Elaine Ambrose

Bestselling Author, Ventriloquist, & Humorist

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#Christmas

Toffee and the Seven Deadly Sins

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toffee 1

Brown sugar, pecans, chocolate, and butter are simple ingredients but when combined, heated, and transformed into candy, they have the power to turn me to the dark side. I am helpless to fight the seduction of toffee. I think the delicious treat is the work of the devil exemplified through the Seven Deadly Sins.

  1. Greed. The sweet confection makes me a greedy, cheating hoarder. A neighbor gave me a can of Almond Roca, and I immediately hid it so my husband or children couldn’t enjoy a single piece. I don’t care. It’s all mine, mine, mine.
  1. Gluttony. Toffee leads me into temptation. I cannot have one piece. I will stand until my feet spread and consume an entire batch and not stop to breathe until I have licked every morsel from the platter. I’m not proud of this fact.
  1. Lust. I’m addicted to exquisitely-crafted homemade toffee. However, on days of desperation, I’ll settle for a mediocre sample from a truck stop, the kind that is too brittle or stale. I crave the taste, and I want more. Now.
  1. Envy. I can’t pass a candy store without gazing in the window and slobbering over festive trays of caramels covered with chocolate and nuts. I’m jealous of people buying and tasting toffee that should belong to me.
  1. Anger. I’m equally mad about two issues: when the toffee is gone and when I step on the scale and see that eating all that gooey goodness makes me weigh the same as a compact car. I’m far over the weight I was decades ago at nine-months pregnant when I wailed about my rotund girth before giving birth.
  1. Pride. I’ll labor for hours to create the perfect recipe for almond toffee. Then I’ll post photos on every social media platform to let the world know that I did it and I’m going to eat it. Ha!
  1. Sloth. After waddling through decades of tasting toffee, it’s apparent that I’m as lethargic as a bowl of thick butter on a humid afternoon. Especially during the holidays, toffee saps my energy, and all I want to do is sit in a dark room and chew. Sometimes I pull empty Almond Roca foil wrappers out of the waste basket just to smell them. I’ve taken pathetic to a new level, and I need counseling.

To atone for my many sins, I’ve decided to share and give back to society. In the spirit of generosity, here is my recipe for English Toffee:

toffee

Ingredients:

1 Cup butter

1-1/4 Cups sugar, brown or white

2 Tablespoons water

½ Cup chopped pecans

1 Cup milk chocolate chips

Butter a 10X15 inch pan.

Melt butter in heavy skillet over medium heat and stir with a wooden spoon. Stir in sugar and water. Bring to a boil and add the pecans. Cook, stirring constantly until nuts are toasted and the sugar is dissolved. Pour in the buttered pan. Be sure to lick the spoon. Spread chocolate chips on top. Cool. Break into pieces. Eat half and share the rest.

My New Year’s resolution – again – is to lose weight and be healthier. I will consume fresh vegetables and fruit, exercise, and prepare nutritious meals. Maybe I’ll create a new recipe for zucchini and kale toffee. With enough butter, sugar and nuts, it could be delicious.

 

 

Make Candy Trains: They Magically Disappear

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This festive family tradition began more than 30 years ago.
This festive family tradition began more than 30 years ago.

Mix three wonderful items — kids, Christmas, and candy — and create some fun and lasting memories by making candy trains. They are magic because they disappear before New Year’s Eve.

We first made candy trains more than 30 years ago when my two children were toddlers. Now, their children and I meet on a Saturday each December to make trains. It’s a tradition that gets better every year. The mothers and I have added a new ritual that makes everything more festive: we enjoy a glass of wine while the little ones concentrate on frosting and candy. By the end of the day, everyone is happy. Sugar rush? Who cares?

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Candy trains make wonderful holiday centerpieces, and they’re also fun gifts for neighbors and friends. To make trains and traditions of your own, you’ll need the following supplies:

Cardboard
Tinfoil and tape
A few cans of white frosting
Strings of red licorice
Candy: M&Ms, unwrapped candy bars, unwrapped round red and white mints, chocolate kisses, life savers, square mints in foil, anything else you want. (Frozen leftovers from Halloween work well.)

Cut up a cardboard box and tape several sturdy pieces together for the platform. Cover it with tinfoil and tape on the bottom to secure.

