Wandering Through The Land Of Nod.

A true story of mince pies, love, gratitude and Christmas baking!

It was another full day at The Vicarage.  In between a meeting with churchwardens and an architect to see what could be done about a leaky flat roof and visiting a family to talk about their beautiful baby’s baptism, I settled down at my desk to think about Sunday’s sermon. That didn’t last long before the phone rang.  When I answered it, I heard the slightly anxious sound of a bereaved son.  I had met the family to discuss his mum’s funeral, and they’d shared with me a lovely, affectionate picture of her life.  It turned out they hadn’t said everything.

We forgot to mention, he said, you must say this ….

I guessed what he was about to say, and I guessed right.

You’ve got to tell everyone that at Christmas she made the best mince pies in the world.

Of course I will, I said, that’ll be my privilege to say.

If I ate a mince pie every time I heard that someone’s mum made the best ones in the world, my teeth would have dropped out years ago!  It’s always said with real love, affection and gratitude and those words go straight to the hearts of anyone who knew her.

I suppose in a Great British Bake-Off sort of situation, all the mince pies wouldn’t be the best.  There’d be some soggy bottoms or burnt crusts and mincemeat escaping through the pastry crimping.

My mam’s mince pies fell apart when you picked them up.  She always said it was a sign of good pastry!  Still, I will say they were the best in the world.

I remember our oven warmed kitchen being covered in flour and taken over completely by mixing bowls, jars of mincemeat, rolling pins and pastry cutters.  No weighing scales though, mam believed in measuring spoons and guesswork – no wonder the pastry was so crumbly!

I remember the thrill of spooning in the filling, cutting crosses into the lids and the delicious smell filling the house.  For days to come, that cold house was filled with visitors who happily tucked in.  In January, when the leftover pies turned stale, they were put back in the oven, and we ate them with spoons and custard.  Yummy!

There’s a tale sometimes told about mince pies which tries to make something Christian about them.  It goes like this:  the plain pastry represents the stable in which Jesus was born and like that stable, the pastry holds treasure. 

That all sounds a bit forced to me.  I’d rather enjoy our God given delicious food and be thankful!  The true tale of the best mince pies in the world tells me more about love, the love of parents who work hard at a difficult time of year to make everything special and memorable for their children and friends.

Here’s a verse from one of my favourite Christmas Carols:

 Love came down at Christmas,
Love all lovely, Love divine;
Love was born at Christmas;
star and angels gave the sign.

That was written by Christina Rossetti (1885).

I wonder if she might have added mince pies to the signs of love!

I am so grateful to all the sons and daughters who’ve told me about their mum’s mince pies and for my mam who made the best and crumbliest! 

What are your memories of Christmas food?  I’d love to hear.

If you are buying, baking or eating mince pies this week, have a wonderful time.

Wander well towards Christmas,

Mandy.

Things I love:

• Hearing family stories.
• A warm kitchen full of sweet, spicy baking.
• Eating mince pies.