chimney or at the foot of the bed.

In those blissful pre-children years, before death do us part and all that, Neil and I hadn't discussed festive childhood traditions in any great detail. Until recently that is, when we were wrapping the kids' presents and reminiscing about our own Christmas childhood memories.

Mine involved attending a midnight mass church service on Christmas Eve (an attempt, I reckon in hindsight, on my parents' part to prevent us rising too early on Christmas morn, and also to provide an antidote to all the imminent Santa action), then creeping out at the crack of dawn to the fireplace to see if  Santa had been. We knew better than to crack into the pressies - we had to wait until Dad got in from milking the cows. It seemed to take an eternity, even though some years he would get the cows in at 2am after the church service in an effort not to keep us waiting too long. Then present-opening frenzy would ensue, followed by manic Christmas lunch with Mum or Dad's side of the family, then manic Christmas dinner with the other side.

Neil's childhood Christmas involved hanging his stocking up at the foot of the bed on Christmas Eve. Upon waking in the middle of the night, he would check if Santa - sorry, Father Christmas - had been. If he had, then Neil would open a present or two, then fall back asleep until the morning, when he'd open the remaining presents. All this recounted with misty-eyed nostalgia.

Given that we don't have a fireplace (hanging the stockings under the heat pump doesn't have quite the same ring to it, does it?!) my argument for having the stockings in the living room was perhaps on shaky ground... however Neil agreed he wanted to see the kids' faces upon seeing if Santa/Father Christmas had been. (Privately, I also think that Neil was perhaps a better behaved and more restrained child than our offspring; I don't trust either Dan or Emily not to rip into every present at 2am.)

But I digress. A Christmas tradition that is not to be messed with in my family is the Christmas pudding. When I was a little girl it was my Great Aunty Jean's job to make the pud; she passed the task on to Uncle Bruce. I am lining up as Bruce's 2IC, and have assisted him with pudding-making for two years now. The recipe itself is straightforward, but the best part is using the ancient scales that once belonged to my great-great grandmother.

 

With traditional pudding-making comes little quirks like making a wish with each stir of the pudding. Here, my granny (or GG as she is known to the kids) and Dan have a go.

A newly discovered Christmas tradition in our house is the baking of goodies for the kids' pre-school teachers. Frankly, anyone who can put up with Emily's stubborness and Dan's unwillingness to join in craft activities when sporty options are available, should be given a case of champagne rather than a handful of homemade choccies, but times are tough - homemade choccies it is.

I made a combination of rich brandy and nut truffles and rocky road for each of the eight teachers. Here they are:

Then Christmas drinkies with the cuzzies calls for some more festive baking. Lemon curd cupcakes with cream cheese icing and little fondant decorations.

This little boy (Dan, 4) is soooo excited about Christmas, it literally cannot come fast enough for the wee man. Neil and I can't wait to see his face (and Emily's) on Christmas morning. No doubt the little rascals will gradually cement a whole new range of family Christmas traditions, which, years from now they will fight over with their spouses.

But for now, Merry Christmas everyone!
Jude x

Fairy lights and fruitcake

Post-audition, life has seen an onslaught of all things Christmas: tinsel, advent calendars, the annual debate of whether or not it will irritate people to send them a family Christmas letter, and an endless string of Christmas parties - sadly more involving Santa than champagne. The kids are already at fever pitch over the prospect of a visit from Monsieur Claus; the morning after the Christmas tree (a rather sad looking specimen chosen by Dan and Gramps from the farm) was installed - at 5.45am to be precise - Neil found the kids standing in front of the "tree", fairy lights twinkling, totally enraptured, looking for presents.

And, of course, festive baking. For a learner baker like me, Christmas lends a good excuse to try out things I'm unlikely to cook otherwise. Starting with a brandy-soaked Christmas cake...

It isn't very rewarding, however, making fruit cakes for people who don't like fruit cakes. For instance, it was hard to draw much pride from Neil's "If I liked fruit cake, I'm sure I'd like this", said with his face distorted into obvious displeasure at being forced to sample it. Similarly, Dan's "I like it Mummy, but just the icing, but just the white icing - not that yucky yellow icing". So really, I should have just served up some white fondant icing and basked in the compliments.

And then I had all this dried fruit to find a use for - so I had a bash at mincemeat. I made some festive brioche, filling with the mincemeat and Whittaker's Dark Ghana chocolate, to which I've become addicted. These were duly delivered to the Mainly Music Christmas party, which in hindsight was not a wise move considering the amount of brandy-sodden fruit the brioche contained, and was eaten by hordes of preschoolers. Their parents have me to thank if their children were unusually mellow for the rest of the day.

Then I made mince pies. Athough I cooked them within an inch of their lives, they were delicious. The pastry was beautifully short and perfectly cooked on the bottom, if borderline over-cooked on the edges.

I've also had a few attempts at pavlova making. Our local Nosh store held their annual pavlova competition today, so I duly entered a very homemade looking piece. When presenting it to the store, the lady who was organising it said "I bet it tastes great"... which is the food equivalent of saying "You've got a great personality". So I plonked it down among these meringue, cream and strawberry works of art and haven't heard since. Suffice to say, I don't think I won! Still, I bet it really did taste great...

What else? I had another bash at croissants. Definite improvement. And easier, although I had rolling pin arm ache for a day afterwards. My physio husband's professional opinion was that I needed to, and I quote, "take a concrete pill and harden up".

So, some interesting baking escapades these past few weeks..and more to come!

TTFN x