My father’s family was Jewish. If my mother’s family ever had a religion, they chose not to share it with their children. Neither of my parents were even the slightest bit religious.

Holidays at my parent’s house were crow-assembled: bits and bobs of different traditions—nothing sacred, nothing pure; nothing consistent from one year to the next.

So, when the holidays come up over the horizon, I don’t have a lot of rituals to cling to. The tidings I crave are really just two baked goods that were usually to be found in my parents’ kitchen around the end of the year:

1. chocolate gingerbread cookies (light on the ginger, heavy on the cloves);
2. popovers.