IT'S BEGINNING TO TASTE A LOT LIKE CHRISTMAS

Fifty Decembers ago when I was living in a cream-colored Dutch Colonial home in Ridgewood, New Jersey, my friend Nicole Samson dropped off a pumpkin loaf, tightly wrapped in tinfoil and adorned with red and green ribbons. My first thought was, this is probably delicious but it can’t possibly compete with the banana bread I make every Christmas season. 

Oh, was I wrong! Nicole’s pumpkin bread was moist, nutty, clove-y, raisiny, spicy, pumpkin-y, so tasty I had to have the recipe. Nicole graciously shared it and I tucked it into my holiday recipes file. One year later when I dug out that file and spotted the recipe card, I had two immediate reactions: first, I couldn’t wait to bake and taste it again and, second, I knew it would be the perfect gift to share with friends …. banana bread, you’re history!

But would Nicole be upset that I filched HER recipe for neighborhood largesse? I struggled with that dilemma for 10 minutes, remembering that she lived blocks away so her pumpkin bread recipients would not overlap with mine. Plus we were good pals who car-pooled our little guys to West Side Nursery school together — that had to count for something. Also, how could she get mad at me? Imitation is the best form of flattery, or something like that. 

So I followed every step of her recipe and made 10 pumpkin breads, wrapped them in tinfoil, tied them with festive ribbons, put them in a wicker basket and sent my happy little elves, six-year-old Alex and four-year-old Chris, out the door for delivery to the neighbors. That tradition continued year after year, though I must admit that during their teen years, Alex’s and Chris’ pep and enthusiasm waned significantly while toting 25 pumpkin breads (my list grew each December).

The tradition of making my pumpkin bread (well okay, Nicole’s) every December has never waned, even after moving from Ridgewood to Kennebunkport, then to Kennebunk Beach and now here to the Wells woods. I buy a slew of tins at Ocean State Job Lot and festive plastic bags at Target, then spend a day or two in the kitchen with the Kitchenaid Stand Mixer going full throttle. (Our Central Maine Power bill escalates on those days but it’s the price I pay for happiness because I do believe it’s more fun to give than receive.)

However, these days I truly miss my little helpful elves. Their delivery days ended two decades ago when they grew up, got married and moved away. Alex lives in New Hampshire and has her own family tradition of sharing baked goods with friends. Chris is in New Jersey, a busy dad and early morning commuter to NYC. 

So now I hoof around the hood dropping them off. 

My friendship with Nicole is still strong, and I’ve even been asked to share “our" recipe — which I happily do. So if anyone would like a copy, just email me: valmarier@me.com.  (I’m positive Nicole won’t mind.)