the little boy that santa claus forgot

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He’s the little boy that Santa Claus forgot,
And goodness knows, he didn’t want a lot.

He sent a note to Santa
For some soldiers and a drum,
It broke his little heart 
When he found Santa hadn’t come.

In the street he envies all those lucky boys,
Then wanders home to last year’s broken toys.
I’m so sorry for that laddie,
He hasn’t got a daddy,
The little boy that Santa Claus forgot.

(You know, Christmas comes but once a year for every girl and boy,
The laughter and the joy they find in each brand new toy.
I’ll tell you of a little boy that lives across the way…
This little fella’s Christmas is just another day.
He’s the little boy that Santa Claus forgot,
And goodness knows, he didn’t want a lot.)

In the street he envies all those lucky boys,
Then wanders home to last year’s broken toys.
I’m so sorry for that laddie,
He hasn’t got a daddy,
The little boy that Santa Claus forgot.

Nat King Cole,
The little boy that Santa Claus forgot.
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Santa did not forget me. And yes, this little boy is me. It is my sister and me, a few decades ago (dare I say many decades ago?).

Christmas baking has always been a central part of our lives when we grew up. My grand mother was a wizard in the kitchen. I still can smell the Schokoladekeks, Vanuillekipferl, Linzeraugen, Windbäckerei, Lebkuchen and all the other goodies she would hide in her bedroom, which would be shared only little plate by little plate.

My mother would make, without fail, every year a gingerbread house which would be demolished and devoured at christmas, as above image so clearly shows.

To this very day it is a central pre-christmas ritual. It would not be christmas without a few evenings, …. and night in the kitchen, weighing, mixing, stirring, melting and baking and …. licking. Do not forget licking of the many spoons with sweet and buttery yummieness.

And this year, without fail, I got into my kitchen to prepare my Weihnachtsstollen. The beginning always make the fruits marinated in the best brandy I can find. This year it was a Calvados we brought back from our trip to the Normandy just a couple of weeks ago.

And after some mixing and fermenting, resting and some more mixing, I ended up with these four beautiful pieces of dough, studded with Calvados-marinated fruits and peels, emanating this mix of spices and fruity scent, that can mean only one thing. Christmas is coming.

And since one goodness in seldom enough, I stuffed my Weihnachtsstollen with some marzipan. …. all the way from Lübeck … naturally.

Now, baked and dipped (not brushed !!) in plenty hot butter and rolled in vanilla laced powdered sugar, this beauty is awaiting christmas.

The following morning one could still smell the fruits and spices and vanilla and the smell only a fresh christmas cake can give, in the whole house.

Hopefully we will have some left when Santa does not forget THIS LITTLE BOY ….

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One Comment Add yours

  1. Indeed the scent of spices is magical…..

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