I wish I could say that I first tasted cannelés in France, escaping from a Bordeaux bakery with a glossy brown cake that could easily fit in the palm of my hand and eating it while it was still warm. This is where my boyfriend had his cannelé epiphany. He claims it was so good that it just isn’t possible for any other cannelé, anywhere outside of Bordeaux, to compete.
Every holiday season we ask a few friends to join us here at The Kitchn for a series of guest posts. The topics range from favorite holiday recipes to family memories and traditions. Today’s guest: Anne Zimmerman of Poetic Appetite, and author of An Extravagant Hunger: The Passionate Years of M.F.K. Fisher. We also toured Anne’s kitchen this past year. Have you ever spent Christmas away from home? M.F.K. Fisher did in 1929.
We shared one perspective on grown-ups eating like a toddler. Now here’s writer Anne Zimmerman with a short, sweet essay to argue the other side. It’s 6 p.m. on a Thursday and I’m on my kitchen floor, eating a toaster waffle and sipping a glass of red wine, tempting (or trying to tempt) my toddler to eat.
I am not exactly sure what most people eat for breakfast on Christmas morning. There is often a lot of talk about dinner: roasts and hams, traditional side dishes, and glittering desserts. But the day has to start somehow; you can’t dig through stockings and unwrap presents on an empty stomach. And it’s Christmas, so it better be special. That means no bowls of cold cereal or skimpy slices of toast.