A little while back, I posted about wanting to make plum puddings. The only thing standing in my way was beef suet (as I learned, this is hard fat around beef kidneys). But as it turns out, there are still great, stand-alone butcher shops who are happy to introduce you to this marvel baking ingredient of old.

Fast forward a couple weeks and our traditional Christmas puddings (along with mincemeat!) are curing in the cool darkness of the garage, with whiskey slowing permeating every morsel of dried fruit and candied peel.

What I loved about making these dishes was how apparent it became that they originated in faraway, cold places whose residents certainly did not have the luxury of California’s year-round farms and produce aisles. The recipes are based on breadcrumbs, candied peel, dried fruit, and alcohol. It was all about making do with what used to be sweet a few months back.

Stirring everything together, I was reminded of meeting a man in Ireland who must have been in his 80s. Mike and I met him on a walk, and he told us how vividly he remembered getting a singular ripe orange for a present as a little boy one year, how exotic it seemed in the middle of a dark, cold winter.

Even in the smallest of ways, I felt a little more connected to that sentiment as the puddings steamed away on the stovetop for a whole afternoon and evening, filling the house with the warm, spiced smell of Christmas.

But just so I don’t get too carried away romanticizing hardship, I will also tell you about the wayward history of plum pudding: It turns out that in the 1600s, the dessert was banned by the Puritans because it was made with alcohol. What can I say. Even when I don't intend to be, I am drawn to the sweet-toothed sacrilegious.