It happens about this time every year

It never fails...on a humid July evening, with the smell of the neighbor's hamburgers in the air, fresh tomatoes lining the kitchen window sills, and a Southern Living on the coffee table (with some atrocious "new" version of a red, white, and blue dessert on the cover), I'll turn to my husband over dinner and say a completely sane and timely thing like..."I'm gonna make this for Thanksgiving". After 8 years of marriage, this doesn't even phase him. With a raise of the ol' eyebrows and sincere and heartfelt enthusiasm, he'll say "Yeah, that would be awesome" and continue chowing down on his out-of-season, stick-to-your-ribs, tomato-less, squash-less, I'm-tired-of-summer-food dinner.

Am I the only one who starts dreaming about stews and soups, creamy gratins, and platters full of roasted root veggies at this time of year??? I mean, please understand me...I LOVE summertime food...I think I've made that abundantly clear through previous posts; and I'll crave it again one day (this usually starts happening right after Christmas when I think I'm going to die if I eat one more bite of melted cheese or bacon). But that makes sense; everyone craves fresh summertime fare during the dead of winter, right? But wanting nothing more than a piping hot bowl of French Onion Soup with bubbly gruyere and mounds of ciabatta when it's cleavage-sweatin' hot??? My parents should have sent me back to the factory; I'm clearly defective.

I tell myself every year that I'm NOT going to do this. I won't devote so much of my time to thinking about the slowly approaching Fall. I will not be consumed by daydreams involving cool weather, warm food, Thanksgiving and Christmas; I know it will only end in burnout and disappointment by the time the season is actually here. But come July, I find myself spiraling out of control. One day I'm totally fine; I'm eating peaches, frying okra, and enjoying iced tea. And then, suddenly and inexplicably, I awake with Peppermint Bark on my mind and Christmas carols on my lips. I begin envisioning perfect Martha Stewart-esque images of family members wearing LL Bean from head to toe, walking through fresh snow, carrying bundles of firewood. They're walking towards me. I'm in the kitchen window of our winter cottage, preparing hot orange spice tea and taking trays of homemade shortbread out of the oven. I smile at my husband, who's wearing a plaid flannel shirt and some sort of shoes that have the word "duck" in the name. He smiles back. Just then, our children (all 8 of them) jump out of the back of a nearby sleigh where they'd been hiding (you heard me- I said sleigh). They bombard him with snowballs and eventually all end up on the ground together, rolling around in a fit of giggles. I shake my head in a very June Cleaver-ish way and think to myself, "Were it not for that quail, prime rib, lamb, veal, salmon, and duck confit in the oven, I'd have a good mind to run right out there and join them". (I'm okay with missing out on the fun, though, because earlier that morning we'd packed up a big thermos of potato leek soup and headed out for a cross-country ski). Once the children come inside, Michael and I help them make a fresh batch of snow cream (after all, there's no pollution in MarthaLand). Over dinner we laugh together and the laughter continues into the night over board games and cards. After putting our sweet angels to bed and the house is quiet, Michael and I sit in front of the fireplace, under the glow of the Christmas tree lights and sip eggnog. We are rested and well-fed. "How I do love Christmas" I say to him, just before we snuggle into bed under 1200 thread count sheets and a down comforter as fluffy as pavlova. My eyes grow heavy, but I struggle to keep them open so that I might watch the snow fall a bit longer in the quiet, still night. It is a merry Christmas indeed.

Our Christmas, in reality, is as much like this as blackberry preserves are like toe jam. No matter what we do or how hard we try, we simply can't seem to sustain a calm, meaningful Holiday season; no matter what gift-giving "rules" we come up with or how many obligations we boldly decline to attend, it still feels hectic and not at all like what I'd hoped it would be. We choose not to do much shopping at all, and the shopping we do participate in keeps us far away from the mall and places like Wal-Mart. The problem lies in the fact that we can't control the people around us (trust me, I've been trying my whole life). I mean, it's hard to relax and just enjoy a cup of tea when everyone around you is buzzing about nervously; what kind of ninnies would we be if we just sat there and chatted while the rest of the family frantically wrapped gifts and hung stockings at the last minute? Big ninnies. Big ones.

As I'm writing this, I think I'm beginning to understand that this is what my mid-Summer meltdown is all about. Perhaps I've been understanding, on a subconscious level, that I'd better get all my merrymaking in now because once the holidays are actually here, we'll be too busy "celebrating" to celebrate.

