Pumpkin for Christmas: who knew? My Midwestern pals, that's who. Putting together two back-to-back holiday parties for my best friend, who cherishes her Minnesotan roots, I was surprised that she put pumpkin cake, made in a Bundt pan, of course, on the top of her list of must-have treats for the table. She was right: big smiles lit up the faces of the guests who hailed from Chicago and Minneapolis when they spied the cinnamon-brown Bundt. "Pumpkin cake for Christmas! I was just thinking about that," said one. "With whipped cream, of course," agreed another.

It makes sense, though: such a cake is dense and spicy, redolent of all the fragrant holiday spices that perfume everything from gingersnaps to mulled cider and hot wine this time of year. It's easy to throw together, since a couple cans of pumpkin are probably already in the cabinet, souvenirs of Thanksgiving's pie-minded supermarket stock-up. (A recent report found that 20% of Americans always have canned pumpkin on hand in their pantries. Having poked around in a lot of home kitchens, though, I would guess that most of that pumpkin was bought in 1993, forgotten, and never moved or dusted since.) If not, there's a plethora of gorgeous fresh winter squash out there, ready to be roasted and mashed.

(The nomenclature of pumpkin bread aside, I've found that butternut squash gives the most consistently full-flavored results, and cranking your freshly roasted squash through a food mill turns any stringy chunks into a velvety puree.)

The pumpkin cake I made for last week's holiday party was a basic buttery-cinnamony recipe originally published in Gourmet. It was light and moist, thanks to the pumpkin and buttermilk. I added powdered ginger, fresh nutmeg, and a pinch of cloves to the mix; having just cinnamon and allspice is like the Brady Brunch without Cindy, Jan, or Alice.

Turns out I wasn't the only one thinking about pumpkin at this time of year. Talking to my old pal Jennifer Joseph, poet, founder and publisher of the excellent Manic D Press, and Bernal baker par excellence, I got the inside scoop on the pumpkin cake she made last week, which was devoured, down to the crumbs in less than two days by her husband and daughter. Made with whole-wheat pastry flour, fresh cranberries, walnuts, chocolate chips, and pumpkin, it was, she said, "secretly good for you," and we all know chocolate is a health food, right?

It also looks particularly bright and festive, which meant it wasn't too much of a jump to take it from afternoon cake to morning bread. I've cut back the sugar a little, subbing in apple juice (or cider) for the water in Jen's original recipe so as to add a little more natural sweetness and flavor. Served warm, this bread is lovely on its own, or spread with a little whipped cream cheese.

Happy holidays!

Secretly Good for You Pumpkin Breakfast Bread
Fresh cranberries add a nice tanginess to this sweet bread. Stock up on cranberries when you find them in late autumn; they freeze beautifully and don't need to be thawed before using. In a pinch, you can use dried cranberries, but since they're already sweetened, they won't add as much contrast to the finished loaf.

Yield: 1 loaf
Prep Time: 20 minutes
Cook Time: 50-60 minues
Total Time: 1 hour, 10-20 minutes

Ingredients:
1 1/2 cups whole wheat pastry flour
1 1/2 tsp pumpkin pie spice (see note, below)
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
2 eggs
1 cup pumpkin puree
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup canola oil, melted butter, or melted coconut oil
1/4 cup apple juice
2 tbsp molasses
1/2 cup chopped fresh cranberries
1/2 cup chopped walnuts
1/2 cup dark or white chocolate chips, optional

Preparation:
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Grease a loaf pan or metal or Pyrex ring mold.

2. In a large bowl, sift together flour, spices, baking soda, and salt.

3. In a medium bowl, beat eggs, sugar, pumpkin, oil, apple juice, and molasses together.

4. Stir pumpkin mixture into flour mixture, stopping when just mixed. Gently stir in cranberries, walnuts, and chocolate chips, if using. Spoon into prepared pan.

5. Bake 50-60 minutes for a loaf pan, ring mold 40-50 minutes, until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.

Note: Pumpkin pie spice, sometimes called apple pie spice, is a blend of commonly used baking spices, usually including cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, allspice, and/or cloves. For this recipe, you can substitute 3/4 tsp cinnamon, 1/4 tsp freshly ground nutmeg, 1/4 tsp ginger, and 1/4 tsp ground cloves or allspice.

Traditions are a funny thing. So many of us cling to them as a source of comfort, as a "it's the way we've always done things." And so many of them are lovely and wonderful and important. But the truth of the matter is: times change, people change, traditions should change a little too. There has to be a spaciousness to the routine of the holidays, to welcoming new members of the family, accommodating new tastes and needs, and keeping things fresh. On my own blog recently I discussed another wonderful food blog, Remedial Eating. In talking about her family’s Halloween this past year, writer Molly Hays said, “And that’s when I remembered the important thing about traditions, that they’re only as good as the happy they bring. And sometimes that looks like repeating what was. And sometimes that looks like forgetting all that.” I think acknowledging that certain routines are no longer working is the hardest part. Elevating the happy in lieu of the stone-cold tradition.

In my own family, ever since my parents divorced (many moons ago), both my Mom and my Dad made efforts to carve out traditions of their own that were unique to each household. For my Dad, this was Cookie Night. It took place the night of the 23rd every year and my two sisters and I would each choose a cookie recipe, supply an ingredient list and my Dad would pick up what we needed along with a slew of festive cookie tins. We'd set a time that worked for everyone and convene to get our baking on.

Well, Cookie Night became inconvenient after a few years so we switched gears to Cookie Day. When three recipes became overwhelming, we limited it to two. And then one. This year, we're not doing Cookie Day at all. Truthfully it just got old. No one really enjoyed it anymore but was too nervous to admit it to one another. Cookie Day had become a burden. We'll still see one another on that day, I'm sure we'll still eat our fair share of cookies, but we won't devote an entire day to making obligation tins that no one's all that excited about.

And so we come to cocktails. An odd transition in one sense but a perfectly logical one in another. We drink during the holidays at my house. For many reasons, some of which wouldn't be news to you, I'm sure. But really more out of celebration than anything. And we usually drink the same thing. Champagne on Christmas Eve. Spiked Cider on Christmas Day. It doesn't really change or waver. It's just what we've always done. Until this year. I'm introducing a new cocktail into the holiday line-up, one that I think will make everyone happy as it has a little bourbon (which my sisters love), apple cider (which my mom loves) and lemon and bitters which I love. It's a twist on a bourbon-based cocktail called The Stone Fence. Traditionally, The Stone Fence is made with either bourbon or rye and a splash of cider and soda water. Folks have dressed it up over the years with lemon, bitters, ginger, maple syrup, apple brandy, or a variety of spices. My version exists somewhere in between the traditional Stone Fence and the tarted up version. It's not at all too sweet, and the flavors are perfectly balanced yet nuanced.

