Early December is when I start to celebrate the holidays. I wait for Thanksgiving’s food and family time to slowly unwind, then I’m ready for a whole new decor. Out with the orange and brown; in with the green, red and white. It all starts with the first Sunday in Advent. I find the five candlesticks I set aside in my drawer, go down to the basement to find our well-worn advent candleholder that Jim crafted many years ago and has many layers of wax from many advents. I set it on a tray on our dining room table surrounded by boughs of greenery. I’ll be ready to light it when the time is right. Growing up, our family had this tradition and I continue it to this day. Somehow the lighting of the candles, Sunday by Sunday, is a way to measure the passage of time. The light of the candles at this dark time of year brings hope and I like to think of this when I set the match to the wick.
In Belgium, early December announces the coming of St. Nicholas Day. Celebrated on December 6, this is when St. Nicholas, patron saint of children, comes to town on his donkey. He walks down the street with his impressive red velvet stole, his hands covered in white gloves, his fingers with jeweled rings. He holds a scepter of gold and as a child, I didn’t know if I liked him or was awed by him. He seemed to be a kind man despite all the religious finery and pomposity. Following him, Black Peter strode with a whip and a bundle of coal. For those who misbehaved, a lump of coal was the only gift.
The eve of December 6, we would put out our shoes at the bottom of the steps, hoping that St. Nicholas would come to our house. A large carrot was an added incentive for his donkey. The next morning, we would have a few small gifts left behind. St. Nicholas always brought oranges and chocolate coins wrapped in gold. He would also leave behind Speculoos, a spicy molded brown sugar cookie, and marzipan, shaped in fruit. With my daughters, a Christmas ornament was always part of the gift. Once St. Nicholas had come we knew it would only be a few more weeks until the Christmas gatherings.
During this time of year, I knew I could go to the bakery down the street and buy marzipan freshly made. A large metal cone would sit on the counter. A long coil of marzipan was wrapped around it, piled as high as it could go. It looked a little like the tower of Babel to my young eyes. The baker’s helper would cut off the amount I wanted and weigh it on a scale. After wrapping it in shiny white paper, she would hand it to me in exchange for my money. As I headed out into the street, I would start to nibble on it as I walked home. I love that stuff.
Once I moved here, I decided trying to make my own. My Belgian neighbor, Madame Vanderbeck, had given me the recipe. Since then I have made many batches. Sometimes I’ve taken it and rolled it into tiny potatoes which are then rolled in cocoa. Sometimes I have made fruit shapes with it and colored it with food coloring. I also put it in bread as a sweet filling. All I know is that it isn’t yet the holidays if I haven’t had a little marzipan. Here’s my recipe. Hope you enjoy it too.
Marzipan
2 1/2 c. finely ground blanched almonds
2 1/2 c. confectioner's sugar
1 large egg white
2 t. almond extract
Mix all the ingredients together. Knead until malleable. Shape as desired.
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