Now, I don't mean to sound like a scrooge. I am abundantly grateful for the many friends and family that we do have; I'm sure many people long for such. I guess I just wish that it could all be simplified. I understand that means different things to different people....for me, I would be happy spending a few days in the kitchen with my mom. We would make all kinds of special treats; peppermint bark, panforte, candied orange peels dipped in dark chocolate, sangria cake, macaroons, salted caramels, and butter cookies. My husband and stepdad would be sitting on the couch nearby; they'd participate in a fair amount of eye-rolling and head-shaking when they'd overhear us say things like "what else do we need to make", but they'd secretly be using Jedi mind tricks to steer us in the direction of making my mom's famous chocolate chip cookies. We'd package everything beautifully, using simple adornments from around the house; nothing expensive or fussy, but thoughtful enough to make the recipient feel valued. At the end of the day, we'd sit at the table together and enjoy a hot bowl of soup and some bread fresh out of the oven. And then, we'd have to sample some of our delicacies (just to make sure they weren't poisoned or anything). On Christmas day we'd enjoy time with our families, not gifts. We'd eat a delicious meal that would showcase all the lovely seasonal fruits and veggies that were available to us, and for the rest of the afternoon, we would take pleasure in just being together. Nobody would be exhausted from a month's worth of mall-walking, loud-speaker-announcement-listening, traffic-fighting, gift-wrapping, and money-spending. We'd watch the kids enjoying each other and the toys they already have (and possibly the cardboard rolls from the center of toilet paper and other mundane items) and we'd realize how senseless all the obligatory gift giving has become.

To give gifts is a delight when done in the proper spirit. I might challenge you to delight in your gift-giving this year, whatever that means for you. For me, it means that I won't buy what I can't afford, I won't buy just because it's expected of me, and I won't let gift-giving feel like a burden. If I do give much at all (even to my husband) it will probably be something from my kitchen. I will knead and roll, simmer and chop. I will go through considerable quantities of butter and months after Christmas has come and gone, I will discover flour in the most improbable places. There will be, as there always is, a late night or two in which I'm wearily awaiting the cooling of the last batch of cookies; with aching feet and shortbread dough dried onto the cuffs of my shirt, I'll be eagerly anticipating an appointment with my bed. But that's just part of lovin' people; it's quite often hard work, many times exhausting, but always worth the effort.

Even though the cicadas are humming and it's still daylight well after 8 pm, I'm going to declare the official opening of the season. To my husband, who's always the good sport, prepare for the onset of experimental dishes; turnips and rutabagas, brussel sprouts and cauliflower, and winter squash prepared every way physically possible (hmmm...butternut ice cream anyone)? So... settle in and muster all your courage. There will be failures, but they're necessary to arrive at those dishes that are "Thanksgiving worthy". Thanks for being an adventuresome eater and for allowing me to love you well with food.

So...here's the culprit....the dish that brought on this "Fall Frenzy". Also, the dish that converted my brussel-sprout-hating husband. Man, cauliflower first, now brussel sprouts, what's next, vegemite???

Braised Brussel Sprouts with Pancetta and Warm Mustard Vinaigrette

• 4 pieces of pancetta (app. 5-6 oz.)
• one package of brussel sprouts (app. 3-4 cups)- washed, trimmed, and cut in half
• 3/4 cup chicken stock
• 2 shallots- diced
• 2 tbsp. dijon mustard
• 3 tbsp. white wine vinegar
• just a pinch of sugar
• 1 tbsp. fresh chives- chopped
• koser salt and black pepper to taste
• olive oil, if necessary
• cous cous (prepared according to package directions)
• app. 1/4 cup golden raisins
• app. 1/2 cup ricotta cheese

Dice the pancetta into small pieces and sautee, along with the shallots, over medium heat, until the pancetta is very crispy and the shallots are browning. Remove the shallots and pancetta from pan and set aside (reserve pan drippings). Cook the brussel sprouts in the pan drippings for a few minutes until they are getting nicely browned. Add chicken stock, cover and cook until tender (about 15-20 minutes). Remove brussel sprouts from pan and set aside. Now, for the vinaigrette: To the chicken broth and pan drippings, whisk in the mustard, vinegar, sugar, chives, salt, and pepper. Allow to warm through. Stir crispy pancetta pieces and shallots back into vinaigrette. (You may need to add a bit of olive oil and/or a bit of chicken broth for desired consistency. The amount of liquid and/or fat left at this point can vary based on a couple of factors. Use your judgement).

To serve: I served the brussel sprouts over Golden Raisin Cous Cous (cous cous prepared according to package directions and a handful of golden raisins tossed in). Drizzle the top of the brussel sprouts with the warm vinaigrette and top with a dollop of ricotta cheese. Heavenly.

This serves 2 as a main dish, 4-6 as a side.