While you may not do cocktails such during the holidays, let me encourage you to think about what would make everyone happy. What would make you happy? Because sometimes change can be a good, welcome thing. And if you ask me, change in the form of whiskey is always good. Happy drinking, cookie baking, and merry-making to you and yours!

The Stone Fence
Makes: 2 Cocktails

Ingredients:
1/2 cups hard apple cider
2 ounces bourbon or whiskey
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1/2 cup seltzer
4 dashes bitters
2 cinnamon sticks, to garnish

Directions:
Combine the cider, whiskey, lemon juice, and bitters in a medium bowl. Divide among two of your favorite glasses and top off with seltzer water, add a few ice cubes, and give each a good stir. Garnish with cinnamon sticks, and serve right away.

At Christmastime in Hungary, there are two sweets that are traditionally found in every household. Szaloncukor is one: a chocolate candy most often filled with fondant, marzipan, or jelly (my favorite!) wrapped in white fringy tissue and bright shiny foil, strung with thread, and hung on the tree. The other is beigli, a rolled pastry, filled with either poppy seed or walnut filling (usually both varieties are made at once). My mom used to make beigli every Christmas when my brother and I were kids. She'd pull out a tattered cookbook that she bought with my dad when they were still dating from which she got all her recipes. According to her, it is the perfect recipe (my brother and I, and our bellies, agree!). So, she helped me with this veganized version, referencing her old cookbook and helping me think of the best vegan substitutes to incorporate. I created my own recipe melding her notes, and a few recipes I found online that incorporate the most traditional ingredients (from Chanita Harel's Mom's Recipes and More: Israeli Food Blog and from a recipe from a traditional cookbook called the Innes Mester, posted on the King Arthur Flour community forum by "janiebakes.")

Recipe: Beigli

Ingredients:
For the dough
500 gr flour
200 gr vegan butter, softened (I used Earth Balance)
3 portions of prepared Ener-G Egg Replacer equal to 3 eggs
1 packet dry active yeast
1/3 cup lukewarm vegan milk (I used almond)
1 Tablespoon sugar
2/3 cup vegan sour cream
pinch of salt

Walnut Filling
1 cup sugar
1 1/2 cups vegan milk (I used almond)
2 1/2 cups ground walnuts (I use a rotary cheese grater, which is what's used in Hungary. It grinds the walnuts leaving them light and fluffy, not gritty like a food processor.)
1 3/4 cups of dry bread crumbs
Zest of 1 lemon
Juice of 1 lemon
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon rum
1/2 cup of rum-soaked raisins (optional)
1 tsp cinnamon (optional)

Poppy Seed Filling
1 cup sugar
1 1/2 cups vegan milk (I used almond)
2 1/2 cups ground poppy seeds (You can use a coffee grinder to grind them.)
1 3/4 cups bread crumbs
Zest of 1 lemon
Juice of 1 lemon
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup of rum-soaked raisins (optional)
1 tsp cinnamon (optional)

Dough:
1. Dissolve yeast in a mixture of the 1/3 cup lukewarm milk and 1 tablespoon sugar and wait a few minutes until frothy.
2. Combine flour and butter until crumbly. I used my KitchenAid mixer’s flat beater and it worked great.
3. Add the yeast mixture wait a few minutes. Add the egg replacer, sour cream, and salt and combine to a soft dough (add 70-100 gr more flour if needed).
4. Divide the dough into 4 and place in the refrigerator for 30-60 minutes to rest.

Walnut Filling:
1. Combine, in a large bowl, the ground walnut, bread crumbs, lemon zest, lemon juice, vanilla, rum, and raisins and cinnamon if adding.
2. Add the sugar to the milk, bring to the boil, then add to the other ingredients. Mix very well.

Poppy Seed Filling:
1. Combine, in a large bowl, the ground poppy seeds, bread crumbs, lemon zest, lemon juice, vanilla, and raisins and cinnamon if adding.
2. Add the sugar to the milk, bring to the boil, then add to the other ingredients. Mix very well.

Cool both fillings.

Assembling:
1. Preheat oven to 350F.
2. Roll out the dough (each part) to a rectangular shape that's not too thin (1/8”-1/4” thick). Spread the cooled filling over it, leaving about an inch all around the edges. Fold the edges over the filling. This will create a nice finished edge after rolling. Another way to do it is to roll the filling out between sheets of plastic wrap first. It's important to get a fairly even ratio of dough to filling. [I went a little overboard on my fillings as you can see -- but the filling is the best part!]

3. Roll up the dough along the longer side, creating a log. Prick with a fork along the top. Traditionally, at this point, an egg wash is brushed on top. I left mine au naturale, but feel free to add a vegan egg wash.
4. Place on a cookie sheet or large baking dish. Let the rolls rest a couple of minutes, then place in the preheated oven and bake until golden brown for 35-40 minutes.
5. Let cool completely and only slice once you are ready to serve.

Boldog Karácsonyt!

We’re used to buying cardboard boxloads of factory drone candy canes that are uniform, neatly wrapped, shapely, laden with high fructose corn syrup, and positively soulless. But me -- I’m the gal who likes my candy lumpy. If there were an Island of Misfit Toys for food, these “special” little guys would surely be inhabitants (along with Dingle Berries Candy and Hot Pockets, most likely).

Making candy canes is a lot of fun, and the sweat equity can’t be beat. The flavor is clean and super minty (with a little creaminess to it, thanks to the vanilla extract), and the yield is ample enough to allow me to hand them out generously. And despite the number of words in the recipe below, the whole thing took under an hour. There is a knack to it, however, as pulling hard candy can be a tricky mistress. A couple of things to keep in mind, particularly if you’ve never made candy before:

  
•  A candy thermometer is a very, very, very good idea. No reason not to have one, as they are about $15 and they can be used for frying as well. You can buy a cheaper one made of glass, but they’re pretty breakable. I recommend one like this made of metal, with a sturdy clip, and a protector on the bottom to keep the thermometer off the bottom of the pot.