Spread white frosting on the cardboard for snow. Place two strips of licorice over the frosting for the tracks. Squish one candy bar into the frosting near the end of the platform. Cut a candy bar in half and “glue” with frosting to the top of the first candy bar. See the engine taking shape?

Now, glue the round wheels onto the candy bar. Glue M&Ms into the center of each wheel. Glue a chocolate kiss onto the front for the cow catcher. Use unwrapped lifesavers on the engine for the smoke stack. Repeat with more cars, adding wheels and more candy. Allow the children to create their own masterpieces. We’re talking about future engineers here! You may need to establish parameters ahead of time: the designers only can eat four pieces of candy and four tastes of the frosting during the assembly.

After the edible art is finished, everyone celebrates with hot cocoa. Then the kids can proudly take home their trains to display on the kitchen counter. If you have a cat, you may need to cover the train or leave the cat outside until January. (In case defensive pet lovers don’t know, that was a joke.)

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Over the next few days, the train gradually disappears. One M&M is missing, a chocolate kiss disappears, and then a chunk of candy bar is gone. How does that happen? As we all know, the season is full of mystery and magic, and it makes me happy to watch my children and their children enjoy a special family tradition. After we tuck the little ones into bed, we often stand and gaze at them sleeping and imagine visions of sugar plums dancing in their heads. Somewhere, I can hear Tiny Tim saying, “God bless us. Every one!”

 

(Published on The Huffington Post in December 2014)

Grandmother’s Ornaments are Still Hanging Around

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grandma's ornaments
Made by My Grandmothers

Decking the hall and trimming the tree are annual rituals I prefer to do alone. For almost four decades, I’ve gently unpacked the ornaments and centerpieces while playing my favorite music. Bing makes me happy with “White Christmas,” and the effervescent “Sleigh Ride” guarantees a jolly mood. But by the time Frank sings “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” I usually grab some of the wrapping tissue and wipe a few tears. I’m just a sentimental sap because “next year all our troubles will be out of sight.”

After all the festivities and hullabaloo are over, packing the decorations is a bittersweet experience best fortified with a glass of Cabernet, a plate of leftover fudge, and one last time with nostalgic Christmas music. I’m okay until Sandi Patti sings “Bethlehem Morning” and then I usually sit helpless on the floor surrounded by stray ornaments, a lost lamb from the Nativity set, and a cracked nutcracker while holding a scratched ball that says “Baby’s First Christmas 1980.”

The melancholy dilemma is brief, and I gulp the wine, gobble the fudge, and change the music to “Walking on Sunshine” by Katrina and the Waves followed by “Beautiful Day” by U2. I’m hollering “It’s a beautiful day, don’t let it get away” as I throw the last string of lights into the box and tape it for another 11 months. Depression averted for another year.

Part of my Santa collection.

This year I reminisced about my grandmother’s handmade ornaments given to me more than 30 years ago. Both my grandmothers were sturdy, stoic farm women. They used their hands to mold dough, make soap, sew and mend clothes, milk cows, and create Christmas ornaments. My paternal grandmother’s eyesight was failing in her last years, but she managed to thread yard around plastic patterns of Santa and Mrs. Claus. My maternal grandmother’s fingers were bent from years of hard work, but she tatted and crocheted intricate snowflakes and starched them for ornaments, each one different, each one made with love.

My grandmothers died decades ago, and I’ve only recently truly appreciated their gifts to me. They were widows, living on Social Security payments, and their quiet goodness was often overlooked. They didn’t know what to do with their noisy, spirited granddaughter, but they continued to give simple gifts from their hearts. I’m humbled when I reflect on their gentle gestures. This year, I wrapped their ornaments in the good tissue.

Now I’m a grandmother, and I hope I can be a good example to the little giggling girls that have come into my life. I want them to have the essential qualities of generosity, honesty, productivity, and joy. And if the music of their life is making them sad, I hope they get up and change it. Their great-great-grandmothers would approve.

 

 

The Christmas Fort

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adam fort age 9

Two decades ago, before the popularity and distraction of video games, cell phones, and personal computers, children played outside. They rode bikes, threw balls to each other in the park, scouted for frogs in the ditch, and climbed trees. And they built forts.

Our family moved into a new subdivision when my son was in third grade. The house backed up to a row of empty lots, a little boy’s adventure land. The neighbors next door had two little boys, and my son joined them in playing in the dirt. The developer was building new homes nearby, so the boys hauled unneeded scrap lumber over to the lot behind our house and built a fort. The fathers helped with the heavy lifting, but the boys did most of the work.

