If you haven’t already seen the “Best Christmas Ever” skit with Matt Damon on “Saturday Night Live,” you should Google it. Do it now.<\/p>\n
This hilarious bit features Damon playing a husband<\/a> cuddled up on the couch with his wife over a glass of wine reminiscing about what a perfect Christmas they had. Flashback to what really happened \u2014 one horrific scene after another, from their children waking them up at 5 a.m. and fighting over toys to families fighting over politics (the “she’s racist against whites” line had me clutching my sides with hysterics).<\/p>\n Like most funny things, there is a lot of truth in it. For those of us who are being honest, the holidays are way overrated.<\/p>\n I have it pretty easy compared to most people. I don’t have to host a big family gathering with politically incompatible people; it’s just our little trio \u2014 a quartet if you count the pug \u2014 and thank god we’re all Democrats. I don’t have a jam-packed social calendar. In fact, the opposite seems to be true. I’m thinking people have finally given up on us because I didn’t receive any invites at all except the obligatory ones from my architect and Ryan’s work party. I don’t really have to worry much about buying gifts \u2014 it’s mostly just about my son Levi at this point.<\/p>\n I don’t have to travel anywhere, since Ryan only gets Christmas Eve and Christmas off so there’s not really time to even consider taking a holiday vacation. Good thing we happen to live in the place where everyone wants to be.<\/p>\n The point is, I have nothing to complain about, and our Christmas was the stuff my dreams were made of back when I was single and would spend the holidays trying to get drunk enough early enough in the day to just pass out and be done with it.<\/p>\n We spent Christmas Eve at Buttermilk where Ryan and Levi lapped Panda Peak while I tried out my new skinning gear on Tiehack. Afterward, we indulged in fried ribs (not something I would normally eat but, oh my god, it’s worth every calorie) with death relish (which I would eat on literally almost anything) and strong IPAs for that mid-day beer buzz that’s survivable.<\/p>\n Not a fan of ham, I decided to go with the Italian Christmas Eve tradition of the Feast of the Seven Fishes as a nod to Ryan’s Italian roots and made Seafood Cioppino, a fish stew with mussels, clams, shrimp and whatever other decent fish you can find in the middle of the Rockies. The tomato-based broth has fennel and white wine with chili flakes and cooks slowly for a depth of flavor that is genuinely restaurant quality. I served it in wide, shallow bowls with gremolada toast, which is the simplest thing ever; just slices of toasted baguette spread with butter mixed with salt, lemon zest and fresh parsley but takes the whole dish up a couple notches and is the perfect thing for lapping up all that delectable broth.<\/p>\n This meal was not only delicious but fun to eat, digging into shells and getting different flavors with every bite, namely a taste of the sea that always feels so very far away from us. It was light and spared us that rock-gut feeling you get after eating a rich meal. We loved it and I plan to make it every year from now on.<\/p>\n We were pretty stoked for Christmas day with our little guy, even though he really didn’t seem to grasp the whole concept at first. I almost respect him for not falling for it 100 percent. He crawled under a blanket on the couch and demanded milk and had no interest in seeing what was under the tree. When I pointed out that Santa had eaten the cookies we left out, he shook his head vehemently and said, “No, I ate it.”<\/p>\n We eventually coaxed him into present-opening mode. And while I did limit it to three gifts, I didn’t fully consider that number grew exponentially with the gifts from other family members into a cool dozen. After the sixth present we kind of started sneaking wrapped boxes into the closet to save for his birthday. Too much stimulation.<\/p>\n Then it was onto Aspen for my favorite holiday event of the year: champagne brunch with old friends. They make egg bake Midwestern style, biscuits and gravy, the whole nine. Now that I’ve quit eating in order to stay thin in middle age, I stuck to champagne with a couple of strawberries thrown in for good measure and was nice and fuzzy by the time the noon siren blared. From there, we did a quick cross country ski up Independence Pass to Weller Lake while babe napped in the chariot. My mid-day buzz evaporated in the cold wind and thin air and gave me just enough of an appetite for the elk and lobster surf and turf I planned for Christmas night.<\/p>\n And still. There was a heaviness in my heart I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Was it that I longed for a larger family gathering, a house filled with noise and activity? Was I sad that I hadn’t received more invitations from friends, even though I’ve made it crystal clear not to call me after 8 p.m. unless someone has died? Was I bummed that we don’t have the time or money for an exotic holiday escape to warmer climates? Was it the fact that I feel like a bit of a fraud, what, considering I’m Jewish? Was it that deep down, I wish I could have another baby like so many of my friends who are pregnant with their second child?<\/p>\n My darling husband, who is always so observant and in tune with my ever-changing moods put his hand on mine, gave me that goofy half grin and said, “Honey. Best. Christmas. Ever.”<\/p>\n The Princess is already planning the menu for New Year’s Eve. Email your favorite recipes to alisonmargo@gmail.com<\/a>.<\/p>\nRecommended Stories For You<\/h2>\n<\/p><\/div>\n