 

• Heat-retardant gloves. These are great to use as oven mitts as well. But if you’re just dabbling and you don’t wish to invest, you can get by with snug mittens covered by disposable gloves (I always have a couple on-hand for kitchen use and home hair dying stolen from my gynecologist’s office), but you will indeed have to endure a little heat.

    

• Be generous with the oil. A light sheen on the pans and on the bench scraper ain’t gonna cut it. Don’t be shy. Speaking of which...

   

• A bench scraper. This is a small wonder in the kitchen, and an inexpensive and easy-to-store must for baking, candy making, pasta making, etc. Two is better, but you can certainly get by with one.

One other thing: despite the candy appeal, I’m sorry to say that this is not a good project for kids. Scalding fluid and fairly quick work don’t mix well with young’uns.

This recipe took a lot of inspiration from this recipe and this video posted by Slashfood.

Let’s candy cane away!

Homemade Candy Cane Recipe

Time: About one hour

Makes: About 16 3-inch candy canes

Ingredients you will need:

3 cups sugar
1 cup corn syrup (Don’t be scared. It’s not HFCS. Totally different thing.)
1/3 cup water
1/2 tsp. cream of tartar
1/8 tsp. kosher salt
Vegetable oil for pans, tools, and gloves
2 tsp. peppermint oil (ideally not extract, but ok to use if that’s all you have)
1 tsp. vanilla extract
Red food coloring -- about 1/3 of one of those tiny bottles (however, next time I make these I will first make my own food coloring. If you get to it before me, let me know how it works!)

Instructions:

1. Preheat the oven to 200 degrees. Oil two large baking sheets, a bench scraper, and kitchen shears or a sharp knife. Lay a piece of parchment paper or a Silpat on the counter where the canes can dry. Move one of the baking sheets to the warm oven.
2. Meanwhile, in a straight-sided deep saucepan off heat, combine the sugar, corn syrup, water, cream of tartar, and salt and stir them together well. Clip a candy thermometer to the side of the pot and move it onto medium-high heat. Without stirring, let the syrup come up to 305 degrees. Using a pastry brush or a paint brush dedicated to culinary use, wash down any stray sugar crystals from the side of the pot. Ready the peppermint oil, food coloring, measuring spoons, and vegetable oil. Glove thyself with either heat-retardant gloves or snug mittens covered with disposable gloves.
3. Once the syrup has reached temperature, pour it out onto the room temperature baking sheet. Drizzle the peppermint oil on top, and using the bench scraper, scrape the hot candy up from the bottom and fold it over onto itself to stir it through. Once it has cooled slightly, mix in the vanilla as well. Note that the peppermint scent in the air will be strong.
4. Continuously scrape up and stir the syrup to cool it until it becomes a pliable dough. Cut the dough in half and move one piece to the baking sheet inside the warm oven. (First, we’ll “pull” the white half of the candy cane. Then we’ll color the red half.)
5. Quickly oil your gloved hands, as it’s now time to pull the candy. Scrape up the candy dough into one piece and, working as quickly and as continuously as you can, pull it out into a rope, double it over onto itself, and twist it together. Pull it, double it, and twist it again. Keep on going this way at a quick clip, and you’ll notice that the candy will start to take on a ribbon-y sheen. This is how the candy will turn white, so keep going until the color is pure. Embrace the upper body workout. Note that anytime the candy becomes too stiff, simply warm it up again in the oven to soften.
6. Don’t let the candy get too hard. When it’s reached a nice white color, place it onto its baking sheet and move it to the warm oven. Re-oil your bench scraper. Take out the second tray of candy dough and pour on the red food coloring -- about a third of one of those tiny bottles for a good rich color. Use your scraper fold the candy onto itself to incorporate the color completely. Note that this side of the candy cane does not need to be pulled. Move both candy cane trays to the oven and let them warm through for about 5 minutes until pliant.
7. Once warm and squishy enough to work with, take both pieces of candy from the oven and roll them into logs as long as the baking sheet. Cut each log into four equal pieces. Hang on to one red piece and one white piece, moving the rest of the candy back into the oven to keep warm.
8. On the countertop, line the red and white logs alongside one another and begin to twist from one end, stretching as you go, making the candy canes as thin or as thick as you like. Use your oiled shears or knife to cut the length of each cane. Shape the hook of the cane, and press down on the ends to taper. Set the canes aside to cool. (Know, of course, that you could also cut into sticks, rounds, or individual peppermint sucking candy). Admire the individual quality of your handiwork.
9. Repeat this process with the remaining 3/4 of the candy, one piece of each color at a time.
10. Allow candy to cool until completely hard; about 15 minutes. Wrap each cane in plastic wrap to keep it from sticking. Store in an airtight jar for several months.

People have firm holiday cookie traditions. If you're my mom, for example, you can't have Christmas without Pfeffernüsse. Growing up, my sisters and I all scowled and made fun of the cookies, calling them "Heffernutters," all the while reaching for the jam thumbprints we loved. My college roommate couldn't have Christmas without her mom's Almond Horns, my best friend growing up loved her grandmother's recipe for Mexican Wedding Cookies, and in skyping with my boyfriend's mother last week I learned all about her infamous Nutmeg Logs. Everyone has one cookie that just does it for them.

For me, it never feels quite like Christmas without simple, frosted sugar cookies. Because it's often so busy leading up to the week of Christmas, I usually don't get around to them until the day before when my dad and two sisters gather for the annual "Cookie Day." When my parents divorced twelve years ago, it became important for both to claim what traditions they'd keep and to forge new ones. My mom got Christmas Eve with us, so my dad started "Cookie Day" so we could all do something together during the day. On Cookie Day, my sisters and I all choose one cookie recipe we want to try, give my dad a shopping list of ingredients, and gather after lunch on Christmas Eve Day with loads of take-home tins and enthusiasm. We spend the day baking, making hot chocolate and tea, and taking goofy photos.

Last year we made a new cookie that was part of my recipe testing for Marge at the time. I did housemade "oreo's" as part of my regular line-up but knew I wanted to tweak them for the holidays. They were a big hit (with the business and with my sisters) and so we're doing them again this year for Cookie Day. I believe this is the first reoccurring cookie to ever grace the Gordon Family cookie table. And it's worthy I assure you, and I'm excited to share the recipe with you today.

