The Endless Promise of Christmas Magazines

'Tis the season for a baking plan and here I sit, surrounded by 25 years of Christmas magazines. The oldest ones date from 1980 and the newest one, well, I bought it last week. That means I've been optimistic about Christmas baking for more than a quarter of a century, and I'm no Martha Stewart. I can't believe it. I'm sicker than I thought, and that's saying something.

For one thing, why in the world am I still buying these things? If I preheated the oven right now and started sifting flour, I would die of old age before I could make half the recipes in this pile. And I still have several hundred cookbooks, including God only knows how many specifically about Christmas.

This massive 25-year stack, which lives on top of the cabinets in the breakfast room, is obscene, Christmas porn. Bad enough that I’ve saved them, which probably puts me in some twisted packrat category. But check out these cover taglines: "500 Merry Ideas." One-upped (well, 130-upped) by "630 Merry Ideas." Only to be outdone by "Christmas Magic: 705 Ideas." But the 1993 Women's Day blows them all out of the water with "1104 Ideas."

What is it with numbers? Do we really think they hold the key? Why else would I buy issue after issue with promises like: "Rooms that Say Christmas 65 Ways." "150 Easy Holiday Tips." (How easy would it be to do 150 anythings?) "160 Ways to Make Yours a Holiday Home." "200 Ideas for the Best Christmas Ever." "Over 200 Ideas for Your Best and Happiest Christmas Ever!" "Over 250 Ideas for Your Most Memorable and Heartwarming Christmas Ever!" "250+ Ideas to Make Your Holidays Merrier." "400 Ideas to Make Your Holidays Happier." "400+ Ideas to Light Up the Season." "456 Holiday Ideas." "508 Christmas Ideas." "557 Glorious Ideas." "The Glory of Christmas: 935 Ideas." "Hundreds of Magical Ideas."

We all know ideas are a dime a dozen. It’s the time, energy and creativity to implement ideas that make them valuable. To pretend you could even process all the information behind hundreds of ideas—“magical” or not—is to buy into the true meaning of Christmas: unmet expectations. You know what I really need? One great idea and a kitchen assistant.

I love the back covers of the magazines from the ‘80s that feature cigarette ads from More, Now, Vantage, Virginia Slims...do they still make these? Heck, maybe those represent the 41 ways to stay thin promised by one cover: two packs plus an extra will certainly keep you away from the cookie dough.

Who am I kidding with this stash of Christmas past and present? I make the same things every year, and very few come from magazines or cookbooks. They come from index cards my mother gave me, back when she still baked. They're for coconut-honey balls, which I rolled in confectioner's sugar back in the '70s and still do, every year. If I make nothing else, I always make those. (They have no honey in them, but that's the name on the card and I’m sticking to it.)

It’s almost enough to send me to the recycling bin. But I can’t dump them now; they’re part of my Christmas tradition. And as any self-respecting Christmas magazine cover will tell you, it’s all about Tradition. Or, more likely, "247 Ways to Celebrate Your Traditions."

Originally published on December 1, 2006. Since then, I have finally dumped a lot of the magazines described here. Sunday I made seven dozen coconut-honey balls from the recipe on that ancient index card. These days a friend and I share the load, baking together over the course of about five hours. But that's a hellish story for another time.

The Valentine's Day Cooking Disasters

I don't know why so many of my hellish stories involve cooking fiascos. I've always thought of myself as a good cook, or at least a good baker, but now that I actually think back over my kitchen career, I have to admit a disaster average well above the standard deviation. I'm talking rice puddings the consistency of soup, burned cookies, fallen cakes and baked goods generally ranging from dry to sodden. Over- and under-cooking and -salting has turned many of my non-dessert forays into disappointments as well.
While I can destroy a meat loaf or bundt cake any day of the year, Valentine's Day is prime time for dashed dreams of culinary glory. Two examples:

My boyfriend was coming over for Valentine's Day dinner at the first apartment I ever had without a roommate. I felt so grown up, with my two skillets hanging on nails next to the stove and the cookie sheets my first boss had given me for my 21st birthday.

My plan that year was to make a classic man's meal: steak and mashed potatoes. I was barely making a five-figure salary at the time, so springing for steak was a big deal and showed how much I cared. Reinforcing that message was the peeling and hand-mashing of potatoes.

I made the potatoes first, then put them in the oven to stay warm while I was broiling steaks in the broiler below. I seasoned the meat and placed it on the broiler. Within minutes I heard a muffled explosion: It turns out the bowl was not Pyrex and couldn't handle the 500-degree heat. Glass rained down all over the expensive cuts of meat. Lesson one in the science of cooking.

The boyfriend refused to allow me to rinse off the meat and eat it anyway, a move which I'm embarrassed to say infuriated me at the time. I was sure I wouldn't miss a shard! But he insisted on treating me to dinner at KFC. We got it to go and still ate at my place, but it didn't live up to my fantasy of him telling me what a great cook I was. (I realize now that fantasy had no basis in reality!)

The following year I decided to show off the baking prowess I still misguidedly believed I possessed by making chocolate truffles for my office. The recipe is simple: butter, cream and melted chocolate, shaped into balls and rolled in cocoa. I put together a beautiful box and brought it to work on the subway.

