Christmas Eve dinner traditions vary widely among my friends. Some eat Wendy’s off of fine china, others go out for Chinese after Mass, and one even does the Italian-American Feast of the Seven Fishes. Many moons ago, my family would make sandwiches out of honey-baked ham and white bread, and devour Pringles. Why we stopped this, I’m not sure, but its replacement has been nothing short of legendary. The new dish? Mashed potato pizza.
Before you write me off as a Midwestern nutjob (though maybe you already did that over the blueberry bagels), hear my tale.
Comments