Render Unto Caesar

"Just toss those out," my mother-in-law gestured to the leftover pieces of garlic bread she had served with her Christmas Eve lasagna.

"Let's save them," I suggested. "I can make croutons tomorrow."

I spotted the bag of bread the next afternoon as I was prepping the rib roast and peeling the potatoes. I knew I wanted a salad for dinner, too, and the hit of garlic I got when I undid the twist tie practically shouted, "Caesar!" which is usually a crowd pleaser.

Once the croutons were toasting away, I turned my attention to the dressing. I've made many a classic Caesar over the years, but I knew raw egg would not be well received by my diners, and there was no anchovy to be had, either paste or filet. I had garlic, though, and so I pounded it with some sea salt to a creamy paste. Next, I added a little Worcestershire sauce (it does have anchovies!), Dijon mustard, and a bit of mayonnaise to contribute a little egginess to the emulsion. I whisked in olive oil, finished it with white wine vinegar, and voila! 

"Delicious salad!" my mother-in-law proclaimed when we seated at dinner. "It must be the croutons."

So to Speak

I gave myself a huge pat on the back when I got 10 out of 10 on the NY Times quiz "Do You Know 2024 Speak?" Even so, I'm afraid I may have peaked in performance because a lot of the credit should go to all the middle school kids I spent time with in the first half of the year. They schooled me on Bet, Skibidi Toilet, Stanley Cups, Ohio, and the new meaning of preppy. 

I also have to give credit to Harrison Ford and the show Shrinking for bringing raw dogging to my attention and to the mainstream, liberal media for flagging trad wife. I take credit for "very mindful, very demure," though; I found that meme myself.

And the rest? Was just solid test-taking skills.

Well, Wasn't That Fun?

After dinner, a few arms were twisted last night, resulting in one, and only one, round of the Christmas carol trivia game I packed. Aside from the single-round condition, the other concessions were that we played in teams, and we had to listen to the carol in question after each answer. "And you and Heidi have to be on separate teams," was Louise's final demand.

Done, done, done, we started the game. Mark and Heidi got off to a fast start, answering multiple-choice and fill-in-the-blank questions about Jingle Bells, Silent Night, and Little Drummer Boy (despite my partner trying to sing other songs to distract them). When it was our turn, we answered one easy question about The Twelve Days of Christmas and another about Away in a Manger but stumbled on a multiple choice question about The Most Wonderful Day of the Year: "What island is mentioned in the song?" Mark read from the card. "Is it A) Santa Island, B) Christmas Island, or C) The Island of Misfit Toys?"

"It's not the Island of Misfit Toys!" I scoffed, but neither of us could recall Andy Williams singing about any island at all in the song. Finally we guessed Santa Island, and we were shocked when Mark read the answer: The Island of Misfit Toys! 

"How can that be?" Louise asked in dismay. "Aren't song titles copywrited?"

"Titles aren't," I sighed, "But--"

"Let's play the song," said Heidi, and it was then we discovered that there are indeed two songs of similar but not identical titles, It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year by Andy Williams and The Most Wonderful Day of the Year written by Johnny Marks for the Rankin/Bass classic, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

"This is why I hate games," Louise said as we handed over the dice to Heidi and Mark.

"We can still rally!" I encouraged her, and thank goodness we did, winning the game in a squeaker entirely owing to the exact count rule at the end. 

"Anyone up for another round?" I asked optimistically. "Maybe we can try some of the sing the next line questions?" But they were already packing up the game.

Dark in the Lightness

Right after dark this evening, Heidi and I took our annual drive around her childhood neighborhood to see all the holiday lights. In general, the folks up here in Buffalo take their landscaping and lawns seriously, and holiday lights fit right in with that ethos. 

