By December. The Christmas machine has started. The tree went up Saturday, a real one from the lot on Highway 30 because Dave insists on a real tree and I insist that Dave carry it and set it up and vacuum the needles, and this arrangement has worked for twelve years. The kids decorated it while I made hot chocolate from scratch: milk, cocoa powder, sugar, vanilla, a pinch of salt. Heated on the stove, not in the microwave, because microwave hot chocolate is a travesty against both chocolate and heat.
The ornaments are a record of our family. A ceramic angel from our first Christmas. A popsicle stick frame with Tyler baby photo. A football ornament for Justin. A tiny book ornament for Amber. A sparkly star that Josie made in first grade and which sheds glitter every year and which I will never throw away because some things are worth the mess. And at the top, a star that Gayle gave us the year we got married, tarnished now but still shining, the way old things shine when they are loved.
I started the Christmas baking: sugar cookies for the kids to decorate, gingerbread for the adults, and the fudge, Gayle fudge, the recipe I have been making since I was ten. Sugar, evaporated milk, butter, chocolate chips, marshmallow cream, vanilla, walnuts. Stir until soft ball stage. Pour. Cool. Cut. Eat. Repeat. The fudge lives in a tin on the counter and everyone sneaks pieces and I pretend not to notice, because Christmas fudge is meant to be stolen, not rationed.
The Chex mix is next. The cookie tins are lined up. The cake will be baked closer to Christmas. The machine is running, the schedule is made, and December is happening whether we are ready or not, and I am ready. I am always ready for December because December is the month where the cooking matters most, where every meal is either a tradition or becoming one, and where the kitchen is the warmest room in the house in every sense of the word.
After the fudge was poured and the sugar cookies were cooling, I moved on to the Chex mix—because the Christmas machine doesn’t stop just because the counter is already full. This Reindeer Munch is what fills the big bowl by the front door, the one the kids grab handfuls from every time they pass through, the one Dave tops off when he thinks I’m not looking. It’s sweet and salty and completely addictive, and like everything else in December, it disappears faster than I can make it.
Reindeer Munch
Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 5 minutes | Total Time: 50 minutes (includes setting time) | Servings: 12
Ingredients
- 5 cups Rice Chex cereal
- 5 cups Corn Chex cereal
- 2 cups mini pretzel twists
- 1 cup salted peanuts or cashews
- 2 cups white chocolate chips (12 oz)
- 2 tablespoons coconut oil or vegetable shortening
- 1 cup holiday M&Ms
- 1/2 cup red and green sprinkles
Instructions
- Combine the dry mix. In a very large bowl, toss together both Chex cereals, pretzel twists, and peanuts. Line two large baking sheets with parchment paper and set aside.
- Melt the white chocolate. In a microwave-safe bowl, combine white chocolate chips and coconut oil. Microwave in 30-second intervals, stirring between each, until completely smooth—about 1 1/2 to 2 minutes total. Do not overheat.
- Coat the mix. Pour the melted white chocolate over the cereal mixture and gently fold with a large spatula until everything is evenly coated. Work carefully to avoid crushing the cereal.
- Spread and decorate. Spread the coated mix onto the prepared baking sheets in a single layer. Immediately scatter the M&Ms and sprinkles over the top while the chocolate is still wet.
- Let it set. Allow the mix to cool and harden at room temperature for about 30 minutes, or speed it up in the refrigerator for 15 minutes.
- Break and serve. Once set, break the munch into clusters and pieces. Transfer to a large bowl or store in an airtight container at room temperature for up to one week.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 380 | Protein: 6g | Fat: 17g | Carbs: 54g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 310mg