One more mistletoe kiss, and a last eggnog toast to 2010

How easily and quickly the routines and rhythms of everyday life are disrupted, sometimes seriously but often to accommodate the smallest of joys and graces. So it's been at Eat Here: all storytelling abandoned in favor of holiday cooking, MadriGal singing, friends and family visiting, and several long cold days when the lure of the fireplace was irresisible. It was purely heaven, my loves, and I dearly hope you had some of those days, too. It's time for me return to something like order, pack away joyful holiday chaos with the Christmas tree ornaments and get back to work. At Eat Here, with your indulgence, my dears, there's still time for a shared memory or two. This is a perfect sunset caught near the time of the Winter Solstice at Saltwater Cowboy's, where the MadriGalz rang in the season. As perfect as the view was, it was also breathtakingly cold for December in St. Augustine. All was merry and bright in the restaurant, though; the carols were good and the food was even better.

Christmastide has come to mean MadriGalz to me, in addition to the other blessings of the season. It means singing together with two voices I admire, love and am humbled to partner with, for just a few short weeks, in the company of some of our most beloved friends. Some of those friends are also current or past performance partners, whose kindness is especially valuable to us. (I'm looking at you, Miss Jo.) Judy has astonishing vocal range and discipline, and the ability to become almost invisible as an ensemble singer. Lis has a voice of heartwrenching sweetness, and a nearly tangible charismatic charm. And though we've been singing in this configuration together for nearly 10 years, they both surprise me over and over again. This year Miss Judy opened her bag of tricks and treated us to an impromptu version of "Santa Baby" that I didn't see coming despite nearly 30 years of friendship and shared music. If you look past the terrible picture quality (it's an iPhone, okay? And it was dark in the bar at Creekside Dinery that night), you can see Judy, Lis and our friend Rick, who kindly took the guitar for this one. What you can't see is Miss Judy, intriguingly blending Eartha Kitt's sensuality with Judy Holliday's girlish-voiced frankness, delivering a rendition we won't soon forget.

Amongst the appearances at our favorite local restaurants and various other engagements, we were also able to carol for our friend Miss Dot, the benefactor who made our CD a possibility a few years ago. It was an opportunity of grace for us, and afforded this rare photo of all of us together. We were surrounded by Miss Dot's large and amazing family, among whom are members of the locally venerated Red River Band, and it's safe to say a good time was had by all, especially the MadriGalz. In years past we've actually managed go caroling, dropping in to carol for friends and acquaintances. This was a happy return to that tradition and one for which we're grateful to the Pellicer family.

So the MadriGalz delighted in the Season; meanwhile, we got ready at home, too. The house was decorated, Santa Claus was situated in his place of honor on the roof (yes, we have a ridiculous Santa, about 3 feet tall, whose inner lightbulb has been guiding friends to our house for more years than I care to count), Christmas Rum Cakes were baked and to my complete astonishment, several Christmas cards were actually written and - get this - mailed! I know, right? I'd pretty much reconciled myself to having been dropped from Christmas card lists, having not managed to get cards out these past few years. But some cards found their way out from our pens, and some were welcomed and hung in places of honor as they came in. Holiday cards are a gift, I believe. No one should feel bad about not sending them; not everyone has time every year. But the people who do send them get to feel really good about it, especially when some of us can't manage to return the gift. I didn't get cards out to all of you, but I did think of you as I worked on them. Maybe next year. For now, though? The Rum Cakes.

This recipe was given to me years ago by my dear friend Debra, who wrote it on a piece of stationary that abides even now in a recipe box once owned by my dear old person's mother. It's the only cake I make these days that uses boxed cake mix as its foundation, and I've been meaning to reverse-engineer it so that it can be made without the boxes; maybe I'll get to that next year along with the complete list of Christmas cards. Ahem. Maybe not. In any case, here's the Christmas Rum Cake recipe, for your consideration.

Christmas Rum Cake (doubled from the original; with thanks to Debra B. for the beautiful original version)
Combine 2 boxes of Yellow Cake Mix and 2 small packages of vanilla instant pudding mix with 1 cup each of milk, vegetable oil and rum in the large bowl of your mixer. Mix gently til combined and then add 4 eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Beat until you have a lovely creamy mixture. Pour into two standard tube pans or several loaf pans (each of these should be well-greased - I use cooking spray - and dusted with granulated sugar and if desired, pecans and maraschino cherries). Don't overfill your pans as the cake will rise above the sides; I fill the pans about 2/3 full. Bake cakes at 325 degrees for about 45-50 minutes or until they test done.

