by Evyn Block

Those who know my family may possibly look back and refer to it as a Christmas miracle.  My mother cooked dinner.  Christmas dinner.  The big one where people come over and expect a well prepared meal that often involves side dishes, baked rolls, meat that has been seared and gravy that has been separated.  As you may have guessed, my mother doesn’t cook.  Growing up it was my Dad that was seen stove-side making chicken tacos or grilled sourdough burgers for my sister and me.  Now that we are grown, I am the one who usually takes the reigns at holidays, with relish.  This year, however, my mom wanted to do Christmas.  So we let her.

She was doing a standing rib roast rubbed with Dijon mustard, thyme and rosemary and her mashed potatoes; I was going to bake some Brussels sprouts with cauliflower, breadcrumbs, pinenuts and a veritable gallon of heavy cream.  What could go wrong?  It started when I noticed that there were only three shallots when her recipe called for 16.  “Oh, it won’t matter,” she said.  “Aren’t shallots just like onions anyway?  We can use onions.”  Distressed, I went to the store on Christmas at 2pm.  They were out of shallots.  I started drinking. 

When my mom went to put the roast in the 450 degree oven she did a bit of a ballet with the meat in the rack- a slight move to the left, an adjustment to the right, perhaps the whole pan should be moved over an inch?  What seemed like an eternity later I “encouraged” her to get her head out of the oven.  She told me to stop yelling.  I opened a new bottle of wine.

Somewhere between chopping my sprouts and grating my parmesan, I noticed my innocent sister deglazing the roasting pan on the stove while the now-toasty meat sat idle on the counter top, resting away.  I then noticed there were scratches at the bottom of the pan and I remembered it was my pan; the new one that had only been used once when my husband and I had hosted our first Thanksgiving just weeks prior.  And for some reason, I snapped.  I banged the whisk on the side of the pan, screamed something to the effect of “You can’t use metal on metal!” burned my sister’s arm with flying pan juices and was berated by my mother and “encouraged” to calm down.  My sister took the dog on a walk.  I finished my husband’s Manhattan.

An hour or so later, we were all assembled at the table, about to dive into the dinner, all swearing that from hence forward the making of Christmas dinner would not be handled in the Nassif household.  My Dad said grace.  And then we ate.  And it was delicious.  The shallots weren’t missed, the meat must have been in exactly the right position to manage that perfect color and the gravy was nuanced.  My mom had done it, beautifully.  Only much later did we realize we had gone all day and into the night’s darkness before we thought to open presents, some of which are still under my parent’s tree.  In a way, we all learned something about the holidays this year during a time when so many have no presents, no tree and no dinner about which to complain.  It is the people that you laugh with, eat with and love that make it all worthwhile and even, in my Mom’s case, the cooking.

What I’m:

Eating: Christmas cookies from my mother-in-law and fleur de sel caramels from Boule

Watching: The first season of “The West Wing” on DVD and the fourth season of “The Real Housewives of Orange County” on TV

Reading: The Gathering, Anne Enright

Listening to: Coldplay, Etta James

By Jacque Burke

Right around the time that I got my first real job working the counter at a local patisserie was about the time that I stopped being able to get away with making my Christmas gifts. My craftiness and its cute-factor were just about spent now that I was bringing home the big bucks ($5.50 an hour, maybe?). Eventually I started moving up and baking in the kitchen, then putting in longer hours after school decorating cakes, and that job then led to waitressing in nicer and nicer restaurants and before long I was shelling out loads of dough every year on extravagant Christmas presents for my family, friends, boyfriends and even their dogs.

Then I graduated from college and got a real job – you know, the ones that don’t send you home every night with a wad of cash that Uncle Sam will never know about – and thusly my holiday generosity was squelched. An easy fix, I thought, would be to tap my baking talents from my days in the patisserie where the whole gravy train started and bake treats for everybody on my list. For weeks before Christmas I would rummage through old cookbooks and my Grandmother’s recipe tin looking for the perfect recipe that would impress without being too over-the-top; simple, yet enthralling; a party in your mouth, but not too good that people can’t stop eating them and then when they finally do they feel awful… OK, see where this is going? I needed to choose one recipe and stick to it. The gift of continuity: An added bonus!

