The festive season was delightful, the family happy and the food stellar. My mother's cookies once again stole the show- pepparkakor, skorper, havlerflon- and her traditional Swedish ham, cured in a briny bath for two weeks before cooking, was perfect. We had an open house that saw a flow of friends and family gobble up oysters on pumpernickel and salmon and capers on rye.
Here is a photo of our mellow Christmas eve. Imagine Nat King Cole's 'The Little Boy that Santa Claus Forgot' in the background.

Please share personal stories of Christmases past. One of my favourites is from my Dad. When he was six or seven, a year after the Second World War, things were tough in Frankfurt. My grandfather had secured a job with the American forces, who were remaining to help with rebuilding and for security reasons. When the family ran downstairs to look under the tree in the morning, there was a big sack of peanuts. It was the best Christmas ever! (this story is meant to make us feel guilty about our hyper consumerist ways)