We started observing the 25 Days of Drinkmas in 2020, a year that called for a booze advent calendar if ever a year called for a booze advent calendar.
We repeated the event in 2021, another year that absolutely warranted nightly cocktails for 3+ weeks straight, but it was cut short by some unexpected holiday travel.
And here we are in 2022. I’m trying to keep this light and fun, but this season started challenging me at about 10:00 a.m. on December 1st and shows no signs of letting up. But at least there will be fancy cocktails.
This was my 12th time observing National Bundt Cake Day by creating an original recipe cake. I woke up in the wee small hours of the morning of November 11 realizing I had no idea what I was going to bake, and almost immediately thereafter knowing this was the cake.
When we completed our 25 Days of Drinkmas in 2020, we had every intention of doing it again in 2021. What we didn’t realize was that it would still be categorized as an Adventure in Lockdown.
It’s Thanksgiving Week in the US, and rapidly approaching the winter holiday season for all, which means people who don’t cook or bake much any other time of year will be attempting to cook and bake things they may not have ever cooked or baked before. And for those people, very often that task will mean subjecting themselves to the beast that is The Food Blogger.
I first observed National Bundt Cake Day in 2011, so this year marked my 10th time celebrating the day by creating an original recipe Bundt. Some have been more successful than others. Some have been amazing. Some have been downright weird. Some, like last year’s, are best not spoken of.
It was National Bundt Cake Day 2019.
I had a dozen lemons from my tree going crazy.
I had a bottle of blue curaçao from that time it was on sale when I was shopping for supplies for the Harvey Wallbanger Bundt.
I had many fond memories of being in my 20s and going to Chili’s and eating burgers that were served with knives sticking out of them and drinking Electric Lemonade like it was water and not being at all disturbed by the fact that Chili’s thought it was a great idea to give patrons both knives and copious amounts of alcohol at the same time.
A few years ago, my husband awoke with a fragment of a dream clinging to his mind, a product of his subconscious eager to become part of his waking reality. As we were ingesting our respective morning psychoactives, he related to me the only part of this dream that really mattered:
“Bolognacotti.”