I made a big announcement that I had a Valentine's Day treat for everyone. They gathered around and I dramatically lifted the lid on the beribboned box. We all leaned in to see...a melted brown mush that looked like chocolate would after it had been fully processed by the body of a Valentine's Day reveler. There was a chorus of "No thanks!"

From each disaster I learn a lesson, and apparently there are hundreds of lessons to learn. Don't forget to set the timer. Read through the recipe before you start to make sure you've left yourself enough time and have all the ingredients. Read through the ingredient list before you finish to make sure you didn't leave anything out. And don't forget to put fresh batteries in the smoke detector.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Thanksgiving Cooking Experiments (Videos)

It’s a Turkey Made out of Tofu, Not a Freakin’ Double Rainbow!

>How Long to Bake a Turkey in a Toy Oven?

Step 1: Peel the Thanksgiving Garbanzos. Wait, Garbanzos??

Step 2: Get the Straw Ready. Wait, Straw??

Alternative Turkey Preparations

Turkey in a Trashcan

This how-to video gives you step-by-step instructions on how to cook a full-size turkey in your backyard using, yes, a metal trashcan. That "lovely assistant" sure is a downer!

Kinky Turkey Flogging

This guy insists on only the tenderest and most submissive of turkeys.

Fire in the Hole

The oven is on fire, the alarm is blaring--and the turkey is raw. Think Martha Stewart could pull that off?

Turkey Drop

A 14-pound turkey with is dropped into turkey fryer filled with boiling oil causing - no surprise here! - a fireball. Don't try this at home. Or anywhere. Any time. Ever.

Thanksgiving Meal Preparations (Videos)

BBQ Bob Gives You the (Thanksgiving) Bird!

Bob's Thanksgiving Day masterpiece. He smoked it ... to perfection! And this time he wasn't drunk when he did it! His family is so proud.

Annoying the Wife in the Thanksgiving Kitchen

Mary prepares the stuffing for a Thanksgiving feast for 20+ people. That's eight loaves of bread for those keeping track at home.

Cornbread Dressing

You know that old expression about too many cooks in the kitchen? Somehow I just have a feeling that dressing came out too salty. And who is that guy expecting to call him on Thanksgiving?

The Traditional Thanksgiving Squid

Thanksgiving Japanese style involves gutting a squid, in great detail.

Washing the Bird

Kim Michele Richardson of theunbreakablechild.com in Louisville, Kentucky started out the way we all did: cowed by a turkey. She learned the hard way how to prepare the "big bird."

It was Thanksgiving 1980, I was 20 years old and I decided to impress my boyfriend and cook Thanksgiving dinner for him and a few friends. There was only one problem. I hadn't quite developed my cooking skills and my only no-fail dishes at the time were a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and grilled cheese.

I called my mother the week before Thanksgiving, the woman who always had the perfect Thanksgiving meal and to-kill-for oyster-sage stuffing. She quickly agreed to lend me her recipes and talk me through all the steps of cooking a delicious meal via the telephone on Thanksgiving morning.

I awoke at the crack of dawn on Thanksgiving and placed the phone call to her.

My mother talked me through preparing her famous stuffing. When I’d finished, she congratulated me, then told me to chill the stuffing in the fridge and get "big bird" out.

Felling very confident, smug even, I took the turkey out of the fridge and yes, yes I did remove all the packaging inside. Yippee, I was on a roll! Man-oh-man was my boyfriend going to be impressed!!

"What’s that, you say Mom? Of course, YES, of course, I took out all the inner packages, liver, gizzard etc. Now what?"

"Wash the big bird inside and out," she’d said. "Wash it good!" Then she patiently hung on the phone line and waited.

After a few minutes she asked what was taking me so long.

And I asked her: "How long is it going to take to rinse the turkey clean? It still has bubbles flowing out the cavity!"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I did exactly what you said: I’m cleaning it good! I poured Dawn dishwashing detergent in the cavity and on the body. Do you think I used too much Dawn?”

I can promise you I’m a much better cook today. And no, it doesn’t make me crazy to think about it — it just makes me crazy my family won’t forget about it.

Have Some Bleedin' Turkey

Arlene Winnick of Winnick Public Relations in Los Angeles recalls the bleeding turkey story that is now party of her family's legend.

Two families with different backgrounds decided to have a joint Thanksgiving, teaching our kids about traditions and real home cooking. The day before, I realized I would need to order in and fake it since I just did not have time to cook. So I took the entire order out of the containers and put it into my own. On the big day my friend brought all her Italian family favorites and I heated up all my dishes.

The dinner was going great. We talked about the importance of cooking and holiday traditions and the evil Thanksgiving restaurant-goers. I presented the turkey all dressed and beautiful on a platter to many oohs and ahs.

Then my husband started to carve the bird, and with each slice it literally bled. Seems it was basically raw. (I had been told it was fully cooked and just needed to be reheated.) The children screamed like in a bad horror film and my friends looked at me. The moment of truth: Do I say I forgot to cook it or do I fess up and blame the restaurant?

I came clean. Everyone laughed but my children have never let me forget it.