Today is the first day back in school after a blissful 16 days of Christmas vacation, and I, like many students forced back into reality, am still in denial that the break is truly over. After spending my days sleeping in, catching up with family, and eating holiday foods galore, it’s difficult to accept that it’s January, meaning no more festivities- or should I say “feast”-ivities?
My family celebrates the winter holidays a little differently than most. My mom grew up Jewish, and my grandparents are Jewish, so we celebrate Chanukah with their side of the family. However, my dad grew up Catholic, so when Christmas rolls around, we celebrate that with my paternal grandparents, who come to Asheville from their home in Kansas to celebrate with us.
Chanukah started this year on Dec. 16 and lasted through the 24. Although we did not recognize each night of the holiday, we had a traditional dinner on the first night at my grandparent’s house. Since the holiday is centered around the miracle of a small jug of oil lasting for eight nights to fuel the Temple Menorah and is symbolic of the spiritual war that was fought, foods cooked in oil are eaten during the holiday. The most famous? Latkes, or potato pancakes.
These are by far my favorite part of the Chanukah meal. Latkes (or at least the way Grandma Susan makes them) consist of shredded potatoes, onions, and eggs and flour to hold everything together, then are fried in oil until they reach golden, crispy perfection. Typically, they are topped with either applesauce or sour cream, but can be garnished with jusst about anything. Our family opts for applesauce, which my grandma makes from scratch as well. While the process of making latkes can be somewhat tedious, the final product is a culinary symbol of the holiday and all of the deliciousness it brings.
About a week before Christmas my dad’s parents arrived, and we launched head-on into holiday baking. The first day of break was filled with a day of making Christmas cookies, a long-standing tradition that my sister and I have with our grandma.
The first year that we lived in Asheville, my sister, my mom, my grandma, and I went to the Grove Park Inn to see their Gingerbread house competition. Being only five years old, I was enthralled with the stunning works of art that looked good enough to eat. And since we were completely oblivious of just how much hard work and time it takes to actually make a gingerbread house, we signed up to enter the competition the next year.
Our first house was very simple- a little kid’s rendition of a classic gingerbread house, heaped with candy and massive globs of icing. The night of the judging, we walked away with no prizes, no recognition, but my sister and I had high hopes for the next year. It quickly became a tradition- Grandma Abby would come out to visit around October, and my sister and I would begin working on the house under her watchful eye. As the years progressed, we became increasingly ambitious, creating “masterpieces” such as an ice cream factory, Hogwarts, a tree with birdhouses, and a scene where Easter bunnies took over Christmas. We experimented with ingredients that I had previously never heard of, such as modeling chocolate, gum paste, and edible food coloring. And we never won a competition. Not once.
Eventually, we realized that our amateur houses would never stand a chance, and after eight years of entering the competition, we stopped. But this didn’t mean that we wanted to give up the quality time baking with Grandma, so we switched our culinary skills to making gingerbread and sugar cookies instead (a much less daunting task). This year was no different. It was a rainy day, we had nowhere to be, so we all went to the kitchen to bake, decorate, and have conversations with one another, which is arguably the most meaningful aspect of the tradition.
Regardless of our less-than-stellar attempts at making award-winning gingerbread houses, we did win at spending time with our family and creating a lasting tradition. Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas unless we bake cookies with Grandma Abby, just as Chanukah wouldn’t be Chanukah without enjoying Grandma Susan’s latkes. And now that we are thrust full-force into the realities of everyday life, the thought that the traditions of holidays and the corresponding ties to both sides of my family will be there come December is just enough to excite me for the new year.
My family celebrates the winter holidays a little differently than most. My mom grew up Jewish, and my grandparents are Jewish, so we celebrate Chanukah with their side of the family. However, my dad grew up Catholic, so when Christmas rolls around, we celebrate that with my paternal grandparents, who come to Asheville from their home in Kansas to celebrate with us.
Chanukah started this year on Dec. 16 and lasted through the 24. Although we did not recognize each night of the holiday, we had a traditional dinner on the first night at my grandparent’s house. Since the holiday is centered around the miracle of a small jug of oil lasting for eight nights to fuel the Temple Menorah and is symbolic of the spiritual war that was fought, foods cooked in oil are eaten during the holiday. The most famous? Latkes, or potato pancakes.
These are by far my favorite part of the Chanukah meal. Latkes (or at least the way Grandma Susan makes them) consist of shredded potatoes, onions, and eggs and flour to hold everything together, then are fried in oil until they reach golden, crispy perfection. Typically, they are topped with either applesauce or sour cream, but can be garnished with jusst about anything. Our family opts for applesauce, which my grandma makes from scratch as well. While the process of making latkes can be somewhat tedious, the final product is a culinary symbol of the holiday and all of the deliciousness it brings.
About a week before Christmas my dad’s parents arrived, and we launched head-on into holiday baking. The first day of break was filled with a day of making Christmas cookies, a long-standing tradition that my sister and I have with our grandma.
The first year that we lived in Asheville, my sister, my mom, my grandma, and I went to the Grove Park Inn to see their Gingerbread house competition. Being only five years old, I was enthralled with the stunning works of art that looked good enough to eat. And since we were completely oblivious of just how much hard work and time it takes to actually make a gingerbread house, we signed up to enter the competition the next year.
Our first house was very simple- a little kid’s rendition of a classic gingerbread house, heaped with candy and massive globs of icing. The night of the judging, we walked away with no prizes, no recognition, but my sister and I had high hopes for the next year. It quickly became a tradition- Grandma Abby would come out to visit around October, and my sister and I would begin working on the house under her watchful eye. As the years progressed, we became increasingly ambitious, creating “masterpieces” such as an ice cream factory, Hogwarts, a tree with birdhouses, and a scene where Easter bunnies took over Christmas. We experimented with ingredients that I had previously never heard of, such as modeling chocolate, gum paste, and edible food coloring. And we never won a competition. Not once.
Eventually, we realized that our amateur houses would never stand a chance, and after eight years of entering the competition, we stopped. But this didn’t mean that we wanted to give up the quality time baking with Grandma, so we switched our culinary skills to making gingerbread and sugar cookies instead (a much less daunting task). This year was no different. It was a rainy day, we had nowhere to be, so we all went to the kitchen to bake, decorate, and have conversations with one another, which is arguably the most meaningful aspect of the tradition.
Regardless of our less-than-stellar attempts at making award-winning gingerbread houses, we did win at spending time with our family and creating a lasting tradition. Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas unless we bake cookies with Grandma Abby, just as Chanukah wouldn’t be Chanukah without enjoying Grandma Susan’s latkes. And now that we are thrust full-force into the realities of everyday life, the thought that the traditions of holidays and the corresponding ties to both sides of my family will be there come December is just enough to excite me for the new year.