On the Holidays

In my family, its not Christmas without sausage balls and bourbon balls. We also like cheese balls. Really, anything in a ball shape is great for us. Easy to pop in the mouth. Sausage balls are a combination of biscuit mix, cheese and spicy sausage that my mom pops in the oven on Christmas morning when its time to finally lure us out of bed (with the exception of my niece and nephew and my parents - I'll let the age jokes make themselves - we like to sleep in). Because the celebration this year was small, just John and I and my parents, she had apparently threatened not to make them. She'd had a hectic year, and hadn't even had time to wrap presents when we arrived on Christmas Eve. My father pouted his way into more sausage balls, and when told the story, I strongly seconded him. They're great breakfast food for a busy morning. They're made ahead and frozen, then popped in the oven. They reheat easily, and they're great grazing. Besides, I don't remember a Christmas without them. I can barely remember Christmases when I wouldn't yet eat them, silly thing that I was, but I can't conceive of going without them. I mean, what would we have eaten? More of the 3 loaves of various breads my mother had made? Surely not.

Even though this year I was suffering from some ailment that, according to the ER, "might be your gallbladder, but the ultrasound is clear," I insisted on participating in the sausage ball experience. We get a plate of them, warm them up (they've inevitably gone cold by the time we get downstairs), grab a mug of something hot, and curl up on the couch, waiting for the first person to break and insist on presents. That person is usually my mother. Christmas presents with my parents are always reasonable - there's no overkill - and so with only 4 of us, and with my presents to family being stuck somewhere in post office hell, the opening didn't take long. We snacked on sausage balls while waiting for lunch to heat.

The sausage balls are spicy and cheesy and a little greasy, kind of like a series of tiny bites of a really good breakfast sandwich. The bourbon balls are nuts, bourbon, cocoa and sugar (there may be a little flour in there). They too are made ahead, and left in the fridge to age (slowly get stronger tasting). The ongoing joke about the bourbon balls is that my parents, especially my mother, don't drink, but there is always a fifth of Jim Beam in the house for making bourbon balls. My mother would deny it, but once, during a particularly sleepless night, she called and asked if taking a shot would help her sleep. I advised her against it.

There are always a variety of cookies and deserts, and there's always chex mix, but bourbon balls are definitely a constant. They are an acquired taste (I once offered one to a 15 year old cousin and the face he made upon tasting the bourbon was priceless. It was a little test to see if he was drinking too much, and I guess he passed). They're also easy little sweets that unlike much Christmas candy don't make your teeth ache with sugar. Like sausage balls, the sharp nutty sweetness of bourbon balls marks the season.

One of my other favorite Christmas traditions that I have thus far managed to arrange my holidays so as not to miss is Day After Breakfast at my husband's aunt's home. For those of you not familiar with the joys of the breakfast casserole, I am very sorry. There are a series of casseroles every year, some constant and some changing. John's favorites include the breakfast enchiladas stuffed with ham, green onions, eggs and cheese and topped with enchilada sauce (duh), and the egg and sausage casserole. This year there was a new quiche (massive though it was) with red and green peppers that my mother in law raved about, and a steak and cheese casserole that the cousins strongly urged repeats on, but what these people don't know is that I've been at this a long time, and their casseroles are nothing compared to the hashbrown casserole the aunt makes. Oh heaven. You know how I feel about potatoes (if you're new here, you should read that entry, it's one of my favorites). But this is more: this is potatoes and cheese and other things that remain a mystery because refusing to give me the recipe is one way to be sure I come back to get my Christmas fix and therefore spend some holiday time with the family. I'm sure it's cream of something (chicken? celery?) soup, and some measurements of cheese that measure in pounds, but combined together, its truly fantastic. I usually take a cursory taste of one or two of the other casseroles spread out in front of us like some kind of test, or some kind of offering, but I really see no reason to divert my loyalties or appetites when I know what is going to make me feel happy and full. From my first invite to breakfast, I have raved loudly over this casserole, firmly planting it as my favorite in the aunt's mind. Through all those tense years, when no one was sure if they liked me, or if they were allowed to like me, when I knew that relaxing and being myself would be the worse thing I could do, that casserole stood as a beacon, a common ground. I could always be trusted to have a healthy appetite, and the aunt could always be trusted to feed me potatoes on the day after the most stressful day of the year.

This year she was sick, and we missed her. As we're all on great terms now, I felt very sad, but was touched when the casseroles were delivered by a friend, who said that the aunt had made a point of including and identifying the hashbrown casserole. "Don't forget that one," she had said. "That's Kate's favorite."