No, that’s not my back yard (I wish…sorta…not really). That would be Lake Tahoe last year. Remember the epic ten-hour-when-it-should-have-been-three-hour road trip that led to snowboarding bliss?
That was also when a certain large pepperoni pizza saved the future of my relationship.
Anyways, none of any of that has anything to do with what I wanted to write about this morning; I just wanted to include that photo at the beginning because I think it’s pretty.
Now this photo is more representative of what I wanted to write about this morning, which is favorite holiday food memories.
It’s a pretty picture, too. I’m dressed in a typical homemade pilgrim gown while my brother resembles keebler the elf.
My mom says I’m special.
I say ruffles are in.
I don’t know about you, but it’s a good thing I still have my pride.
The holidays can be hard when you live far away from your family. I grew up in a very small town with a tight knit family. When my little brother passed away suddenly last year, it rocked me to my core. How could holidays ever be the same? Who would I sling mashed potatoes at across the table and fight with over who opens the first present? Luckily, I know without a doubt I’ll see him again one day and on that day I can fling all the mashed potatoes at him that I like.
Heaven seems cool like that.
However, this isn’t meant to be a sob-story post. Instead, I wanted to share one of my favorite holiday food memories with you all and then open it up for you to share, too.
Christmas Day Breakfast.
After we finished slinging wrapping paper and ribbon across the room, shrieking and comparing gifts, my mom would always find her way quietly to the kitchen and make the Swedish pancakes with strawberry sauce.
You know those memories so strong you can still almost taste them? That’s how I feel about these thin little pancakes. We’re of Scandinavian background and, I swear, my mom had these pancakes down to an art. I can’t tell you how she made them because I have no idea, but I can tell you for the sauce, she simply just reduced down whole frozen strawberries, sugar and water. We went crazy over that sauce and poured it liberally over our pancakes, making little streams with melting pats of butter.
And then we went back to screaming over our presents.
It’ll definitely be one of those traditions that I’ll keep when I have a family someday. That is, if I ever get the recipe from my mom.