The nice thing about this recipe is that you can do it in stages and the cookies, even when put together, have quite an impressive shelf-life if kept in the fridge (I've kept them for a week and they've been just fine). The dough is a little finicky, and you must allow it to chill for the appropriate amount of time without letting it chill so long that it becomes hard as a rock and you really need to work relatively quickly when rolling them out. But they're no more difficult than any slice-and-bake log cookie when it comes right down to it, and they'll make your house smell like an early Christmas gift.

Quickly, when you read the recipe, if you're anything like my own friends and family you're going to want to try and make these without Crisco. Don't. Trust me. I've tried. You need a little Crisco in the filling to help stabilize it. I know some people really hate using it and I get that, but the filling on these cookies will be a relative mess without it. Also, you'll get a feel for this dough the more you make these cookies. But in order to roll it, you need it to be quite firm but not rock hard. If you chill your dough for too long and it does become rock-hard simply put it in the microwave for 20 seconds and knead gently until it's more malleable. Happy holiday baking to all!

Homemade Peppermint Sandwich Cookies
For the bittersweet chocolate in this recipe, I use a 60-72% Callebaut in the bakery and a Scharffen Berger semi-sweet chocolate. I splurge and use Valrhona cocoa powder as well. These are the kind of cookies where chocolate is a main ingredient and you really will be able to taste the difference between using a ho-hum chocolate and a really wonderful chocolate. And for the filling: some folks prefer a much sturdier filling than others, so add the confectioner's sugar slowly and know that you'll need to add more or less than the recipe calls for depending on your desired consistency.

Makes: 18-20 cookies

Prep Time (includes chilling and rolling the dough): 2 hours
Cook Time: 15 minutes
Total Time: 2 hours, 15 minutes

Ingredients:
For Cookies:
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly
1 cup sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla
1/2 cup semi-sweet chocolate, melted and cooled slightly
1/2 cup bittersweet (60-70%) chocolate, melted and cooled slightly
1 egg, room temperature
1 3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup cocoa powder
1 tsp. kosher salt
1/4 tsp baking soda

For Filling:
5 ounces vegetable shortening
5 tablespoons unsalted butter, cubed and at room temperature
2 1/2 cups confectioners sugar, sifted
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon peppermint extract
3-4 crushed candy canes, to top

Preparation:
1. In a medium bowl, whisk together the butter and sugar until well combined. Add the chocolate and vanilla and whisk together. Then add the egg and whisk until incorporated.

2. In a separate medium bowl, stir together the flour, cocoa powder, salt, and baking soda. Add the flour mixture into the chocolate mixture, stirring slowly with a wooden spoon or your hands (using my hands is easier for me at this point).

3. Let the dough firm up at room temperature for 30 minutes.

4. Dump dough out onto the counter or another flat surface and gather into one flat disk (just like you would with pie dough). Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate for 1 hour.

5. Preheat oven to 350 F. Lay one sheet of plastic wrap down on the counter and place to ball of dough on top. Knead it for a moment or two to soften it to the point where it will allow you to roll it out. Place another sheet of plastic wrap on top of the dough (it should be sandwiched at this point) and roll to about 1/8-inch thickness or 1/4 inch thickness for a thicker cookie. Don't stress too much about these measurements -- this will be a little trial and error and you'll learn to eye the thickness for the kind of cookie you want. If the dough becomes too sticky or difficult to work with, put back in the refrigerator for 10-15 minutes.

6. Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper and, using a 2-3-inch round cutter, cut out the cookie circles and place them on the sheet. They don’t spread much, so they can be pretty close together.

7. Bake for 10 minutes or until the edges are very slightly darkened—this is tough to tell given their already dark color, but you'll want your cookie to be set but still soft in the center. They firm up when cooled. Cool on the baking sheet for 2 minutes before transferring to a wire rack to cool completely before frosting.

8. To make the filling: using a hand blender, beat the butter, vegetable shortening, salt and peppermint extract until smooth. Then add the confectioners sugar slowly in 1/2 cup increments until creamy and until the filling reaches the consistency you like, about one minute. Using a piping bag (or just a good old fashioned spoon), pipe a generous portion of filling onto one completely cooled chocolate cookie, dust with crushed candy canes and cover with another chocolate cookie to make a sandwich.

Photos by Suzanne Husky/Walter Kim

Happy holidays! December has barely begun, but the icicle lights are twinkling from your neighbor's porch, your corner dive has roped the bar mirror with tinsel, and you can't dash into the supermarket for a quart of eggnog without drowning in the Destiny's Child version of "The Little Drummer Boy." Who wouldn't need a drink to get through to New Year's?

These long (and, until the solstice on the 23rd, getting longer) dark nights have one great solace: the hot toddy. Something hot, something sweet, something spiced, something strong: a winter warmer to toast you down to your toes. Such drinks can be made in quantity and set out in a slow-cooker (or crock pot) to stay warm, perfuming your whole house like holiday heaven. Certain ones, like the peppermint hot chocolate and bourbon cider described below, can be made non-alcoholic, with a bottle on the side so guests can spike to taste (or not).

The only drawback? These aren't wild and crazy drinks; a couple rounds of mulled wine and your guests will want only to snuggle up like kittens and take a nice cozy nap in front of the fire. Then again, a little cuddling might be just right at this time of year; why else the velvet pants, silk shirts, and cashmere sweaters, if not for a little negus-fueled petting? If it worked for Mrs. Fezziwig, it can work for you.

Mulled Wine
The reward for freezing through a damp, grey winter in Paris? Hot wine, known as vin chaud, served in small stemmed glasses topped with a slice of orange, aromatically steaming in every corner bar. Whether you call it mulled wine, vin chaud, or gluhwein, it boils down to the same thing: red wine, lightly sweetened and simmered gently with cinnamon, cloves, allspice, and lemon or orange peel, tastingly beautifully of winter.

A few tricks: always use fresh, whole spices (cinnamon sticks, whole allspice berries, whole cloves), since powdered spices can clump up and muddy the drink. (No reason to buy a fancy tin of "mulling spices" either; get them by the inexpensive bagful in the bulk department of your favorite grocery store and combine to taste at home.) Shave off thin curls of citrus peel, colored part only, without the bitter white pith. For the best flavor, make a simple syrup of 1 part water to 1 part sugar (or honey). Bring this to a simmer in a medium pot. When sugar is dissolved, add your spices and peels, and simmer gently for 10-15 minutes. Fill a larger pot with as much decent, robust red wine as you need. (Don't use sour stuff that's been sitting open on the counter for a week, and don't use 2-Buck Chuck; there's not enough sugar and cinnamon in the world to make that taste good.) Add the spice syrup and bring to just under a boil. Let it warm over low heat for 10-15 minutes. Taste for sweetness and balance. Serve topped with thin slices of orange or lemon. Peg each fruit slice with a few cloves.

