The stories under the tree. We all have a secret memory of the holidays from when we were children. Like the glass of milk for Santa! For you one of the stories of our editorial staff taken from the December issue
That day there were no rules. Or rather, there were very different rules. We got up when we wanted to, or rather, we got up at eight poked by my little brother who was awake from five to ask me, every three minutes, if we could go and open the presents brought by Santa Claus. And Santa Claus always left a letter of thanks, with fluttering writing, for the panettone and the glass of milk we left near the tree the night before. The milk, for him and also for the Befana … had a healthy value and altruistic safety: if we put the sparkling wine, then how do they drive the sled, or the broom, for the rest of the night? Above all, if all the children put sparkling wine, they would get drunk. Not that they fall down before having delivered all the presents.
So: milk. And Christmas is safe. That day there was no work to distract the parents, like the other 364 days, not even for a moment, throughout the day. That day they were all for us, and us for them, who enjoyed our cries as the packages were opened. Then, incredible for us little ones, we stayed all morning in our pajamas, playing with new gifts and watching the Smurfs movies (very long films in our perspective of "TV only a quarter of an hour then go play whatever it is more interesting ), wrapped like kittens, on mum and dad.
What did we eat? I hardly remember it, maybe something light, good, but not too different from other days. However, we dined in the dining room rather than in the kitchen, with the table cheerfully dressed in a bright red tablecloth and the "party dishes".
And then off, all playing together again. I try to visualize what was on the dishes that day … but I don't remember the things to eat with the mouth … I remember appetizers of pampering, laughter rolls stuffed with smiles, accompanied with the delicious "no tickle no" and for dessert the warm embrace of my family. The everyday menu in reality but, in Quel Giorno, much tastier. A Concentrate of Magical Moments (not even Harry Potter) that fills my stomach even today, at the very thought of it.
P.S. Growing up, we agreed that, with the panettone for Santa Claus, there could be a little sparkling wine. Without compromising international flights, because on the other hand they drive reindeer and are teetotalers, you know.
A story by Rita Orlandi
This recipe has already been read 163 times!