A few days remain until Christmas and the New Year, and it feels like everything arrived all at once. I hadn’t quite expected the holidays: the busy shops, the menus to decide on, the last-minute runs to the market and the butcher.
Have you ever been to a butcher a few days before Christmas? It’s a spectacle not to be missed — a place where you can pick up recipes simply by listening to conversations or observing what the butcher recommends for each cut.
I was still settling into autumn, enjoying foggy mornings and comforting soups, when winter and Christmas arrived without warning.
I’ve always believed in the magic of Christmas, but this year I hadn’t found time to reflect on it. That magic doesn’t happen by itself: it needs attention, a little imagination and twinkling lights. Over the years I’ve nurtured it with illustrated books, short stories and daydreams — a steady conviction that something wonderful was about to unfold in the days before Christmas.
So, with the house still undecorated — no tree, no wrapped gifts — I took a few hours just to be quiet. I switched on a small table lamp even though it was still light outside (I always feel more inspired with a lamp beside me), took a notebook and pen, and began to write.
How would I describe my ideal Christmas? What are the first words that come to mind?
This year, I would choose humble. Humble like the simple log the head of the family would place in the fireplace on Christmas Eve. It burns slowly, the embers glowing into the next day or even the New Year. This tradition, echoing ancient pre-Christmas rituals tied to the Winter Solstice, links darkness and cold with light and life. The log becomes a symbol of that union.
My grandfather Remigio called it il Ceppo — the log that brought gifts at Christmas. In local folklore, il Ceppo was imagined as a broad-shouldered figure with wild hair who left presents by the hearth, the real heart of the home.
My ideal Christmas is rooted in winter.
Christmas for me is both a religious and pagan celebration of light, and winter is the season where this comes alive. We light candles, linger by the fireplace, and watch nature quietly work beneath the frozen soil to prepare new life. Though I’m a July girl, I thrive in winter — the season of hearty stews, frosty mornings, lights and woollen scarves. With fewer cooking classes in the calendar, it’s our quiet season when I have time to think, look for inspiration, read and cook purely for pleasure.
My ideal Christmas includes a strong bond with nature.
Seven years ago, for the first Christmas in my new house, I bought a small juniper tree. I decorated it with a few baubles and lights salvaged from my parents’ box, a way to carry my family’s Christmas into the new home. That juniper still lives in a large clay pot by my front door — we greet each other every morning.
One of my favourite ideas for Christmas is to take a morning walk in the nearby pine forest to gather twigs, berries and evergreens to make a wreath for the door. Each year I intend to do it, but last-minute errands and cooking often get in the way. Perhaps writing it down will finally turn the plan into action this year.
My Christmas is white.
I don’t mean a snow-covered landscape — here in the hills between Siena and Florence a white Christmas is rare. I had a single snowy Christmas once, during a holiday in the Alps, and I remember it fondly: snow, a warming egg-broth soup, gifts in a hotel room and a Santa arriving in a little white truck.
At home, Christmas turns white from the generous dusting of icing sugar over Siena’s traditional sweets: powdered sugar falling like snow on panforte, a crackled sugar layer over ricciarelli — the melt-in-your-mouth almond cookies scented with vanilla and orange — and other festive confections.
When I closed my notebook and noticed the light outside fade into a clear night sky, I felt I had reclaimed time and could make the most of the remaining days. The magic of Christmas felt safe once more.
A very Tuscan Christmas menu
Before I bring down the attic box of decorations and untangle the lights, here are some seasonal recipes for a homemade, authentic Christmas feast — dishes I’m likely to serve this year as I begin compiling the shopping list.
Appetisers
To start, there will almost certainly be crostini neri, Tuscan chicken liver crostini. Chicken livers are cooked with carrot, celery, onion and bay leaf, then enriched with capers, butter and anchovy paste and puréed into a smooth pâté. Sometimes they include spleen, as in my aunt Teresa’s recipe.
Alongside those, smoked salmon crostini are a holiday staple that dates back to the 1980s when smoked salmon felt like a luxury reserved for Christmas. We would butter bread, lay a slice of smoked salmon on top and garnish with a lemon wedge. Smoked salmon is more common now, but those Christmas crostini still taste special.
First course
Fresh pasta is a must. Tommaso always requests potato tortelli from Mugello, served with a hearty meat ragù — beef or wild boar — a flavour that reminds him of his childhood in the mountains north of Florence.
I often prefer ricotta-filled tortelli, like those we served at our wedding, shaped into festive cappellacci. My mother and grandmother favour lasagna: they prepare trays of classic lasagna — meat sauce, mozzarella and béchamel — alongside mushroom lasagna made with sautéed mushrooms, béchamel and Parmigiano Reggiano. They freeze some trays so meals are ready throughout the holidays.
Main course and side dishes
The main course is usually meat. This year I might make stuffed pork loin again, perhaps adding grated orange zest with dried fennel flowers for extra brightness.
Wild boar is another traditional choice for Christmas, often doubled as a pasta sauce. Slow-braised meats are ideal when hosting many guests because you can prepare them in advance and simply reheat before serving.
Since my father-in-law hunts, he recently brought two pheasants, so a stewed pheasant may appear on the table — nonna, at 91, will likely take charge of the preparation, as she still has a special knack with game.
Side dishes might include spinach, artichoke or cardoon flans, along with one or two pans of roasted potatoes, which are indispensable on our holiday table.
Desserts
As a typical Tuscan family, we end every Christmas meal with panforte, ricciarelli and cavallucci. When I was a child they were store-bought; now we bake most of them in the days before Christmas. My mother bakes dozens of cavallucci in our wood-fired oven while I take on ricciarelli and panforte. Panettone and pandoro remain store-bought — I haven’t yet mastered them at home.
There’s usually a British-style Christmas cake on our table too: similar to panforte and often fed with brandy or whisky over time, it recalls my adult Christmases.
One of my favourite cakes is the Yule Log, a nod to the original log burned in the fireplace on Christmas night. This ties my wish for a humble, traditional Christmas back to the Tuscan menu I love.
A bonus recipe and a little surprise
Eggplant parmigiana would be my last meal, but when eggplants are out of season I turn to butternut squash parmigiana — equally satisfying, comforting and filling. There’s an old recipe on the blog, and now there’s also a video that walks through each step. It’s a lovely addition to a Christmas menu.
We’re returning to video after a few years. This time we collaborated with Alessandro Semplici, a filmmaker from Siena, to produce clear, inspiring recipe videos that will invite you into the kitchen with me. Tell us what you think of the new video in the comments, and share any requests — we’ll be working on new videos soon.