While they're baking, prepare a glaze. In a saucepan, combine 1 stick of butter (real butter - you can't cheat on this one), about 1 cup of granulated sugar, and about 1/2 cup of water. Bring to a boil carefully, and simmer at boiling for about 2 minutes. Remove from heat and let cool for a few minutes. Add about 2/3 cup of rum. In really tough years I use about a cup of rum, but you can do this to taste. Remember that the rum won't really cook out of the glaze, as it does the cake, so more rum means a stronger taste. Use your judgement. When the cakes are done, use a toothpick or an ice pick to prick the tops of the cakes; this will let the glaze penetrate the surface of the cakes. Drizzle the glaze over the cakes, distributing evenly. If you've made tube or Bundt cakes, you can invert on plates to serve. If you've made loaf pans as gifts (I use aluminum pans that needn't be returned) you can cover when the cakes are cool.

Doesn't that sound nice?

That's the mistletoe kiss I meant to send you, and the final raising of the eggnog glass in a toast to the very happiest of New Years. Coming soon? Eat Here goes back to the beach in search of North Atlantic Right Whales (their calving season runs through March), gopher tortoises, porpoises, shark teeth and cloud formations and whatever other gifts are placed in our path as we walk. Thank you for walking along with us.

P.S. Gold, Myrrh and Peaches
The best gifts are the gifts of the heart, and this often means they're handmade. It sounds trite, of course, but I still have all the handmade cards the boys have given me over the years. You probably have a collection equally humble and equally treasured. This Christmas we were gifted with a dazzling collection of jewel-toned fruits, canned by our friends Tina and Jimmy. Especially beautiful was a jar of peaches, captured at the perfect fullness of summer, as golden as any sunrise. These found their way into a peach-and-ginger upside down cake, baked in cast iron and short-lived in our kitchen. I can tell you how to make one, if you're interested.

Ode on a Grecian Salad (and its amazing antecedents)

If you've been reading along for a bit you've already figured out that the Cafe Alcazar is sort of the spiritual living room of the MadriGalz. It's a fine match of philosophies. Our simple a capella arrangements of Christmas carols reflect several centuries. The Cafe is nestled inside a lovely turn-of-the-century hotel which is now home to both the offices of the City of St. Augustine and the breathtaking collection of the Lightner Museum, where simple, beautiful food is served and after lunch people are happier than they expected to be. If you look closely at the picture, you can see that the Cafe itself is in the deep end of antique (and now completely dry) swimming pool. The Cafe is centered in an assortment of shops featuring art and antiques, where the theme of straddling centuries is perfectly reflected.

There are two stories here, really: the story of the Cafe, and the story of How The MadriGalz and The Cafe Make Christmas Magic. They're as entwined as Barbry Allen and Sweet William, so you may have to hack through the briars with me a bit. The best way to share a restaurant experience, of course, is to take you there, and since I can't do that I have to use words. So it'll take a bit longer. Be patient if you can, my dears.

The Cafe part of it began for me with an incidental visit. Someone said, "Let's have lunch at the Alcazar" and I found myself sitting over a plate of something called "Artichokes Giovanni" which was more or less artichokes and mushrooms served over pasta, with a delicate topping of beautifully browned bread crumbs and a hint of lemon. It was preceded by a green salad with a tahini dressing from which I've never quite recovered, to this day. And though it's all a bit foggy, that first visit of mine, I think it may have been someone's birthday or some other celebratory occasion, for there was coffee and a memorable oatmeal cookie pie with ice cream (this still brings a tear to the eye of those who've tasted it). The food was good. In fact, the food was VERY good. But there was something else happening, too, something that happens at the most special of restaurants, something I wish I could better put into words: everyone felt right at home. I don't mean "at home" in the sense that you could take off your shoes or do anything rude at the table without reproach. I mean that there was a feeling of connection. You nodded at people seated at neighboring tables, because you had the feeling they might be distant cousins you'd forgotten. There was sense all around the room that you'd finally found a seat at a table where they remembered you, where they brought out the best wine for you, where you could rest, and eat, where the music suited you as perfectly as the wine and where you almost thought you might have invited all these (strangers) people to eat lunch with you. Upon reflection I realized that I'd had the feeling of stepping past a long line of people who had reservations or were trying to get a table, being recognized by the maitre'd and immediately seated at my favorite table and served something special that wasn't on the menu. And that's what it was, and is, to have lunch at the Cafe Alcazar.

Lorie sold the restaurant a year or so ago, but I asked her about its history because I had no memory of its evolution. She worked at Cafe Alcazar for nearly 20 years and owned it for almost 12. When asked about the menu, she gives all the credit to its previous owner, Maureen, claiming that she herself isn't much of a cook, but Maureen's innovations ("She is incredibly talented with food," Lorie says) needed no refinement. Remember the Curried Chicken Salad recipe I gave you? That must have been Maureen's creation, originally, perhaps including its setting in the elegant menu offering "East Meets West", where Curried Chicken Salad sets off green garden salad and fresh fruit to perfect advantage. And the Greek salad? The crepes, filled with something fresh and delightful du jour? All Maureen, or maybe one of a succession of chefs who worked in the kitchen over the years, each touch changing and refining the result. But the sense in the place that you're one of the insiders, that the maitre'd seated you at your favorite table, without you asking or even offering a tip? That's all Lorie.

