The week between Christmas and New Year’s is unlike any other.
No school. No work (or less work) for many. Hopefully all the shopping, wrapping and cooking paid off on Christmas and everyone had fun, but now is the time of no chores, no commitments, no challenges.
I told my husband it’s “anything goes” week. If he wants three Godiva chocolates for breakfast, that’s fine. If I want to wear my Comfy and slippers into a store, I will. (My slippers have hard bottoms, like real shoes 😉.)
My high school did the musical “Anything Goes” when I was in junior high in the late 70s, so I never got to be in it. But my friend’s older brother had one of the lead roles. We idolized those older kids and couldn’t wait to get to high school so we could be in the musical too. I still remember all the songs, especially the title song.
Here’s Sutton Foster in the Act 1 Finale of Anything Goes on Broadway. She got a Tony Award for her part in this production.
Waiting for the plow guy to come and do our driveway, I’m trying not to be too antsy. Normally my husband snowblows the driveway, but not this year—the year of the knee. I cannot and will not operate a snowblower. I’m not that much of a feminist.
The word of this winter will have to be patience. That’s the only way we’re gonna get through it.
I wanted to make a special dessert for Christmas dinner so I decided to try a “Baked Alaska” which is something I’ve always wanted to do. It was a Bucket List dessert for me. I wasn’t even clear on exactly what’s in it, but I had a vague memory that it is delicious and special and involves flames. I think our next door neighbor growing up (Carolyn) made Baked Alaska for her big annual Christmas Eve parties. If my memory is right, Carolyn covered hers with actual flaming liquor as the final step. The internet has many examples of that step going horribly wrong, so I chose to follow my favorite baking website’s version of the recipe, which doesn’t include lighting alcohol on fire, but did urge me to purchase a kitchen torch so we could still experience some drama.
Sally’s Baked Alaska Recipe is a brownie base, with two 1.5 quart containers of any flavor ice cream (I used mint chip), covered with a toasted meringue dome. According to her recipe, if you don’t have a kitchen torch, you can bake the whole thing (ice cream and all) in a hot oven for a few minutes to toast the meringue.
I had a couple setbacks along the way. The first was that my 35-year old handheld electric mixer died during the ice cream beating step. It started to make a funny sound and then smoke started pouring out of it. I had to yank the plug out of the wall and dump the whole appliance in the trash. Fortunately, the ice cream was mostly creamy by then and I was able to finish up with a wooden spoon.
The disastrous part was that I hadn’t yet made the meringue. Have you ever tried to make meringue with ONLY a hand whisk? It took my husband and me one full hour of whisking to get the egg whites, sugar and cream of tartar to turn into “glossy meringue with stiff peaks” as directed. In the end, we prevailed, but I was really worried that our shoulders were going to be sore the next day on Christmas. (We were OK.) I was able to completely cover the ice cream dome with my stiff-enough meringue and popped the whole thing in the freezer for the next day.
The next obstacle was the kitchen torch that Sally recommended. I didn’t have one, so despite not being a fan of Billionaire Bezos, I had to order one from Amazon, with Christmas Eve delivery. And by George, Amazon did get it to me on time, but I hadn’t read the fine print about the fuel (butane) not being included. I arrived one minute after closing time at our friendly local hardware store. I wrapped on the glass hoping (and frankly, expecting) that they would unlock the front door and sell me some butane, but no dice.
I then drove to a hardware store in a nearby town and scored some butane. Phew!
The final product was delicious and dramatic, as I had hoped. Also, everyone took a turn toasting the meringue with the torch which was fun.
My one-year old granddaughter gave it a try (the Baked Alaska, not the torch) and seemed a bit startled by the flavor. I think maybe mint is a strange taste the very first time you have it. I might use plain vanilla instead of mint chip next time.
But hey, now that I own a kitchen torch, any damn thing could happen—even Crème Brûlée.
As Sally says in her recipe, if you make it a day ahead and freeze it, it takes a few minutes for the brownie base to warm-up enough for easy slicing.
