December 2012

This is the latest post in our Latin Tongue series, which explores Latin eateries in the Twin Cities area. Check out the first article for the ground rules and a running list of restaurants we've covered.

I'm making a pact with myself to not feel gross this winter. Usually this time of year, I succumb to the temptation to eat too much and then keep that same pace with drinks, leaving me generally sluggish and grumpy by the end of January. This holiday season, I'm planning to be more moderate with everything: I'll eat less salt, avoid starches, and eat fewer snacks and desserts. Also: more vegetables with as much color in them as possible and no giant meals with animal protein at their center.

This is Part Two of a mega-epic undertaking to make a real Christmas pudding. Also check out Part One, in which the pud gets cooking and Part Three, in which the pud is lit on fire and devoured.

Oh it’s a looker, that Christmas pudding.

I hope you disabled the sarcasm detector on your computer before reading that last line, or else BAM! Where’s the needle? It broke clean off.

There is nothing that warms the soul around the holidays more than family traditions, especially if those family traditions involve grain alcohol and small explosions. My father’s side of the family is mostly Swedish and during the holiday season they had several traditions. They would always get together and make Swedish potato sausage, my grandmother would bake cookies, and, of course, there was always a little lutefisk. One of the traditions that intrigued me the most was Glug, this strange drink that only the adults could have. Whenever a bottle of Glug was brought out, it instantly became the center of the conversation. The recipe had apparently been passed down through the generations, and there were always stories about how it was made and rumors of relatives who had accidents while making it. Whenever Glug was brought out, everyone enjoyed it and was excited to have some, unlike the lutefisk.