Negus
A Regency-era drink that crops up in many 18th and 19th century novels, from Jane Austen's Mansfield Park and Charlotte Bronte's Wuthering Heights to Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol. Basically, it's a variation on the mulled wine above, using a strong, sweet, fortified wine, usually port, instead regular red wine. The Beagle, a hot spot in New York City's East Village, makes theirs with Madeira (George Washington's favored tipple), updated with star anise. Typically, this would have been heated by plunging a hot poker into the drink. In a large, heavy pot, combine 1 bottle of ruby port or Madeira with sugar to taste (start with 1 1/2 tablespoons and add from there) and the rind and juice of one lemon, and 3 "stars" of star anise. Heat until steaming (but not boiling). Port packs a punch; you'll probably want to thin this with 1 cup very hot water. Taste for balance. Serve topped with thin slices of lemon.

Candy-Cane Hot Cocoa
Is this a cocktail or a dessert? If anyone goes caroling any more, this is the drink you want warming you up before and after all those choruses of Good King Wenceslas. At this time of year, it's also a fun after-meal alternative. By mid-December, everyone's been hitting the cookie parties pretty hard. Save yourself the time and butter and bring out steaming mugs of this for dessert instead. If you're not happy unless you have a kitchen project in hand, make homemade marshmallows; otherwise, just put out a bowl of fresh whipped cream (use Straus Family Creamery's organic cream in the fat little glass bottle: the best.)

Now, however much watery Swiss Miss out of the foil packet may inspire nostalgia for ice-rinks past, do not use cocoa mix to make this. You know what you need to make really delicious hot cocoa? Three things: milk, unsweetened cocoa powder, and sugar. You put these things in a pot. You heat them up. You whisk them around a little until they're smooth and steaming, and there! You did it.

If you want a very rich drink, you can make hot chocolate from (what else?) milk, cream, and chopped chocolate. But honestly, drinking this kind of chocolate can be like scarfing a whole handful of melted truffles. Delicious, yes, but packing a wallop. What you want for a party is a session drink, something you can sip by the mugful without going into cocoa-butter overload.

So, to make good hot cocoa, start with good, unsweetened cocoa powder; I like Droste, Valhrona, or Guittard. (Yes, Hershey's and Nestle's are cheaper and always available, but they're also bland as dust.) Whole milk makes the tastiest cocoa, but if you're using 1% or 2%, you can boost the flavor by using light-brown sugar instead of white. (Skim milk makes a flat-tasting, watery cocoa.) You can add a little grated semi-sweet or bittersweet chocolate for richness, a splash of vanilla extract for extra flavor. If you must use a mix, Ghirardelli's sweet ground chocolate and cocoa is good, if a little oversweet for a grown-up beverage like this. And of course, those who don't imbibe can drink it straight; making it from scratch makes it good enough to drink with nothing more than a marshmallow or cool dollop of cream on top.

How to do it: In a large saucepan over medium heat, whisk together 1 cup water with 1 1/2 cups unsweetened cocoa powder and 1 1/4 cups sugar. Whisk vigorously until mixture boils and comes together into a hot-fudgey syrup. Whisk in 1 gallon regular milk. Heat until steaming (don't boil) and taste for sweetness, adding more sugar as necessary. Remove from heat. Add 2 teaspoons of vanilla extract. For non-alcoholic cocoa, add 1 tablespoon peppermint extract, or to taste. For spiked cocoa, add a few gluggs of peppermint schnapps, or just put out the bottle and let guests spike to taste. Pour into mugs and hang a mini-candy cane off the rim. Top with marshmallows or fresh whipped cream.

Bourbon Cider

Do you really need a recipe? Hot or cold apple cider, spiked with good bourbon. If you're serving it cold, add a dash of cinnamon to a saucerful of sugar. Run a halved orange around the rim of each glass, then dunk the rim in cinnamon sugar. Shake the cider and bourbon together (or just pour in and stir) and pour into the rimmed glass.

For mulled bourbon cider, warm up your cider until hot but not boiling. Add a handful of cinnamon sticks and a few peel-on, thin slices of orange. Do not let the cider boil! Pour into mugs and top up with bourbon to taste, putting a cinnamon stick in each mug. For best results, use fresh, refrigerated cider (I love the cider made by Rainbow Orchard in Camino, available at many local farmers' markets), not apple juice or jarred cider.

Wakeup Eggnog

Not every holiday cocktail needs to be warm. What this drink lacks in heat, it more than makes up for in richness. This is the cashmere of holiday drinks: lush, lavish, and posh. Now, egg nog, like fruitcake, has a bad reputation, mostly because the cheap stuff you find in the supermarket is just awful, full of fake flavorings and gunky thickeners. Read the ingredients and you will, rightfully, recoil. You have two options for good nog: make it yourself--not so hard if you've ever made custard--using this eggnog recipe, or Anna Thomas's eggnog recipe, a favorite of erotica writer and cultural critic Susie Bright. Or, buy a few quarts of the pale, lovely, elegant eggnog made by Straus Family Creamery. The ingredients are what you'd use at home: milk, cream, eggs, sugar, nutmeg, all organic, and nothing else.

Whichever recipe you choose, make it with half the amount of rum, bourbon, or whiskey called for, substituting a coffee liqueur like Kahlua for the other half. (Or just put out the Kahlua bottle alongside the bowl and let guests add to taste.) It's the perfect holiday pick-me-up; while the milk, cream, and alcohol relaxes you, the caffeine and sugar perk you up. This is the kind of brunch drink that seems like a great idea at the time, but be warned: it can flatten your guests for the rest of the day. But if you ever needed an excuse for an all-day Christmas movie-marathon ("Herbie doesn't like to make toys!"), a generous supply of this eggnog will supply it. Cheers!

Fruitcake gets a bad rap. You ask anyone from young to old and they’ll turn up their nose, proclaiming that it’s “dry” or “heavy” or that they’re scared of those neon-colored fruits. Well the times have changed and fruitcake, if made well, can be moist, a little bit boozy and incredibly tasty. At least that’s the case at Arizmendi on 9th Avenue in San Francisco.

