As we prepared for Christmas much of the conversation was about the menu. I was in charge of hor'dourves. I brought shrimp with spicy cocktail sauce, goat cheese with cranberries and spanakopita. Mom brought hot artichoke dip, which I could swim in, it is so delicious. Brother was incharge of the main meal. He fussed and fawned over the most delicious piece of meat I have beheld in a long time.
The meal was a spectacular feast on this most holiest of days.
Truly divine. Scalloped potatoes, roasted asparagus and prime rib. Delicious.
But the thing that I have been thinking about since the celebration of the King was dessert. A divine dessert. And, of course, there is a story of the dessert.
A few years ago, my sister-in-law called her husband, my brother, on his way home to stop and pick up a "Christmas log." So being the dutiful husband he went to the bakery to pick one up. He walked into a crowded bakery and yelled, as is customary in our family, his request. "I am here for a Christmas MOG. Could you tell me if you have any more MOGs left?" You can imagine how it goes from there. So Christmas Mog is now part of our lexicon. Auntie B, our culinary creator, mastered the Christmas Mog.