I’ll eat almost anything raw. I grew up being fed lumps of raw beef by my grandmother, the butcher’s wife, who believed it was good for the blood. As a result, I’ve always believed that a good, fresh product, properly handled, won’t hurt me or anyone I’m feeding. But whenever I’ve set out to make egg nog from scratch–for about five years running–my courage has failed. I think of my guests, too ill to open their Christmas presents, having encountered the only strain of malignant bacteria ever to enter my fridge.

This year, I felt emboldened by Orangette, whose family has been drinking the most unabashedly raw and profoundly alcoholic egg nog I’ve ever encountered, for four generations. On the eve of a Christmas dinner party for several people whom I love and would hate to poison–even temporarily–irrational fear crept in, my resolve collapsed, and I came up with the cooked-yolk version that follows.
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Dawn Leahy served this pudding at my aunt’s house in Fort Lauderdale, and I extend profuse thanks to her for sharing her recipe.

I served it myself this weekend, as the crown of an English Christmas dinner. Actually, persimmon pudding originates in North America, but I couldn’t resist Anglicizing it a bit with brandy butter. And it does inspire a distinctly Victorian mood, ethereally light out of the pan and steaming headily with brandy and spices. The spice here is Chinese five-spice powder, traditionally composed of cinnamon, cassia, cloves, anise, and ginger–but bottled blends often omit the cassia and include nutmeg, allspice, or pepper. It’s a delicious concoction that gives not so much sweetness, but warmth and depth to whatever you add it to–and I have a hard time trying not to throw a pinch into whatever I’m cooking these days.
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How I miss R. W. Apple Jr.

The laureled political journalist and former Washington bureau chief for the New York Times was the treasured companion of my Wednesday lunch hour, when he could be found in the pages of the Times dining section, holding forth on the gustatory delights of some place in the world. Indeed, whenever and wherever his food and travel writing appeared–in the Times, Gourmet, Saveur, and beyond–I lapped it up like oyster liquor (a practice Apple himself would relate to). In anticipation of such a feast, I opened the dining section on October 11 to discover that Apple had passed away one week earlier. I felt more than a little bereft.
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My grandmother, Ann Meagher, got this recipe from her friend Mildred Lobosco–known to all as “Toots”–in the early 1940s. My father, my aunts, my cousin and I all grew up baking and munching on these through the holiday season. I’m not without bias, of course, but I’ve eaten a lot of butter cookies, and this one is still my favorite. Pale gold on top and golden brown below, it crunches gently and is transcendently buttery. Use best-quality ingredients; they’ll stand out.
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For a brief escape into a bygone era, I step into Bowne & Co., Stationers at the South Street Seaport Museum in New York. Bowne re-creates a nineteenth-century printer’s shop, producing exquisite stationery, greeting cards, and business cards on antique hand presses with period wood and metal type.

One of their holiday cards features an eighteenth-century recipe for Wassail, the hot, spiced beverage that once popularly accompanied door-to-door yuletide revels. The word “wassail” is derived from the Old English phrase wes hál, meaning “be in good health”. It’s a fitting holiday greeting for friends, family, and foodies all, especially if you can’t be there to toast them in person.

($3 per card; $25 for 10 cards; blank inside.)

Dawn Leahy, my aunt and uncle’s magnificent chef-in-residence, introduced us to these one evening during our Florida holiday. The tiny dark chocolate cups come empty in their golden frills. Place a berry inside and pour in your favorite liqueur. We tried them with Cointreau, Grand Marnier, Drambuie, Frangelico, Bailoni (an apricot liqueur), even Jack Daniel’s Whiskey. You probably can’t do wrong.

It’s a beautiful thing to behold as the berry shimmers, a tipsy jewel, in its booze bath. And my palate sang a little Hallelujah chorus as it went down.

Chocolate cups can be purchased online at Bissinger’s.

Stay tuned for more from Dawn!