The Catskill Chronicle

By Jude Waterston

My sister, some would say, indulges me. I don’t recall how I first broached the subject with Janet of our having a Christmas tree in the house we share upstate. Perhaps my request was rooted in our past. Our childhood years were spent in Deer Park, Long Island, where we were the only Jews on the block, and the neighborhood, for the most part, was populated by Irish and Italians. I was envious of the Italian families on 18^th street, particularly at Christmas-time, when huge pine wreaths affixed with gold bells or clusters of red berries were hung on their front doors, and six-foot trees, glistening with silver tinsel and sparkling with tiny colored lights, were set up in the den. Garlands and holly festooned the rooms, and deep red poinsettias set on lace doilies graced end tables.

In the window of our den, on the other hand, was a cream colored plastic menorah with glowing orange “lights,” and in the dining room, on each of eight nights, we lit slim white candles in a colorfully enameled iron menorah and sang a blessing commemorating a miracle that occurred many thousands of years ago. It wasn’t that I longed to be Catholic, but I liked the pomp and circumstance, the hoopla, surrounding Christmas. Crispy potato latkas with homemade applesauce and toothsome brisket are nothing to sneeze at, but I would’ve given anything to be invited to a traditional Southern Italian Christmas dinner, known as the Feast of the Seven Fishes, where mussels, clams, scungilli, shrimp, calamari, eel, and baccala vie for attention along with ravioli, baked ziti, and lasagna.

When we moved from our house on Long Island to an apartment in a predominantly Jewish neighborhood, my parents bristled when they heard acquaintances in the building referring to their Chanukah bushes. “There’s no  such thing,” my mother said, incensed. “Call it what it is, a Christmas tree!” my father piped in, “and stop pretending there’s a place for it in Judaism.” I kept my yearnings to myself and took the bus to a schoolmate’s neighborhood where I was free to gaze upon her family’s tree. I was mightily impressed by the many gaily wrapped, beribboned gifts jutting out from under the lowest boughs.

A couple decades later, Janet and I began spending weekends and vacations in the country in our cozy little house in Callicoon, New York. Over the years we made a handful of close friends; no Jews in sight. And every December, our pals readied for Christmas in the usual ways. Some lugged out ladders and strung lights across the porch. Wreaths went up and such holiday decorations as red and green tapered candles and sparkly pinecones were strategically placed around the warmly lit rooms. When one friend mentioned his neighbors consenting to his cutting down his own tree from their property, I begged Janet, in earnest, for one in our house. It helped that other friends contended that the tree was not a religious symbol per se. Whether or not they were correct in asserting such a notion, Janet reluctantly caved.

One afternoon, the snow falling lightly, we accompanied our friend on his tree hunt and picked out our own tree, a real Charlie Brown specimen. It lacked majesty and was rather delicate with sparse branches and a thin, spindly trunk. It kept listing to the side in the red enameled tree stand we’d bought until I padded it with paper to keep it upright. Still, we relished stringing it with little blinking lights and decorating its few branches with colored glass balls. We played The King’s College Choir’s O Come All Ye Faithful, Tcaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite, and On Yoolis Night, medieval carols, while we filled out holiday cards and wrapped presents. And on the first night of Chanukah and the seven evenings to follow, Janet and I lit our old enameled menorah, held hands, and sang the blessing.

Today, in the quiet woods surrounding our house, lie the carcasses of Christmas trees past, as the tradition after that first year continued. Now, the firs, bought at the Diehl farm, are taller and fuller and, eventually, Janet and I began designing and making our own ornaments. For a few years mine were made from brightly painted balsa wood shapes decoupaged with Japanese origami paper and Janet’s out of leftover scraps of material (from the many quilts she has hand-sewn) wrapped around Styrofoam balls and affixed with glittering sequins. After a trip to Oaxaca, Mexico, we began adorning the tree with hand-painted tin ornaments handcrafted by Mexican folk artists. We host a gift-swapping evening with friends; bake batches and batches of holiday cookies; and spend long quiet evenings in the glow of the tree. I relish my hours in the kitchen, cooking hearty winter dishes for me and my sister, my best friend. And always, at Chanukah, we hold hands, sing the blessing, and light those slender candles in the menorah.

Chewy Chocolate Cookies

Makes approximately 48 cookies

These little gems are slightly crunchy on the outside and dense and chewy inside. Parchment paper is crucial to these cookies.

1/3 cup granulated sugar plus an additional ½ cup for coating cookies

1 ½ cups unbleached, all-purpose flour

¾ cup Dutch processed cocoa powder

½ teaspoon baking soda

¼ teaspoon salt

½ cup dark corn syrup

1 large egg white

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

1/3 cup packed dark brown sugar

4 ounces bittersweet chocolate, chopped into small pieces

Adjust oven racks to upper and lower-middle positions. Line 2 large baking sheets with parchment paper. Place ½ cup granulated sugar in a pie plate or shallow dish. Whisk together flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, and salt in a medium sized bowl. Whisk together corn syrup, egg white, and vanilla in small bowl. With an electric mixer, beat butter, brown sugar, and remaining 1/3 cup granulated sugar at medium high speed until light and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Reduce speed to medium low, add corn syrup mixture, and beat until fully incorporated, about 20 seconds, scraping bowl once with rubber spatula. With mixer running at low speed, add flour mixture and chopped chocolate; mix until just incorporated, scraping bowl once, about 30 seconds. Give dough a final stir with rubber spatula to ensure that no pockets of flour remain at bottom of bowl. Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Place dough in the refrigerator and chill for about 30 minutes to firm slightly. (Do not chill dough for much longer than instructed). Remove dough from refrigerator and begin to roll portions of dough between your hands into balls about ¾ -inch in diameter. Roll each ball in the granulated sugar and place on cookie sheets, leaving an inch between balls. Bake for 6 minutes, then switch racks and spin pans, then bake for another 5 – 6 minutes. The cookies should look almost raw in between the cracks that will form. Cool on pan for 5 minutes, then on racks.