It wasn’t until I was a teenager that I realized nobody else I know partakes in this combination of delicacies on Christmas.
As the holidays approach, Franca is over 4,000 miles from home in Munich, Germany.
The wafer resembles communion bread in my childhood Catholic church, and it tastes like construction paper.
In many Slavic Christian traditions, the bread tells fortunes and predicts good luck and prosperity,
The New Year’s Eve revelries of my mother’s Soviet childhood were notoriously grand affairs. New Year’s Eve in my post-Soviet, Midwestern household is decidedly not.
For me, growing up as part of an immigrant diaspora has meant finding ways to connect to my culture beyond a physical space.
Celebrated annually from December 16 to 24, Las Posadas (“The Inns”) is a Catholic novena (nine-day long prayer) and festival.
Traditionally, there should always be twelve meatless dishes served for svyata vecherya, or Christmas Eve dinner.
Growing up in a Mexican American family, my fondest childhood memories always involve the Christmas season.
Seven-layer salad, possibly rooted in the American South, has become a staple of home-cooked Midwestern cuisine.