From ChatGPT:
Baked Alaska originated in the 19th century, inspired by advances in insulation and refrigeration science. The dessert—ice cream and cake encased in meringue and briefly baked—demonstrated that whipped egg whites could insulate cold interiors from heat. It is commonly credited to French chef Charles Ranhofer of Delmonico’s Restaurant in New York, who popularized it in 1867 after the U.S. acquired Alaska. The name referenced Alaska’s cold climate, contrasting with the dessert’s hot exterior and frozen core.
OK, I’m back in a good mood now. I had a lovely Christmas Eve.
I felt profound gratitude for four things last night:
1) I have a good son. Mothers of good sons, you know what I mean! Last night my son drove me to church for choir practice and came back an hour later to sit with me during the service, which was especially meaningful as my husband couldn’t make it to church this year due to his knee surgery. My son offers his arm when we walk through icy parking lots together. ❤️
2) SINGING: I just love it. Especially on Christmas Eve at our beautiful candlelight service.
My church on Christmas Eve
3) My husband felt well enough to go out to dinner with us after church. It was his first time in a restaurant since his surgery a month ago.
4) A negative mammogram. Ladies, you know how good that feels. Even if you’ve never had breast cancer, we all have friends or family members who have had it. (I got my results on Christmas Eve at 10pm.)
And now we await the arrival of our “celebrity guest” (as my son is calling her)—my precious one-year old granddaughter and her parents.
My husband preparing his famous Lasagna Bolognese with an ice pack strapped to his new knee
I fear my posts may be turning a bit negative this week, but I know that the holidays elicit mixed feelings for many. (In fact, my church offers a “Blue Christmas” service each year for that very reason.) What follows is a realization I came to in September but never posted. (It was in my drafts folder.) I offer it to all who may need to be a bit kinder to themselves this Christmas:
When you’ve given someone “the benefit of the doubt” for decades, it’s OK to say enough. I no longer wish to have a real relationship with this person, even if some level of communication must be maintained for practical reasons.
Trust can be eroded to the point of no return. You can be officially “done” with someone.
Perhaps you’ll actually be doing the person you’re done with a favor in the long run. If they know you will not be there for them on any type of regular basis, they may learn to take care of themselves.
And even if they don’t, it’s not your problem. Because you’re done.
I had one of those moments of clarity yesterday. Not on the meaning of life or anything important like that, but a small realization that I just don’t like an acquaintance (a couple actually) that I’ve known casually for decades. Without making a big deal of it, I will simply avoid interacting with them in the future.
I ended up chatting with this male person after church (as I have many times before) and he said something insensitive about my husband’s recent knee surgery. It was fairly typical of him. It was a put down of sorts. His wife, whom I’ve also known for years, is what GenXers would refer to as a “nut job.” Wacky and extremely extroverted. Case in point: when addressing the entire church from a podium yesterday, she announced that her pronouns are “She, her, ME.” Twice.
Lots of people “love” this couple (or seem to). They do a lot for the church community. But I just “do not care for them” (as an older generation might say). They’re not my cup of tea.
Yesterday I participated in a sacred circle dance where we honored Yule and the winter solstice.
AI depiction of our sacred circle yesterday, which included a 90+ year old woman and her 5 adult daughters all dressed in white for her birthday
The sun set at 4:16pm yesterday so we lit a fire in our fireplace in the evening. I had a memory of how much we really wanted a fireplace when we were house hunting. (Our first house did not have one.) We only use our fireplace occasionally, but it IS special to have an an indoor fire on these longest, darkest nights of the year.
As the embers burned down, I made myself two s’mores for dessert.
And now, on Winter Solstice morning (December 21) it is still pitch black at 6:30am and I’m awaiting the replay of the livestream of the ancient chamber at Newgrange in Ireland, which we visited in June. (I wasn’t up at at 3:40am to watch it live.) We saw a demonstration of how the sun lights up the inner chamber on the solstice when we were there, but I want to see the real version.
Finally, if you missed this year’s Lucia Morning broadcast from Visby, Sweden on St. Lucia Day (December 13), it’s a great thing to experience during these dark long nights. I watch it every year. The second children’s choir (the younger kids in the adorable wool coats and sweaters) are particularly enchanting.
Wishing all of my fellow Northern Hemisphere dwellers a light in the darkness this December solstice day. It only gets brighter from here.