After lots of tinkering and doing my very best impersonation of a decisive individual I settled on Hazelnut Shortbread Cookies half-dipped in dark chocolate. They’re about as cute as mittens and delicious. My Grandma likes to have them in the morning with her decaf coffee, and my mom sneaks a few in the late afternoons giving the part without chocolate to Ella, our pup. My Uncle Jim takes them to his office and lets his secretaries fight over them, and my friend Diane even sold some as a dessert in her restaurant one year.

Even though I have my go-to Hazelnut Shortbread now, I still keep an eye out for recipes that would make great gifts. Here are a few of my favorites that have come out this year:

Molly Wizenberg’s Three-Layer Peppermint Bark

Andrew Knowlton’s Mom’s Chicken Liver Pate

David Tanis’ Italian Plum Cake

Ryan Angulo’s Maple & Bacon Roasted Almonds at Buttermilk Channel (Ryan, if you’re reading, I want that recipe!)

What I’m:

Eating: Virginia Ham

Watching: How I Met Your Mother

Reading: Down and Out in Paris and London by George Orwell

Listening to: Bon Iver

By Samantha Bryant

When I was growing up, I was the only Jewish kid in my elementary school. My mom would come to class every year and teach my classmates about Hanukkah and we would play dreidel, a gambling game played with a square spinning top. We would play with chocolate coins called Gelt and everyone thought I was the coolest kid for getting to gamble with chocolate.

Given our surroundings, my parents always let me have a Christmas tree as well as a menorah and I felt so lucky to celebrate both Hanukkah and Christmas. For years it was all about the presents, although Hanukah always seemed to be about giving me books and learning toys much to my dismay. As I got older and began to study Judaism and the history of Hanukkah, I found more potent meaning in the celebration and especially this year, I feel that celebrating Hanukkah is a wonderful way to reflect on all the many gifts we have.  

As the story goes, during the time of Alexander The Great, Antiochus IV, the Greek King of Syria, removed the Jewish rabbi from their holy Temple. He installed his own priest and ordered the Jewish people to worship Zeus. While some Jews obeyed, others, led by Judah Maccabee, resisted. The small army eventually overcame the Greeks and won back their holy Temple. After the victory, the Temple had to be rededicated, but there was only enough purified oil (used to light the menorah) to last for one night. Yet, miraculously, the oil burned for eight days. Hanukkah celebrates the miracle of the oil and the rededication of the Temple.

The lighting of the menorah is the most important Hanukkah tradition. The menorah is a candelabrum with nine stands. On each night of Hanukkah, a candle is lit. On the first night of Hanukkah, one candle is lit, on the second night, two and so on. The shammus, the large middle candle, is always used to light the eight other candles. It always remains lit. The candles are added from right to left, but lit from left to right.

Like most holidays, Hanukkah comes with a few traditional foods. The most common Hanukkah food are latkes, or potato pancakes. Here is a great latke recipe in case anyone is interested in expanding their celebrations to include Hanukkah.  Gambling directions not included.

Ingredients

3 1/2 pounds baking potatoes, peeled and halved

1 large yellow onion, cut into 8 wedges

1/2 cup all-purpose flour

2 eggs, lightly beaten

2 T chopped dill

1 1/2 t salt

1/4 t baking powder

Canola oil, for frying

Directions

Set a large strainer over a bowl. In a food processor fitted with the shredding disk, shred the potatoes and onion in batches. Add each batch to the strainer and let stand for 5 minutes, then squeeze dry. Pour off all of the liquid in the bowl and add the shredded potatoes. Stir in the flour, eggs, dill, salt and baking powder. Scrape the mixture back into the strainer and set it over a bowl; let stand for 5 minutes.

In a very large skillet, heat 1/4 inch of canola oil until shimmering. Spoon 2 tablespoons of the potato mixture into the canola oil for each latke, pressing slightly to flatten. Fry over moderate heat, turning once, until the latkes are golden and crisp on both sides, about 7 minutes. Drain the latkes on a paper towel–lined baking sheet. Serve the latkes hot.

Religious or not, any holiday that celebrates a people’s triumph is a wonderful thing. With all the changes in our world today, it is nice to know that for ages people have struggled and succeeded.

Happy holidays.

What I’m:

Eating: Latkes with applesauce

Watching: Jon and Kate Plus 8 on TLC

Reading: Elizabeth Taylor, A Biography

Listening to:  Christmas music

By Katherine Bryant Flaherty

La Cave des Fondus, a new underground fondue hideaway on Prince street where revelers talk, laugh and dip by the faint flickering of sterno candle-light, is known for a memorable quirk. They serve wine out of baby bottles. At first mention, this seems as idiotic as say, adult-sized high chairs, or daycare for your husband (although on second thought, the latter isn't such a bad idea). But low and behold, on Tuesday night as I nursed, and I mean that as literally as one can, pinot noir from the Evenflo glass baby bottle, I began to understand the appeal.

