The COVID Christmas I had once dreaded arriving has now passed. I survived it, in fact, it might just have been one of the best Christmases’ I’ve experienced. Deciding to take on the anticipated misery directly, we planned to conjure up the memories of Christmases past (and I mean way back) by revisiting old family recipes for festive treats (both sweet and savoury) and combine them with the magic of some recent Christmas memories that Bae and I had created for ourselves. The plan worked flawlessly. This was a Christmas that I will remember as special, unique, and as one enjoyed versus one of misery for having not been able to gather with friends and family.Continue reading “COVID christmas made merry; good-bye, 2020.”
In the times before The Boil, I became an addict, and the blame lies firmly with my grandmothers. They knew it, and they fed my addiction.
Homemade cinnamon buns.
Thanks to their baking prowess, and sharing of recipes, my grandmas’ cinnamon buns became my favorite treat. Fortunately I wasn’t spoiled by them completely, as I typically could only enjoy them the occasions when I visited them (my mother did a very good job making them herself, but she wouldn’t make them for anything other than a special occasion because of the time they require to be made). Because those were my introduction to cinnamon buns, I compared all future offering to their recipe, and came to shun poor imitations.Continue reading “my grandmothers turned me into an ad·dict (‘adikt)”