How the Housewife Stole Christmas

My inner vintage housewife went toe to toe with my former self two days ago in the kitchen.

You see, my ol' reliable holiday gift for coworkers has always been quick breads. Wrapped with the most festive of trimmings, but always baked from a mix. I guess I just never trusted myself to bake anything better! Last year, I found a gingerbread mix that I really liked the looks of and it seemed to get good reviews from the folks I gave it to --- so as the holidays rolled 'round again this year, I thought I was all set. I stocked up on several boxes of the same mix along with the right size tins and an extra box of eggs. Even found a mix for spiced apple bread made by the same manufacturer, so picked up a couple boxes of that as well.

My first batch of breads on Sunday evening came out looking - and smelling - just as good as they usually do. I wrapped 'em up and handed 'em out. Not feeling a lick of guilt that they weren't homemade. I'd never have confessed the truth to the people I gave them to, but then again they never asked.

Monday evening, I went back to work on a second batch of breads. This time, I was curious. The gingerbread was yummy. The spiced apple bread --- well, it was okay, but nothing to write home about. Kind of dry, actually. And there was no mistaking from the texture that this was not homemade. I couldn't give any more of these spiced apple breads away! And just then - standing in the middle of my kitchen with all the remnants of "baking" surrounding me - my inner vintage housewife took over. Do you know the scene in How the Grinch Stole Christmas where the Grinch's heart grows three sizes at once? That was my inner vintage housewife three nights ago, coaching me through this domestic crisis.

"You can do better than this," she told me. "Come on. Think back. You've baked some great things over the past year. The Dried Apricot Cake, the Blueberry Pudding. You know how to do this." I leafed through my vintage cookbooks, looking for just the right recipe. The breads needed to be ready on Tuesday, so I was restricted to just the ingredients I had in the house. This in and of itself would have meant disaster one year ago when I didn't have anything in the house! This year, my pantry was stocked with all the baking essentials and my fridge was full of fruit. I finally settled on the Blueberry Pudding recipe from The American Woman's Cook Book (1941). It's a Cottage Pudding - cake, really - with fresh blueberries in the batter. (I added a streusel topping.) I washed up the dishes I'd need to bake with in the morning and went to bed.

Early Tuesday morning, the battle began. Adrenaline was coursing through my body as I sifted the dry ingredients, creamed the shortening and sugar, measured out the vanilla, and washed the berries. Was I actually going to give people something I'd baked from scratch? Better make enough to sample it before I gave any of it away. I petitioned the Range Gods for mercy: "Oven, don't fail me now." Much to my surprise - but probably not to my inner vintage housewife's --- the Blueberry Puddings were ready in plenty of time. And tasted very good if I do say so myself! I felt an unusual sense of pride as I gave this batch of goodies away. Even tried to homemade up the gingerbreads by adding some cinnamon icing I whipped together while the Puddings were in the oven.

If y'all could sit down and visit with me this afternoon, I'd cut you a slice. Merry Christmas, dear readers! Best wishes to you all for a wondrous, joyful holiday.

And the Grinch, with his Grinch feet ice cold in the snow,
Stood puzzling and puzzling:
"How could it be so?
It came without ribbons! It came without tags!
It came without packages, boxes or bags!"
He puzzled and puzzed, till his puzzler was sore.

Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before:
"Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store--
Maybe Christmas--perhaps--means a little bit more."

And what happened then--well, in Whoville they say
That the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day.
And then the true meaning of Christmas came through,
And the Grinch found the strength of ten Grinches--plus two.

And now that his heart didn't feel quite so tight,
He whizzed with his load through the bright morning light.
With a smile in his soul, he descended Mount Crumpet,
Cheerily blowing Who! Who! on his trumpet.