I’m an odd duck. This I know. (sigh) This I’ve always known. There are many facets and many levels of my peculiarity. One major factor I get a lot of grief for is my lack of a sweet tooth. Considering I am my mother’s child, this is an even bigger oddity. One my mother either didn’t believe or couldn’t understand. One of her ways to express love was to share goodies. I still have the last chocolate Easter Bunny she gave me sitting on my shelf. If you have read this blog for any amount of time you’ll get the drift. That bunny is a bit old.
About this time every Christmas season, my mom turned her kitchen into a miniature bakery. Christmas candy was her gift to neighbors, relatives, and friends. Growing up, my siblings and I became confectionary goodwill elves delivering plates of homemade candy. Up the street to the widows, across the street to longtime neighbors, to several great-aunts, uncles and aunts, home and visiting teaching stewardships, and friends. It felt like the whole town fell under my mom’s watchful care. And she had very cheap delivery help.
With all that candy surrounding me, I ate very few pieces. It took a few years and many attempts for my mom to perfect Philly Fudge. But she accomplished it. Unfortunately, due to my delicate palate, I only started to appreciate it the last couple of seasons. Man, do I feel ripped off!
Christmas time is tradition time and one of my favorite memories is a messy kitchen when my mom started making candy. I want to follow in my mom’s footsteps and be a giver of good eats. However, this presents a bit of a dilemma for me. I don’t want to make candy. The thought makes me kinda sick actually. So, what can an odd girl such as myself do to spread Christmas cheer?
Salsa and chips anyone?
My sister in law has a salsa recipe she shared with me. Last Saturday, Bubba came over and we made a morning of it. We made salsa, a big mess in the kitchen, and felt the Christmas Spirit – in a south of the border sort of way. I’m not going to lie; there were a few rough patches. The cute containers I bought to fill the salsa in were too big. So, it looked like a pittance in the bucket – even though there was a lot. Conversely, the bags for the chips were too small and very few chips fit.
I also want to tweak the recipe to make it a little more me. My dad thought the salsa was too hot and decided not to give it away to anyone. My co-worker who hails from Texas – and carries a little jar of hot sauce with her at all times for emergencies – also thought it was too hot. But I knew she’d be my toughest critic so I’m not deterred. Much.
I have years to perfect it. After all, it’s a tradition.