Happy Arizmendi bakers: Erin Singer, Suet Cheng, Aeri Swendson

While it seems like many of our families avoid fruitcake, it's been around for quite some time. In fact, the name can actually be traced back as far as the Middle Ages with the oldest reference going back to Roman times where they often included pomegranate seeds, pine nuts, and raisins. Since the bread is preserved with high levels of booze, crusaders and hunters were rumored to have carried this type of cake to sustain themselves over long periods of time away from home. All of the neon-colored fruits that folks fear today came much later down the line.

At Arizmendi, you won’t see any of those dried fruits either. Instead, you’ll find small warmly-scented loaves packed with dried fruits and nuts from Rainbow Grocery across town. They use currants, lemon zest, orange zest, raisins, papaya, pineapple, apricots, almonds and cherries along with a smattering of spices like cloves, cinnamon, nutmeg and allspice. If you haven’t yet tried it, this is your year. The 9th Avenue location is doing 400 small loaves and they sell out quickly, so make sure to get down there beginning the first week of December to snag yours. They’ll hold until whenever you’re ready to serve it (the brandy functions as a preserver) -- some of the staff actually hang onto their loaves year after year and come in to re-dip them during the annual fruitcake-dipping process.

The fruitcake-making process at Arizmendi

So what’s the secret? The best fruitcakes are started months in advance and dipped in liquor numerous times to allow the flavors to really mature and develop. Arizmendi began making the fruitcakes well over two months ago and they go through a three-dip cycle in brandy. First, the staff spends time cutting up all of the dried fruits, making the dough, and folding it all together. Suet Cheng says, “It’s mostly fruit and just enough batter to hold it altogether." Baker Erin Singer confirms that it’s almost like a scone dough, packed with so many fruits and nuts that it's really barely held together. After all of the dry ingredients are combined, it’s baked and they allow it to cool for 10-20 minutes. While it’s warm they do the first soak in brandy.

Sneaking a taste of Arizmendi's fruitcake

The first soak is the longest, meaning they allow each loaf to hang out for 4-5 minutes in the tub of brandy. Erin says, “they soak it up like crazy the first time around.” The subsequent soakings are for a shorter amount of time, usually 1-2 minutes. After soaking, the bakers wrap the loaves in cheesecloth and plastic wrap and store them for a month. When it’s time to re-dip, they take off the plastic and re-dip with the cheesecloth still on.

I had the chance to try the fruitcake after its last dipping and it was boozier than it will be when you buy it because it was straight out of the brandy. Chatting with the head baker over a cup of coffee and a small slice, I told her how it was the best fruitcake I'd ever had. In fact, I didn't realize fruitcake could be this good. If you could compare the flavor to a color, it’d be the deepest amber imaginable: intensely warm yet simultaneously dark and boozy and packed with chunks of fruit and nuts. And they’re heavy! With each soaking they take on more and more of the liquid making them incredibly moist and dense but in a wonderful-with-coffee way, not a like-a-rock way.

Sure, people do it differently. And it’s been done for hundreds of years which is why, I think, I’m so drawn to fruitcake. The thought that grandmothers and farm hands were dipping fruitcakes in much the same way that I experienced on this sunny San Francisco morning seems important to me. It’s a continuation of a holiday tradition that holds a lot of meaning for some, and little for others. If it’s not part of your cultural or family tradition, I encourage you to make some changes this year. I sure am.

Get Your Fruitcake:
Fruitcakes will go on sale the first week of December and you can call and order one/reserve or just walk in and pick one up. The earlier, the better; they do sell out. Each fruitcake is $14.

Arizmendi Bakery
1331 9th Avenue (between Irving and Judah)
San Francisco, CA 94122
(415)566-3117

Hours:
Tuesday-Friday: 7am-7pm
Saturday-Sunday: 7:30am-6pm
Monday: CLOSED

Buon Natale!

There are a lot of reasons that we love Italy here in San Francisco. The heritage of our city, caught in the hiss of a thousand espresso machines every morning and the beckoning scent of chopped garlic sizzling in olive oil at night, is a melting pot, to be sure, but a fine portion of the pot can be traced back to Genoa and Liguria, Venice and Rome, Sicily and Sardinia. Here, like there, we make wine, press olives, harvest rosemary from the hillsides and basil from our backyards. And naturally, we eat, drink, and talk about eating and drinking with gusto and boundless energy.

December in Bologna, where I used to live, looks a lot like a slow-food, un-commercial dream of Christmas: no tinsel, no Jingle Bells, just pine boughs across the windowsills, tiny white lights looped across the narrow streets radiating off the central square, and in the steamy-windowed caffes, thick-as-pudding ciccolatta calda (hot chocolate) topped with a snowball of whipped cream. The busiest shops are the ones selling food, no surprise in a city that's been obsessed with seeking both knowledge (the University of Bologna is one of Europe's oldest seats of learning) and the pleasures of the table for centuries.

No Italian, it seems, can set foot in another's home at Christmastime without bringing a panettone, a puffy yeasted sweet bread studded with candied fruit. And so, brightly colored boxes the size of football helmets were stacked 10 deep at every shop, some lavishly striped with chocolate-hazelnut gianduia, others the simplest plain pane d'oro, without nuts or fruit.

(And once they go on sale, the week after Christmas--we scored ours for 1 euro--they make extravagantly delicious French toast, especially after a New Year's Eve spent elbow-to-elbow in the main plaza watching fireworks and downing prosecco straight from the bottle.)

Like the euro, panettone are ubiquitous throughout Italy now, with no particular regional association. But everywhere the panettone was, so was the local specialty, certosino, a flat, glossy spiced fruitcake glistening with translucent candied cherries and nuts. In the pasta shops, between the usual trays of eggy fresh tagliatelle were heaps of tiny, hand-pinched tortellini, the pride of Bologna, filled with a rich mixture of veal and mortadella and ready to be floated in golden capon broth to start the Christmas dinner.

In the butcher shops, fat zampone the size of a baby's pudgy arm were on proud display. There's no delicate way to describe zampone: it's a pig's trotter, bones removed, packed with a savory meat stuffing and then sewn back up so that it looks ready to walk. Simmered a long time, then served with lentils, it's a traditional dish in Emilia-Romagna, especially around New Year's.

In the sweet shops, there were shiny boxes of dreamy, hazelnut-layered Fiat Cremino and Fiat Noir chocolates, made by Majani, but also chunks of carbone, crunchy lumps of rock candy dyed black to look like coal. (It seems naughty Italian children are also in danger of getting coal for Christmas.) Santa Claus, that jolly toy-toting American immigrant, has made some inroads, but traditionally, gifts for children come not on Christmas Day but on Epiphany, delivered by a beneficent witch known as La Befana.

