I’ve a confession to make…the whole Christmas ham thing?

Not a fan.

Christmas dinner always seems to play second fiddle to Thanksgiving. No one’s finished recovering from planning (or eating) that feast, so it seems like Christmas dinner becomes a matter of, “What the heck can I make that won’t require me to prep the whole day before?”

In our house, this has usually meant…the ubiquitous hot pot. Hearty, humid, communal sustenance for the cold winter months. And nothing constitutes family bonding quite like clacking chopsticks, sweaty faces, and fighting your cousin for that last piece of crab.

So the question I pose to you, dear reader, what’s the traditional Christmas dinner in your house? Cause…no one I know really does the whole Christmas ham business anyway…

Hope everyone’s Christmas was pleasant, restful, and fulfilling…and from us here at the Spork, we wish you a happy, safe New Year!

Keep eating folks.

In my mind, there is a clear dichotomy in one’s perception of cuisine. There is gastronomique/fine dining, and then there’s comfort food. Even as I can experience transcendental, mind-blowing flavors in fine dining…sometimes that buttered lobster simply can’t “do it” for me like a hot bowl of shi fan (rice porridge) or grandma’s hand made zhongzhi. (sticky rice in tea leaves) Sometimes, mom’s cooking is…simply put…untouchable. This is the food I grew up with, the food that warms my stomach and my soul alike. This is the food that makes me sigh and think about when mom would let me help her hand-make dumplings. Or when she would take me to the market to watch the fish swimming in their tanks, to play with the live crabs, and smell the roasted ducks hanging in the window. This is the power of comfort food, and the inherent meaning it has for each of us. That’s what this entry is about.

There it is, my childhood on a plate. (or steamer, rather) Lotus custard buns, or nai wong bao have always been my dim sum favorite ever since I was a kid. Biting into them reminds me of the Sunday mornings my parents would drive us out to Monterey Park for dim sum. I would always demand nai wong bao, my pouting unabated until the steaming morsels were placed on the table. And before they even had the chance to get cold, I would happily grab and gobble them up faster than I should have. The taste and feel of silken, steaming bread hid the yellow surprise on the inside, a warm filling of sweet lotus custard. Simply delectable. To this day, when I eagerly bite into a nai wong bao, I find myself back on one of those Sunday mornings, among the metal carts patrolling the floor with various steaming treasures, the noisy clang of plastic chopsticks on porcelain heard over boisterous shouts of Cantonese. And it makes me sigh and smile. My childhood on a plate.

So, dear reader, I know that I’m not alone in experiencing this profound power of comfort food. What are those foods that bring you back home? What are those foods that make you sigh and remember? This is your opportunity to share, and we’d love to hear. What’s your childhood on a plate?