Today I made mince pies for the first time. Last week a friend in Oxford gave me a jar of homemade mincemeat. I'd only had store-bought pies before, and these, served warm with brandy butter, were the nicest I'd ever tasted. I was curious about how the fam would react. Even after repeated assurances that the pies didn't actually contain meat, there was the old family scepticism about raisins and sultanas. (Entirely justfied, I might add, and usually shared by me -- my grandfather once saw a raisin move). In the end, everybody was brave enough to try a mince pie, and I think they were generally well received.
Our Christmas celebrations have taken on a slightly English character of late, even as we've maintained all our American traditions. This will be our third year of pulling crackers Christmas morning.
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