And here the two stories begin their intersection. There had been a madrigal singing group in St. Augustine for some years under the direction of Sister Patricia Eileen (SPE), based at the Cathedral. (In fairness I should say that as in many small towns the best musical talent tends to find its way to the local churches; St. Augustine is no exception. There is today a fine group called Vivace and there are probably others doing period music. Religious feeling has less to do with it than you might think. I promise a story about this some of these days, my dears, to do with pipe organs and dreams and people who are part of both.) Both Miss Judy and I had been members and when it faded away, we continued to sing madrigals in different vocal configurations when we could. We worked as a trio for a time with our soprano friend Tracy until she moved away and the singing of Christmas madrigals was set aside. We would get the odd request every year, but close harmonies don't work with two voices unless the arrangements are very carefully constructed. And so we left it.

One year we got a couple of requests at about the same time. One was to do something purely for the sake of entertainment, and one was to provide the music for a holiday church service, but we had no soprano. Oh, I shouldn't say that: we had Miss Judy and she is an amazing soprano, actually, but she's too strong a weapon to post at that station. With her vocal range and ability to sight-read and sing different parts, she always served as our utility player. With my own limitations, this meant we needed someone with a clear, blend-able upper range, who could sing the melody in most cases, so that I could sing the lower harmony and Miss Judy could do whatever the hell magical thing is it that she does. And suddenly, I thought of Lis. I'd been listening to her sing for more years than I cared to count, but had recently come into closer orbit with her, gotten to know her, and dared to ask. And she said yes! Imagine. This amazing voice, this astonishing person, deigned to sing with me and Miss Judy, and there we were, unexpectedly: The MadriGalz.

So there, my loves, are the two winding stories. You already know that The MadriGalz try to sing at the Cafe Alcazar every Christmas, and that this year we were invited to sing at Creekside Dinery and Saltwater Cowboy's. You know we have a CD and you know how much we love singing together, and you know our hiberation is underway and will end when the days begin to grow shorter once again.

And I prayed for snow

When I was a small child, it probably didn't snow at Christmas as often as it seemed to, but at least was cold around Christmastime and that meant there was at least the possibility of clean, white, magical snow. It was east Tennessee, and the Great Smoky Mountains stood nearby and, well, it was possible.

Anyone who has lived in north Florida knows that while cold weather is certainly possible, snow is just about out of the question, though not completely unknown. There was one winter in which the fort green, that beautiful expanse of green grass carpet surrounding St. Augustine's Castillo, was tipped with white snow. It was the same year I was sneaked into a local drinking establishment to hear Gamble Rogers, the same year I heard Lis sing for the first time...but these, my darlings, are stories for another time. Snow, it is.

So here we are: one of the first winters I spent in St. Augustine as something other than a tourist, Christmas Day was so warm the doors and windows had to be opened to let the heat from the roasting turkey out of the stifling kitchen. This is how it went in other years, too. Some years, a satisfying chill would descend for the holidays, making happy the women working in kitchens to bring forth perfectly golden brown turkeys and their men, out in the woods as soon as family obligations would grudgingly permit, where a deer killed in the bracing cold would keep longer on one of those 80-degree Yuletide mornings. It made kids happy, too, since those nice flannel p.j.s and fluffy sweaters Santa brought were so much easier to wear in colder weather. And all this aside...I couldn't summon the "I'll Be Home For White Blue Christmas Without You Chestnuts Roasting What're You Doing New Year's" feeling in the 78 degree sunshine. So I prayed for snow.

I have prayed for snow, asked Santa for snow, joked about asking Santa for snow, told my husband, my friends, my children that snow was all I wanted for Christmas every year for more years than I like to think about. And now we've had a 2-week long cold snap (can a "snap" really last as long as a fortnight?), with days that have barely been able to raise their drooping heads out of the 30s and nights that have been blown by the north wind into long hours of 20s, with wind chills almost touching single-digits. This morning, in fact, my prayer for snow was almost answered (maddeningly), though it seems to have skirted us here in north Florida and passed along to the south of us. And in its wake I find I am more than even grateful for our beautiful Golden Hour, in which the sun spills gently through the oaks and touches the Spanish moss ever so quietly.

Respectfully, I'd like to change my prayers, wishes and best hopes from Christmas snow to winter peace, without, perhaps, the drama of near-freezing temperatures for quite so long, and with, perhaps occasional reminders of glorious spring beckoning in the distance.



And in case you still need to bake something so your oven stays on and your house is warmed, I think you ought to get those big baking potatoes out. Scrub them, poke a few fork holes in them, and wash them well. Spray with some Pam, or rub with a touch of butter (my grandmother would have used bacon fat), and sprinkle with some kosher salt; bake until done. You can eat them tonight, or you can save until tomorrow and serve as you like with eggs for breakfast, sliced, drizzled with olive oil and roasted or chopped right up into your breakfast omelet. Oh, and for heaven's sake, do stop praying for snow.