In December, they lined the fort with lights and strung an extension cord to the house. The local newspaper mentioned the fort in its list of Christmas light displays to see. They spent countless hours in the fort, telling stories, making little boy plans, and just being in their own private world. Of course, no adults were allowed, unless we were bringing snacks.

The structure weathered the winter, and the boys continued to play inside the fort. One day my son came home from school and went outside to play. He soon came running inside and yelled at me to come with him. The fort had been torn down, left in a pile of broken boards. Nearby the developer’s machinery rumbled over the ground, flattening everything in its path. The boys were heartbroken, but we had a discussion about personal property. We didn’t own the land, so the developer had the right to prepare the ground and build a house. It didn’t occur to him to move the structure to our yard.

My son grew up, married, and had children of his own. Last year he built them a fort in the tree in his back yard. His daughters played and laughed in the tree house, and adults could come near if we brought snacks. Maybe this year, in the spirit of the season and to continue the tradition, they’ll add lights on the fort. And if we’re good and on our best behavior, maybe they’ll allow the adults to come inside.

My Nutcracker Died

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weary nutcracker

The old soldier fell out of the ornament box and surrendered on the floor. His left arm finally rebelled against years of reapplied glue, and his right arm no longer felt secured under the yellowed scotch tape. A boot was missing, his mouth no longer opened, and his cracker wouldn’t crack. I could relate in so many ways.

I imagined hearing the sad military song “TAPS” playing somewhere, and the sound probably came from the box of unwrapped musical toys I kept for the tree. The old nutcracker’s sentry duties were done after standing at attention on the mantel every December for more than 20 years. Packed and unpacked, moved, stored, dusted, taped, glued, and then perched into position, he watched as the small children grew up, moved away, and then brought children of their own to play in front of the fireplace. He maintained his sturdy composure, a favorite fixture in the background throughout decades of Christmas photographs.

I picked up the sentimental soldier and determined he was beyond repair. I suspected the other decorations had been grumbling about his declining health because obviously he couldn’t see or hear very well, and he probably fell asleep during his watch. The angel in the snow globe shook her head and scattered her irritation like bits of frosty frowns, the wise men in the Nativity scene muttered that he should retire and ride off on a camel, and even durable Mr. Bill cried, “Oh, no!” and wondered why the character continued to perch on the mantel year after year when there were so many younger decorations waiting their turn.

What happens to old nutcrackers? To my knowledge he had never cracked a nut and I wondered if his entire life had been a fraud. Or, maybe he accepted his lofty position on the mantel, content to come out for one month every year and guard the family. I didn’t want to throw him away in the garbage or keep him in the bottom of the ornament box with the cluttered, broken debris. After serious contemplation, I devised a list of suggestions for how to properly retire a dead nutcracker.

  1. Resist the urge to throw him into the fireplace in front of the children. This unacceptable behavior could lead to expensive counseling bills.
  2. Don’t tell the grandkids a mushy story like the Velveteen Nutcracker. There is no way he can be rubbed, loved, or cajoled into humanity.
  3. Don’t be tempted to donate him to the local ballet for a future performance of “The Nutcracker.” They probably have bins and boxes full of dead nutcrackers.
  4. Don’t give him to the local gun club for target practice. We’re desperately trying to avoid the current plethora of inflammatory issues so we’ll play it safe with snow globes and candy canes.
  5. Here’s the only answer: Glue and duct-tape all the parts together, tie a bow around his neck, and give him to the grandchildren. Then their parents have to deal with him.

According to German folklore, nutcrackers were given as keepsakes to bring good luck and to protect the family home. The legend says that a nutcracker represents power and strength and serves like a trusty watch dog guarding the family from evil spirits and danger. My nutcracker performed his duties for two decades, and we were safe. To honor my dead soldier, I toasted him with a mug of Christmas cheer. It was only sensible to toast him 20 times.

Published Today on HuffPo and Midlife Boulevard

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Two of my essays were published today on two wonderful sites: Huffington Post and Midlife Boulevard:

 

The Day I Totally Nailed It

On Midlife Boulevard, I tell the true but agonizing tale of the time my toenails plopped into my soup at an exclusive private club.

toes in water

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/elaine-ambrose/candy-trains_b_6276154.html

 

On Huffington Post 50, I describe our 30-year-old family tradition of making candy trains.

candy trains e and a