We saw her--or at least a convincing, black-shawled version of her--riding in a carriage through the streets of Bologna on the morning of January 6. A well-dressed older gentleman ahead of us, cellphone pressed to his ear, turned his head as she rode by. "Ah, ecco La Befana!" he said, in perfect seriousness, before resuming his conversation.

Bologna loves its salume (it is the home of mortadella, bastardized here into baloney) and its culatello, not to mention the sweet-salty proscuitto produced in nearby Parma. That Christmas, I learned the way to get the best proscuitto was to follow hard on the heels of the bossiest elderly lady customer in the shop. Once she'd picked out, after much discussion, the exact haunch of proscuitto she wanted out of the many in the shop, I'd hover in her wake. As soon as her purchase was wrapped up, I'd hustle to the counter, before the leg could be lifted off the slicer, and request a few etti (100 grams) of lo stesso (the same). (This technique can also be used very successfully re: smoked salmon in Jewish delis.)

Another tradition that really came into its own at this time of year was the aperitivi spread. No corner caffe-bar would dream of serving drinks without putting out a little free something to snack on. It could be just little squares of leftover panini and a bowl of olives, or a whole mini-buffet, but it's common throughout Italy in the evening. Only in Bologna does aperitivi happen before lunch, too.

Well, perche non? The holidays seemed like a great time to take advantage of this, especially when friends came to visit. It was a cultural mandate, after all. After a Christmas Eve morning spent browsing through churches (each with an extravagant creche on display), excellent chocolate shops, and tiny, fiercely bustling cheese stores (but giving the equine butcher shops--marked by the golden horse heads out front--a wide berth), we ducked into a nearby caffe for a couple glasses of prosecco. The counter was loaded with an especially lavish display of tasty little snacks for the taking--craggy chunks of parmesan and cubes of mortadella, proscuitto wrapped around the skinny bread sticks known as grissini, olives, sweet roasted red peppers, artichoke hearts, a hot cheese dip kept warm over a candle--and the perpetually chic Italians around us were happily munching. Behind the counter, one of the equally chic workers paused and held up her own glass of bubbles.

"Buon Natale!" she said, looking out over the bar. "Buon Natale a tutti!"

Cloris Leachman and Mel Brooks are almost entirely to blame for this week's post. Or to thank, depending upon your point of view.

I was curled up in bed one evening, enjoying a scene from the film Young Frankenstein in which Frau Blucher (cue whinnying horses) offers the good eponymous doctor first brandy, then warm milk, and finally Ovaltine before he goes to bed, much to his increasing irritation.

Ovaltine. I hadn't thought about it in decades. The next several scenes of the film played to a distracted audience because I was too busy (falsely) reminiscing about a malty, vitamin and mineral-infused powder and how delicious a hot, milky mug of the stuff would send me off to sleep at night.

So I went out and bought some then next morning.

When I returned home with my prize (secret decoder ring sadly not included), I heated up some milk and stirred in three heaping tablespoons, just as I was told to do in this commercial. I took a sip and remembered something important:

I didn't like hot Ovaltine as a kid. Thirty years later, I still felt the same way. Rather than spend the morning being a Sulky Sue, I poured myself a cup of hot coffee instead and remembered the way I truly enjoyed the official beverage of Captain Midnight: cold.

Really, really cold. I'd save my heaping tablespoons for sprinkling over vanilla ice cream and stir them in-- essentially making myself Ovaltine ice cream. More correctly, I was making myself an Ovaltine shake in a bowl because I'd stir it so much that it would soften and melt enough for me to ladle it into my mouth like cold soup.

Highly caffeinated and momentarily filled with energy, I decided to go ahead and make myself some Ovaltine ice cream then and there so that I could save precious time and energy later when I'd return home, brain-fried and exhausted from work, looking for something sweet and comforting when I no longer had the will to heap or stir.

And I thought it would make a lovely little Christmas treat to share with my readers. Something special that wasn't another god damned Holiday Cookie. I made the ice cream in no time, but I let it sit covered in my freezer between the half-finsished bottle of limoncello and 2-lb. bag of pecans to languish uneaten and un-photographed.

Why? It seemed too simple to share. It wasn't enough. Almost reflexively, I felt that, since this was the Holiday Season, it needed a little extra oomph. I needed to deck this ice cream's halls with boughs of something. But what?

Marshmallows were the first things that came to mind. It stood to reason that, if one would drink hot cocoa or Ovaltine garnished with cute little marshmallows, why not ice cream? It would make for a nice little trimming.

I thought about swirling marshmallow fluff into the ice cream, but I wanted the option of not having every serving marshmallow-laced.

What about a dollop of marshmallow fluff on top? For no discernible reason, the idea left me as cold as the ice cream shoved in my freezer. Instead, I thought I would make a marshmallow fluff whipped cream. I thought I was being brilliant, but I just wound up giving myself an ice cream-induced headache.

Or, rather, an ice cream garnish-induced headache. I went through five batches, each one better than the next, but still not right. Too sticky, not flavorful enough to match the ice cream, too absolutely irritating. I couldn't get my dessert spectacular enough. Or pretty enough. I was spending so much time, money, and energy on this whole marshmallow business that I was beginning to wish I'd never made the ice cream in the first place. I just wanted the whole thing to go away. I was stressing myself out over a dessert. I felt ridiculous. And I've never been a huge marshmallow fan to begin with.

Then I made an important connection:

The way I was feeling about my Ovaltine ice cream was precisely the way I felt about Christmas-- what was initially a simple, delightful, and comforting idea had transformed into something complicated, annoying, and stress-inducing. This little exercise in making a malted ice cream became, in it's own way, an unexpected gift-- I realized that it wasn't Christmas (or my ice cream, for that matter) that I had grown to loathe, it was all the other stuff-- the irritating marshmallowy fluff-- that gets in the way:

The wish lists; the awful sweaters; the cheesy and inescapable Christmas music; the garish decorations; the wasted money; the expectations; the enforced Holiday cheer; the sappy, sticky, saccharine sweetness that has fixed itself to the holiday. What was once a season of good will has transformed itself over the years into an overblown marshmallow world in the winter.

And anyone with sufficient marshmallow experience can tell you that marshmallows are hard, tasteless things when they get cold.

