It’s fun to share holiday traditions–although I suppose not all of them are worth sharing. For instance, Souzz could probably have done without the hanging bell that plays Jingle Bells for about two hours every time I pull the string, or my family’s spinning Christmas tree heat lamp that eventually caught fire.
But one holiday tradition that is squarely in the shareable category is Souzz’s family egg nog. The nog tradition has its roots at the historic Buffalo Club in Buffalo, New York. In the 1920s, Souzz’s grandfather and his friends often enjoyed freshly made nog in the club’s elegant dining room, perhaps after a long day at work.
The nog recipe was soon brought home for the family’s annual New Year’s Eve party, and it eventually found its way on to the next generation(s). Making (and enjoying) the nog is now one of their biggest annual holiday traditions (well, that and spontaneously breaking into Christmas carols, which ironically makes me want to drink more nog).
The nog recipe is pretty straightforward: eggs, sugar, cream, nutmeg, a little brandy, a little rum–and roughly a cask of bourbon. But what really makes it special is how it is assembled. When the time comes, at least eight to ten folks across several generations crowd around a big antique (1920s) crock that seems to have its own magnetic pull. Hands swoop in and out adding ingredients and stirring, like an eight-armed mixologist (ok, so I need to work on my metaphors).
Some of the family take the same roles from year to year, while others move into whatever needs to be done–but lively conversation and laughter are a constant, and the process can never be rushed.
Back in the day, young nieces and nephews wandered in and out of the kitchen puzzling over what could possibly be so amusing–and now they have grown into full-fledged participants. A few of the in-laws generally stand to the side and make snarky comments—while secretly wishing that they had a family tradition as cool as this one.
After the nog is assembled, the crock is topped with an old cookie sheet and put outside in the snow, where it blends a little more each day. Souzz’s dad would always ladle out a cup the next morning and declare that year’s batch as “smooth, best ever!” It was something that he said–and meant–every single year.
There are some classic nog memories from over the years–like when Aunt Connie got engaged over a glass, or when Maggie (the family Labrador) over-served herself on some leftovers. And then there was the year that I opened the door to find the mailman helping himself to a cup (no wonder my Christmas cards were late).
Once again this year, the nog crock will be squarely at the center of the holiday for a few amazing hours–an enduring tradition that finds its place in the middle of the hustle and bustle of modern-day Christmas. It’s a ritual that feels like holiday magic–and especially so in a time where things can be so fleeting.
Souzz’s parents are no longer with us, something that we feel even more during this time of year. But the making of the nog will always be a symbol of their grace, their love of life, and their love of family. They were the best.
When I raise my first glass of nog this year, I’ll be sure to say out loud that this year’s batch is “smooth, best ever!”