A brief chat with the ghost of Christmas postings past, revealed that I have never written about pomegranate gelato. I find this shocking, but also terribly convenient, since I was wondering what yuletide delicacy I could pay tribute to this week. Pomelato, as I fondly call it when I whisper its name, is something that can only be written about up to a point, and then it simply must be eaten. It defies language. I hope you will try this recipe, because it’s so much better than anything anyone else is making this season. I say that giving full credit to the geniuses at the dearly departed Gourmet  magazine, from whence this recipe comes.

Most people, women anyway, do much more Christmas baking than I do.  Partly this is because I bake all year. Partly it’s because, as I have mentioned, I come from a long, proud line of cookie snobs. I usually only like my mother’s cookies, and I can wait patiently until Christmas day for them. If someone offers me a buckeye in the meantime, I will take it; I will, in fact, take ten, which is why I don’t socialize with anyone who makes buckeyes, no matter how nice they are. I have – I hope – many years of eating left, and I have to pace myself.


I think many holiday treats are special, and my santa hat is off to anyone who does anything festive, since I can’t even manage to send a Christmas card, and I leave all decorating to the daughters. But to me, this rosy confection ranks right up there with hearing the Hallelujah Chorus  for proclaiming: it’s Christmas. Ideally I would experience both in a ski-in chalet, with no wi-fi, so my husband had to take marriage quizzes from women’s magazines with me for several cozy days. That would be the perfect Christmas holiday, and I know he feels the same way.

But failing that, I will settle for a dish of pomelato, with a sprinkle of pomegranate arils on top for their jeweled effect (strongly resembling the garnet necklace I hope to someday receive for Christmas). It’s perfect to indulge in while you make this fudge, which screeches in at a close second on my list, along with Mahalia Jackson singing O Holy Night. Give it a listen while you melt the butter into the dark chocolate. I am going to go do that very thing right now, while my children lie about in their pile of presents, waving their arms and legs to make gift angels..

making present angels

May your holiday be gloriously peaceful or (prudently) chaotic, if you prefer. If you attend services, may the sermon be short, and the singing divine. If you stay home, may your day be filled with good food and kind words. And may your night be filled with stars.


Cook’s Note:  This is a once-a-year splurge, so buy refrigerated Pom Wonderful juice – not shelf-stable – and PAMA liqueur. It’s worth it, and you need these ingredients to achieve the rosy hue. You do not want your pomelato to suffer from insufficient rubescence. Trust me, that’s the kind of thing women died from in 19th century novels. You can buy PAMA in tiny bottles – what joy! I find it easier to use 2 cups of half and half rather than the cream/milk mixture the recipe calls for, but either works. And of course, I reduce the sugar because I like it tart.


You CAN have it all…

…but you will be bloated.

I am just a few days away from my birthday, and I have to make a choice. I think I will choose Bourbon-Sugar Fudge in leui of a cake, and I just have to make my peace with that. You see, it isn’t just any birthday, it’s my 44th. I am deep into my lite rock years, on the verge of my lite beer years, and at that stage where – like everyone – I awaken with bedface, but then I keep it all day. In case you haven’t heard, 44 is the new 44. It’s not that I miss being 24 – certainly not!  I miss being 34.

The thing about fudge is that it’s so much bang for my buck.  My buck is my time, which as I have indicated, is ticking. Fudge is easy anyway, and this recipe is no different. It was created by William Werner, who is behind the patisserie Craftsman and Wolves, a place I am hoping to find myself sometime in my 45th year, locking eyes with some lavender shortbread.

If I were to have a birthday cake as well (And don’t I deserve that?  Don’t I?) I would choose the marzipan-filled number I made for my friend Kirstin’s birthday (she’s also 44, but has good genes). The other day I went to World Market to get stocking stuffers and they were having a 25% off Marzipan sale. It reminded me of the time I was pregnant and found out about fried cheese; who’s been reading my diary?


But no marzipan-filled anything for me this birthday (okay, I already ate what I bought at the sale). My b-day wish list includes ice-skating lessons (tune in to see my triple-axel at Pyeongchang in 2018!) and also if someone could invent a safe, inexpensive, hand-held facial Zamboni, s/he will receive a free subscription to my blog! Does the fudge not look birthdayish enough?  Don’t despair; I am adding pink salt to the top!  Even Dianne Feinstein melts into a little girly puddle at the sight of pink salt on her birthday treat.

Thank you Eaters, for continuing to read, try recipes and – I hope – relish them.  And thank you to my family and friends for a life filled with love. I can’t have it all, but I have more than enough.

This year I:

 celebrated 15 years of being lucky in love,
celebrated 15 years of being lucky in love,
got me meet Little Edith,
got to meet Little Edith,
Pretending to care about super bowl
pretended to care about the super bowl,
paddled around Ward Lake with Kirstin,
I ate a lot of cranberry salad.
ate a lot of cranberry salad,
My BFF visited.
saw my BFF.
I swam in Arizona.
swam in Arizona,
I saw my oldest friend, Tim, in Spokane and ran the Bloomsday race.
visited my oldest friend, Tim, and ran Bloomsday in Spokane,
I didn't do this. Maybe next year.
didn’t do this, but maybe next year,
I met with my book club.
met with my book club,
I hiked to Lake Ingalls. Thank you, Jason Horstman, for the photograph.
hiked to Lake Ingalls (Thank you, Jason Horstman, for the photograph),
I achieved balance.
achieved balance,
I became a Great Aunt.
became a Great Aunt,
went up,
...and I came down.
…and came down.