And then I realized another important thing: I'm being terribly hard on the poor old marshmallow. I had burdened an essentially innocuous piece of gelatinous poof with all the evils of Christmas Present. And I'm okay with that because this whole exercise has made me understand what is and is not important about both Christmas and desserts:

a) They should both be sources of comfort and joy.

b) They should both be shared with those you love.

c) Neither of them need an excess of trimmings. They are both at their best when approached simply.

All the rest is just fluff.

In apology to the marshmallow and to show that I bear it no true ill will, I give you a little, fluffy bonus of holiday goo: Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra mincing about together singing "Marshmallow World." If these to Italians don't take it seriously, why on earth should I?

Oh, and Merry Christmas. Really.

Ovaltine Ice Cream

Though I thought up this ice cream on my own, there are several other people in this world who thought of it before I did. However, the recipe is my own, with a special thanks to my go-to vanilla ice cream base, courtesy of Mr. David Lebovitz, who seems to know a little something about ice cream making. So I've heard. The method for making this recipe I got from him. And I like it very much, thank you.

And p.s. As noted, I do not recommend using mini marshmallows for garnish for reasons already mentioned. They are placed in the photo for purely contrary reasons.

Serves 2 to 4

Ingredients:

1 cup whole milk

3/4 cups light brown sugar

A heavy pinch of salt (think "big man fingers")

2 cups heavy cream

5 large egg yolks (think "big chicken [insert body part of choice here]")

1/2 cup Ovaltine

3/4 teaspoon vanilla extract

Preparation:

1. In a medium saucepan, warm the milk, sugar, and salt long enough to dissolve sugar. If the mixture looks a trifle curdled, do not panic, just blame the brown sugar and move on. There is straining involved later in this recipe and all will be fine.

2. Pour the cream into a medium-sized bowl and set a fine mesh strainer on top.

3. In a separate bowl, whisk the egg yolks. Gradually add some of the warm milk mixture to the eggs and whisk constantly. Pour the now-warm yolks into the sauce pan with the rest of the milk and cook over a low heat, stirring constantly and scraping the sides and bottom of the pan with a spatula as you go. When the mixture looks like custard, it is precisely because that is what you have made. When it is thick enough to coat the back of your spatula, remove from heat and pour custard through the mesh strainer and into the awaiting cream. Stir in the Ovaltine and vanilla extract. Feel free to add or subtract the amount of Ovaltine recommended. It's your ice cream, so make it as intense or feeble as you dare.

4. Set your bowl of ice cream base into a larger, ice-filled bowl and stir until cool. Cover and refrigerate until completely chilled, then go ahead and freeze it in your ice cream maker (provided you have an ice cream maker. If you do not have an ice cream maker, return custard to your refrigerator until you have purchased one, then proceed) according to the manufacturer's instructions.

5. If you insist upon garnishing, I suggest adding a light dusting of both cocoa powder and Ovaltine powder for the finish. I do not recommend adding the mini marshmallows as seen in the above photograph. They are to be avoided for reasons twice mentioned or alluded to. If, however you still insist upon using marshmallows, I suggest placing your Ovaltine ice cream in a microwave for 90 seconds on high. When the ice cream is fairly bubbling, add marshmallows, then take a moment to seriously reconsider your priorities.

The holidays are such a busy time that breakfast can seem either too hectic to deal with or like an afterthought. In the hopes of creating a memorable morning meal you could easily be tempted to spend your morning chopping and stirring instead of enjoying your family. Or maybe the allure of that new Wii game is too strong, so you end up blowing off your planned meal and making scrambled eggs and toast instead. So is there a happy medium? After years of plotting and planning my family's morning Christmas feasts, and buying specialty ingredients for them, I think I've found one.

Egg strata is my new standard quick and painless meal for a decadently delicious holiday breakfast. After first making this dish a few years ago, I've made holiday strata a few other times with great results. I love that I can make this dish the night before, so the only thing I have to do on Christmas morning is stick it in the oven. I've also taken to using ingredients I already have. After all, why buy bacon when I have smoked sausage or holiday ham in the fridge? And do I really need grated smoked cheddar if I already have Gouda or Humboldt Fog from appetizers the night before? This means I don't have to shop and plan for yet another holiday meal.

But the best part is that this strata is everything a holiday breakfast should be: mixed with whole milk or half and half, the eggs turn out creamy and pillowy, while the addition of those holiday cheeses plus a little cream cheese or crème fraiche adds a gorgeous richness, sort of like a beautiful bow on an already lovely present.

There is no strict recipe for holiday strata. The rule is to simply use whatever your refrigerator contains that sounds good. So if you have Gouda and smoked sausage, use it. Or if the roasted artichoke hearts from the evening before are available, cut them up and toss them in with some chunks of Brie. Anything is fine as long as you like it.

Here are some general directions for making a holiday strata. I hope your breakfast, and day, are as stress-free as this dish.

Trouble-Free Holiday Breakfast Strata

The following is a set of guidelines for making your own holiday breakfast. The measurements are for individual servings, so just multiply by the number of people you’re serving. You can also bake this dish in one big casserole or baking dish, or split each serving up in separate dishes (which is what I like to do).

Ingredients:

1/2 - 3/4 cup chopped day old bread, croissants, bagels, or appetizer toasts
2 eggs
1/2 cup whole milk or half and half
1/4 cup of your favorite on-hand ingredients (such as cooked spinach and shallots; sausage and onions; tomatoes and bacon; lump crab meat ; holiday ham; chanterelles; or whatever sounds good)
1/3 cup cheese (use leftover appetizer cheese from a holiday party; Cotswold is one of my favorites, but Brie or Gouda are also great. If you don’t have any, use some cheddar or jack mixed with cream cheese)
1/8 cup crème fraiche or ricotta cheese (if you have some on hand)
1 Tbsp chopped herbs
Top with fresh or dried bread crumbs
Salt and pepper to taste

Preparation:

1. Butter or oil your baking dishes.
2. Add in the chopped bread
3. Top with your favorite strata ingredients, cheese and herbs
4. In a separate bowl, beat eggs, milk or half and half, and salt and pepper
5. Pour egg mixture into baking dish. Let sit overnight, covered, in the refrigerator or for at least ten minutes before baking.
6. The next morning, preheat oven to 350 degrees while you unwrap presents.
7. Before popping the stratas in the oven, top each with bread crumbs
8. Bake for 20 minutes or until cooked through.