Some families grow up with postcard Christmases – crackling fires, golden retrievers by the hearth, snowflakes on the St. Augustine.
Then there was us. Our holidays were about as “Hallmark” as a ham sandwich on white bread.

We didn’t have much money, and we didn’t have a dad in the house. What we did have was love, a dozen casseroles, and a mother who believed in Christmas like preachers believe in Sunday.

My mother was a public-school art teacher – creative, underpaid, and armed with enough oil paint, pottery clay, and turpentine to rebuild Bethlehem from scratch. She didn’t have a budget for fancy decorations, so she leaned on imagination and child labor. My brother and I were her two-man decorating crew, compensated with cookies and guilt.

Which brings us to the tinsel.

Icicles, as we called them, were sacred. Every year my mother bought boxes of them by the gross. My family believed in tinsel the way Methodists believe in covered-dish suppers: not optional, and the more the better.

My brother and I would stand in front of the tree, hurling handfuls of icicles with the precision of a Mardi Gras float crew. The goal wasn’t beauty – it was density. If you could still see green, you were failing.

Our across-the-street neighbor, Jimmy McKenzie, had an entirely different philosophy. Jimmy placed his icicles on one at a time, straight as law, as if the whole neighborhood was grading him on neatness. His kids would sneak over to our house for a hit of chaos.

“Can we throw some with y’all?” they’d whisper, and my mother, Christmas outlaw that she was, would hand them fistfuls like contraband. Within minutes, our living room looked like Liberace had moved in for the season.

It was a glorious, glittering fire hazard.

Looking back, it was the perfect symbol of my childhood Christmases – messy, homemade, and full of love that wasn’t worried about getting it right, just getting it real.

Mom was the holiday general holding this whole operation together. She was raising two boys on a public school art teacher’s salary that could barely feed one Cocker Spaniel, but she never let that slow her down.

She never talked about what we didn’t have – she just made what we did have enough. I never realized how broke we were because everything we needed always showed up – usually in Pyrex.

If you ran out of sugar, someone had extra. If your lights blew out, neighborhood men appeared with ladders and more confidence than wiring knowledge. Christmas wasn’t just a holiday; it was a community sport.

Every kitchen on Bellewood Drive glowed warm and smelled like butter and something frying that probably shouldn’t be. The air was thick with cinnamon, bacon grease, and cigarette smoke – the official scent of a Hattiesburg December.

These days, my house looks nothing like the home I grew up in. The lights all work. The turkey is moist (thank you, brining). The mashed potatoes are from scratch because I can finally afford the luxury of lumps. But when the family piles in, the noise settles into a sound I’ve known my whole life. There’s still too much food, too many opinions, and always, always love.

If you ask me, Christmas doesn’t need snow, or pricy ornaments, or even working lights. It just needs a place like Bellewood Drive – where the food was honest, the neighbors were close, and love was just part of the block.

And I still believe that somewhere, under those old loblolly pines, that street is glowing. Maybe not on a map. But in the kind of light you carry with you the rest of your life. The kind of light that first lit up a manger – simple, warm, and full of hope.

Ours started on Bellewood Drive – a handful of houses, a mountain of casseroles, and enough love to make up for the rest.
And not a snowflake in sight.

Onward

BAYOU BACON & CHEDDAR SPREAD

Serves 6 to 8

This spread has become a go-to for Christmas parties, and if you’re smart, you’ll double the recipe because it’ll be gone before you know it. It’s best when made a day in advance—giving all the flavors time to mingle.

Ingredients:
6 slices thick-cut bacon, 1/4-inch dice
4 ounces pecan pieces
1 tablespoon dehydrated onion
8 ounces cream cheese, softened
10 ounces sharp Cheddar, shredded (about 2 1/2 cups), room temperature
1-4 ounce jar diced pimentos, drained
1/3 cup chives, chopped
1 teaspoon Creole seasoning
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon garlic powder

Directions:
■ Preheat oven to 325° F
■ Place the bacon in a medium-sized skillet over low-medium heat. Cook the bacon, stirring frequently until the bacon is crispy. Pour the bacon into a strainer and collect the bacon fat if desired for other uses. Pat the bacon with a paper towel to remove any excess fat.
■ While the bacon is cooking, spread the pecan pieces out on a baking sheet pan. Place the pecans in the oven and roast for eight minutes. Remove and cool.
■ Also, while the bacon is cooking, place the dehydrated onion in a small cup or bowl. Cover the onions with 1/4 cup of boiling water. Soak the onions for 10 minutes. Drain and squeeze out any excess water.
■ Place the cream cheese, 1 1/2 cups of the Cheddar cheese, half of the bacon, pecans, onions, pimentos, and chives into the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, if you have one. If not, regular beaters will work. Sprinkle in the Creole seasoning, pepper, salt, and garlic powder. Mix on low speed until well combined.
■ Combine the remaining bacon, pecans, onions, Cheddar cheese, pimentos, and chives. Shape the cheese mixture into a ball and roll it in the garnish ingredients. Serve immediately or wrap tightly in plastic and store overnight.
■ Allow the spread to sit out for 30 minutes before serving if made in advance. Pair with Wheat Thins or your favorite crackers.

Robert St. John is a restaurateur, author, enthusiastic traveler, and world-class eater from Hattiesburg, Mississippi. He has spent four decades in the restaurant industry, written 13 books, and written a syndicated newspaper column for more than 24 years. Read more about Robert at robertstjohn.com.

READER FAVORITES

• 

  ‘Bears, beets, brownies’

  By Ashlynd King • 2 days ago