Spirits Bright

I would be a miserable liar if I said the holidays, for me, were about anything other than food. This Christmas I entered the holiday food mecca for the third year running. The highlights are only partially photographed. I am a shameless carnivore, so the holy grail was the prime rib roast, cured for 5 days, rubbed with garlic and a sprinkle of magic, and roasted at a painfully slow setting until my lovely Christmas sweater was covered in David's drool. The roast was valiant enough to stand alone, but for added measure there were twice-baked potatoes accosted by butter and cheese, crab legs with a disticively spicy cocktail sauce, and a salad of mesclun and pomegranate seeds.

And that was just Christmas Eve. Before the taste of the roast had left my memory, there were the most beautiful salmon, mushroom bread pudding, a heartbreaking loin of lamb, and a breath-taking assortment of cheeses.

My stomach is small, and dessert was plenty, so I found myself in quite a predicament when faced with persimmon pudding AND cherry pie. It was one of life's tough decisions.