I admit to being absolutely delighted to read that Rep. Elise Stefanik (Republican of New York) has ended her bid for Governor of New York and in fact, will drop out of Congress altogether.
After being considered a “reasonable” Republican, she went full MAGA—kissing the deranged orange baboon’s ass at every turn.
He rewarded her by jilting her—over and over and over again.
There are many beautiful old doors in Boston’s historic North End (aka the Italian neighborhood), but 160 Endicott Street is not one of them.
It’s an old, unrenovated building……in a great location in Boston’s North End—just around the corner from the original Pizzeria Regina
It is, however, a meaningful door in terms of my life story. I lived there in the early 1990s with my roommate Bridget, a friend from work. It was the last place I lived as a single woman. After that, I moved in with a boyfriend who I later married.
160 Endicott was truly a dump. It was the first floor apartment over a convenience store that I think was some type of front for a low-level gambling operation. Their most popular item was lottery tickets. They had a few dusty cans of soup and literally nothing else you would ever want to buy. The irony was the hand-carved sign, “If we don’t have it, you don’t need it.” They never had anything I needed. Not a tampon, not an Advil, nothing.
The apartment itself was totally unrenovated and smelled liked cats. The kitchen was horrible. The bathroom had cockroaches. The downstairs neighbors (who lived in an unfinished basement beneath the store) were always asking to borrow my car so they could drive to the dog racing track up north. But it was in a great location in the heart of old Boston and we could afford it on our art museum salaries, with absolutely no help from parents, which was my main objective in moving there. I really didn’t want to be beholden to my parents for anything. I needed some space from them and my troubled sister.
I took my kids back to visit in 2009. It looked much the same from the outside, but the store inside looked cleaner and nicer. New owners had taken over.
I didn’t ask to see the old apartment, but the green exterior bay window looked exactly the same. And the sign was still there:
“If we don’t have it, you don’t need it.”That was the window of my “bedroom” which was actually the living room. I slept on a pullout sofa. A return trip to 160 Endicott Street in 2009In 2009, the humble exterior looked identical to how it looked in 1990.
The twenties are such a formative decade. So many forks in the road. Decisions made. Paths chosen. Roads not taken.
Memories of my time on Endicott Street include gaining a more visceral understanding of poverty (I thought our place was bad, until I saw how the people under the store were living); finally ending a longterm romantic relationship that had been going on and off for years; great authors—like Toni Morrison and Maya Angelou—introduced to me by my roommate Bridget (a reader and a feminist); and food smells—especially Bova’s bakery, open 24/7. Not much in Boston is open all night…but Bova’s is. There are better bakeries in Boston’s North End, but nothing smelled as good as Bova’s at 3am.
I wanted to make things easy on myself yesterday as I am doing all the cooking, while my husband recovers from total knee replacement surgery. (His leg still aches too much to eat out in a restaurant.) I had the idea of making chicken parmigiana with store-cooked chicken cutlets, but the price for TWO of them was $16.99, so I decided to make them myself.
Believe it or not, it was my first time making chicken parm. I looked at NYT Cooking’s version of the recipe, but then decided to go with something simpler that Google turned up:
I like how there’s a baked version of the recipe (if you don’t want to fry the cutlets in oil first), but for my first time making it, I decided to fry the cutlets.
I didn’t have sliced mozzarella, so I used about 8 ounces of grated mozzarella and it was yummy. I also didn’t have basil, so I topped with a bit of fresh parsley leftover from my Slow Cooker Garlic Butter Chicken.
My husband was very appreciative (as always) of my efforts and I liked it too. I used store bought marinara sauce (Rao’s), so it was really pretty easy.
I recommend buying high-quality organic chicken breasts (like Bell & Evans) and slicing them into cutlets yourself before pounding.
Buy the good chicken breasts for best results Served on leftover pasta with a salad
![A logo for "50 Happens," [a site dedicated to Gen X women with children and grandchildren] [who embrace life's challenges with humor and resilience], [featuring a modern and uplifting design] [that embodies strength and positivity] [with an elegant and playful style] [and a harmonious blend of colors like pink, fuchsia, purple, and blue].](https://50happens.blog/wp-content/uploads/2024/12/img-5uorrxvwartomopcpuhjfjd0.png?w=300)
50 Happens 