You work tirelessly to cook the most amazing turkey, mash your potatoes until they’re fluffy, bake a mouth-watering pumpkin pie…
You could serve them with a nice red. A beaujolais perhaps?

But, why not opt for something just as intricate and elegant as the rest of your Thanksgiving menu?

This variation of the Manhattan is the perfect Fall drink. It’s spicy, sweet and bold. Kind of like your Grandma’s pecan pie. Only, this will put a few hairs on your chest.

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How many people really eat traditional gingerbread? Seriously?

The crack your teeth, so strong you can literally build a house out of it gingerbread? You roll it out, let your kids cut the little men, decorate them with frosting and gumdrops and then…they sit on a plate until you throw them out. Tell me I’m wrong…

I am going to go out on a limb here and say that gingerbread is more of an experience than it is a scrumptious holiday treat. I have NEVER known a kiddo who actually likes the flavor. It’s ginger, for goodness sake. It’s a pretty strong flavor for little tastebuds. And it’s so hard (or completely covered in frosting and gumdrops), the adults don’t bother.

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As you can tell, it’s been cookie central in my kitchen over the last week.

Why, you ask?
‘You never make sweets, Crystal…and now all of a sudden it’s all we get.’
Yeah, I know. You’re not complaining though, are you?

The reason for all of the cookies so far and all of the cookies to come (I have 12 more to post, folks!) is a little something we like to call ‘Cookies & Eggnog’, our annual holiday party.

At the beginning of each December, I bake a slew of cookies, A makes flammable eggnog and we celebrate the season with our fabulous friends. This year was year 6 of our little tradition. To prepare for the occasion, I was a pretty busy gal. I baked 14 different cookies, cooked 4 soups and prepared 5 different holiday drinks (well, okay, A prepared one of them). It was a formidable spread, if I say so myself.

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Fudge has been a Christmas staple for as long as I can remember.

Plates of fudge and Mexican wedding cakes were in every family member’s house I visited as a kid. When my parents got married, that must have been one of my dad’s stipulations–you will learn to make my family’s fudge and Mexican wedding cakes and have plates of them sitting out at Christmas.

The best part about fudge at Christmas wasn’t eating it–it was being around when it was made. At Grandma’s, anyone who was around got a turn to stir the fudge. Grandma did the measuring and the mixing and then she’d bring you a towel to place in your lap since the bowl was still pretty warm. If you were little and not so strong, you got one of the early turns. As it got tougher to stir, the towel and bowl would be passed off to an uncle or Dad or Grandpa. When the fudge was finally thick and almost impossible to stir, everyone would get a spoon before Grandma put the fudge in the pan. It was one of those rituals you don’t think is significant at the time, but ends up being a big part of what Christmas is all about.

Because of that, it almost makes me sad that I’ve deleted that step from my own fudge preparation. You see, I have this handy dandy kitchen gadget that eliminates the need for fudge stirrers. The first time I made fudge in my Kitchenaid mixer, I reveled at the fact that I could now make fudge and not have a sore arm for the next few days. It’s amazing, really. Especially since I don’t have a house full of available fudge stirrers. But, maybe one day…

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I’m giving away a pretty serious secret here…one I’m not sure I should be divulging.

When I was younger, I always thought men’s and women’s holiday dinner roles were so unfair. After the shared meal, the men get to sit and watch football while the women do the dishes. It always seemed like the women got the short end of the stick. After cooking for the majority of the day, the grandmas, aunts and older cousins lined up in the kitchen to wash, rinse and dry. It seemed unfair…until I became one of them.

My mom taught me well–I’ve been a dishwasher since I was old enough to reach the sink. But, it wasn’t until recently that I began to realize the magic of the secret society of post-holiday dinner dishwashers.

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