We played Christmas music on the radio as we rolled along the winding suburban streets, and a thin layer of snow blanketed all the yards. Like every year, we were treated to a variety of decorating styles. There were a few demure houses with candles in the windows and white lights on the lawn, but they were vastly outnumbered by inflatables. One home had the whole cast from Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer humming away in front. Many places ran colored lights along their rooflines, a classic look I appreciated. Some people still had the vintage light-up lawn ornaments that I remember from my childhood: Santa, snowmen, and the holy family glowed incandescently. A few places only used blue and red lights in honor of the hometown Buffalo Bills and the amazing season they are having.

"What's that one?"I asked Heidi, pointing at an illuminated banner. 

"It's Trump Save America," she reported with a sigh. 

"That's not very Christmasy," I said and turned up the radio a bit. Just then, the song changed to Sleighbells by the Ray Connif Singers, and we turned onto Heidi's street, where every single house was lit up. "There," I nodded, "that's much better."

First Time's a Charm

It seemed like half of Buffalo was out and about with us today as we ran the (fingers crossed) last of our holiday errands. Everyone was in pretty good humor, though, especially with both a football game and Christmas so near at hand. 

Since we were at Wegmans, we decided to grab a quick lunch, and as I sat down with my tomato bread and Topo Chico, I found that the top on my soda was not twist-off. I returned to the self-checkout and approached the young woman leaning against the workstation, ready to help."Do you have a bottle opener?" I asked, waving my drink.

She nodded, turned toward a mesh pencil holder on the counter, and fished through it. In a moment, she triumphantly produced a small opener.

"I guess I didn't think it through," I laughed and handed her my bottle.

Her eyes grew wide. "I've never used one of these before!" she confessed.

"Oh!" I replied, charmed by her honesty. "It's easy! You can definitely do it."

"Just don't make fun of me," she said, only half joking. 

"I'm actually kind of excited to be present for the big occasion!" I added.

Then she took a breath and hesitantly placed the fulcrum of the opener below the pleated lip of the cap. Then she flipped her wrist and leveraged that sucker right off.

"I knew you could do it!" I cheered as she handed me the bottle. "Thank you."

She smiled.

"Did you get it open?" Heidi asked when I returned to the table.

"Yep!" I answered. "And? Not only did I get my drink, but I also got a topic for my blog."

The Bar and the Church

As part of my genealogy research account, I also have access to an online newspaper archive, and I confess to getting lost there at times. For example, a couple years ago, I spent an hour or two looking at Christmas cookie recipes in the Philadelphia Inquirer from the late 60s and early 70s, knowing that my mom had once read these same articles. 

Recently, I found myself immersed again in the archives of the Inquirer. This time it was a more specific search centered around the location of Jack's Bar, the place my dad often went to after work. Some evenings, my mom would pile us into the car, and we would drive into the city to pick him up there. Parking was at a premium, so she usually sent either my brother or me past the wrought iron grate and down the stairs into the place to fetch my dad. 

I learned that the establishment was on the lower level of a historic building just a block from Independence Hall. Built sometime in the mid-19th century, it housed a stationary store and paper warehouse and later The Philadelphia Call, a biweekly newspaper published for a couple decades starting in the 1890s. It was also the site of a furniture and home goods store before falling into a bit of decline with the rest of the neighborhood. The 1960s brought an urban renewal project to Independence Hall and its surrounds, though, and that particular building was demolished a of decades or so later.

Tangentally? I turned up this photo, which was also from the Inquirer, published on November 10, 1969, in the New Jersey section. An interesting juxtaposition! I will note, though, that the church is still there today.

Christmas Time Is Here

Paradoxically, now that Winter Break has actually started, the anxiety level around here seems to have ratcheted up instead of down. In this house, we're getting organized and packed to drive to Buffalo tomorrow, and even though there are just a few more packages to wrap and the shopping, baking, decorating, and cleaning are done, the vibe has shifted from festive to fraught. 

It's as if, now that school is out, the holiday just got real for all the educators out there whose attention was focused on trying to hold everything together one last week. In a twist on the winter solstice, the longest week of the year is followed by what seems to be the shortest of holiday lead times.

My theory was only confirmed when Treat texted me from his school this afternoon. I made it to winter break! he wrote. There was a pause, and then he added, I can't believe Christmas is only 5 days away.