Friday, December 16, 2011
And here is where you team up with 8-year-old Leigh Ann and tell me I'm adopted: Christmas at Turner Farm.
I wrapped a ball in fabric strips. Mom made this.
Too bad I couldn't get Zach to stand next to it in a green dickie and skin-tight cream sweater.
Even good ol' basket lamp gets in on the fun.
Can't forget the bathroom and bedroom.
One of the holiday treats my mom is known for...
1 stick butter
2 boxes powdered sugar
Dash of salt
1 c. pecans
½ c. bourbon
Cream butter and gradually work in sugar. Add bourbon and nuts. Roll into balls and refrigerate over night.
2 squares of unsweetened chocolate
6 squares of semi-sweet chocolate
½ bar of paraffin
Melt over low heat and dip bourbon balls.
Although this was originally my Aunt Sherry's (the one with the amazing house you all may have seen in the Thanksgiving pictures) recipe, my mom is the one with whom I will always associate this irrefutably unhealthy, but fantastically decadent, holiday treat. From the time I was a little girl who insisted on “helping” in the kitchen, I can remember mom rolling out bourbon balls and making peanut butter and chocolate fudge every Christmas season. While some were certainly reserved for family gatherings, most were carefully packaged in whimsical holiday tins and sent to fellow teachers, my or my sisters’ teachers, and a wide assortment of community friends. My mom is a wonderful cook, so any edible gift is typically welcomed by all; however, it seems recipients’ eyes shine a little brighter when these little goodies are unveiled.
One bourbon ball memory that will always make me laugh involves CLT, a man with a hilariously dry sense of humor, my part basset hound/part unknown breed dog, Willie, who happened to be dressed in a Christmas elf costume on the particular night in question, and a beautiful glass serving dish. Two pertinent facts: 1) Because mom often sets containers of various candies on coffee and side tables when she has guests over, it was not odd to see several bourbon ball and fudge options in numerous living room locals two Christmas Eves ago. 2) Willie will eat anything. Anything.
I was sitting in front of the fire, when Dad said simply, “Willie probably shouldn’t be eating 23 bourbon balls.” I ran over in a panic, saw the glass dish, which at this point only had one bourbon ball left in it, resting beside a content little mouth-stuffed Willie. Apparently, he had stealthily climbed on the coffee table and eaten, no kidding, seven or eight bourbon balls without being detected. The final lunge, however, the one that knocked the container over and thus, grabbed Dad’s attention, ruined his scheme. Long story short, Willie, and his stomach of steel, were just fine…and Mom earned yet another bourbon ball fan.