The experience was an evolution. At first, I was like a teenager, learning to kiss. It was awkward. Not having put a baby bottle to mouth for about 29 years, I wasn't sure whether to suck, bite, or just let it happen. Then, quickly, you start to have fun with it, find your own style. And finally, just as the first bottle runs dry, it seems completely natural and you barely let the next bottle you ordered hit the communal table before you guide it back into your mouth.

New York, NY (December 11, 2008) – Citing an unprecedented number of calls from New Yorkers planning moves to smaller, less expensive apartments or more cost-effective homes in the outer-boroughs, FlatRate Moving & Storage has announced a 30-percent discount and three months of free storage for any customers who are downsizing as a result of a recent layoff.   The offer begins today and will run through February 2009.

“We have a very loyal customer-base – we’ve moved customers three or four times as they have advanced the size and location of their homes,” said Mike Kessler, vice president of sales.  “Now, the same people are calling us, but they are moving away from Manhattan or into smaller apartments in more affordable neighborhoods.”

Kessler first cited the increase of such moves in an article published on Conde Nast Portfolio’s website, portfolio.com, on October 29, 2008.  To date, FlatRate has attempted to make these moves as affordable as possible – from booking moves on off-peak days to sourcing gently-used packing materials for clients to use.  But now, in an effort to help eliminate a small part of the worry for people facing a jobless 2009, FlatRate will apply the 30-percent discount to any moves booked by a customer who can prove that he or she is downsizing as the result of a job loss.  And, because downsizing often results in furniture and other belongings that will not fit in the new home, FlatRate will also give these patrons three free months of storage.

“Being forced to leave your home and do without your belongings because you lost your job is one of the hardest things a person will have to do,” said Kessler.  “We’re just trying to make one element of the process a little bit easier.”

New Yorkers needing to move who can provide proof of job termination within the last six months are encouraged to call a FlatRate moving consultant today at (212) 988-9292.  The 30-percent discount applies to moves originating and ending within New York City’s five boroughs.  Moves must be booked by February 28, 2009.  For more information on FlatRate, visit http://www.flatrate.com.

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by Becca Brown

Ever since the weather turned cold, spending four or more hours cooking seems like a perfectly acceptable endeavor to me.  The other day, while reading an article on the Mother Sauces in the December issue of Saveur, I got to the recipe for demi-glace, read the directions that called for 18-24 hours of cooking time and thought, “No problem!”  About a day later, it struck me that this might be considered odd by some in this day and age, when time is at a premium and everyone wants everything ASAP, please.

But something about hovering over a big, bubbling pot for long stretches of time makes perfect sense in the winter.  I think it’s because people naturally spend more time indoors, and everything just takes a little longer – an extra 10 minutes of bundling up before going out, the radiator huffing and puffing for an hour before the apartment warms up, trekking to an indoor gym rather than going for a quick run outside.

I’ve been a home cook for years, but this winter, the economy’s downturn makes long-term cooking projects like braising and making soups, stock and sauces even more appealing.  Thankfully, retirement is still a long way off and I have a steady job, but something about the collective state of mind has caused my grandparents’ Great Depression mentality to skip a generation and I’m squirreling away food for any potential lean days ahead. Ever since the Dow went down, I’ve been stocking up, literally.  It feels like I’m beating the system and sticking it to “the man” when I open the freezer door and dinner is sitting right there – for free!  Tossing surplus veggie bits and leftover bones into my handy freezer bag instead of the trash, knowing that they’ll lend another round of flavor to a future dish is even more gratifying these days.  It’s a new kind of investing – invest time into your kitchen, free up some space in your freezer, and save a ton on expensive groceries.  The dividends and returns are much more satisfying than the ones making headlines.

My current freezer favorites include:  pesto that is leftover from the summer, Guinness-braised short ribs, chicken stock (for soups and risotto) and Bolognese sauce.  Next up: demi-glace. 

What I’m

Eating: Anything braised

Watching: Kill Bill Volumes 1 and 2

Reading: Food Politics by Marion Nestle

Listening to:  Sonny Rollins