This Is Not a Christmas Post

Yeah, yeah, I know it’s technically New Year’s Day. I’ll get to that at some point. You should know by now you get what you get with my blog. And now on to the post.

Between COVID and losing both elderly parents in 2 years, it’s been a long, weird road to 2023 (almost 2024). Our family of origin was 6, and is now 4 plus 2 in laws and we’re all a bit discombobulated to say the least. Our traditions, including Christmas, have become unraveled and frayed like loosely woven fabric and a few too many wash cycles. Mind you Christmas celebrations were mainly me, my son, my sister and brother-in-law, my parents, and a family friend. Our other sister doesn’t celebrate and our brother often spends it with his wife’s family. Still it was enough people to make a tradition, and we have accepted over the years that we siblings are very different people, living different lives. (This post will give you the 10 cent tour: My Family Was Catholic Until the Almighty Got a Hold of Us.)

This year was the first year we could get our heads around what the heck Christmas could even be. But I knew one thing for sure. I was making the Party Crunch. Some of you may know it as Chex mix or Christmas crack, and I will tell you all your recipes are wrong. Or at least, yours is the right one for your bunch. My recipe is the right one for my bunch, and I will die on that hill. No amount of your YouTube how-to videos and “influencer” status is going to change that.

Mine is the right one because it’s typewriter typed on an index card that has stains on it. That’s authentication right there. The second reason why my recipe is right? 1 pound of butter. We’re not dorking around here people with your pathetic “6 tablespoons“ or even half a pound of butter. Go butter big or go home. OK, yes, the recipe says margarine, but it was the 70s. It meant to say butter. One year when we were teenagers, Mom was on some sort of health kick and reduced the butter to 3 sticks. Riotous protests ensued. It was waaaaay different and not our Party Crunch. She even had the temerity to scribble out the 1 on the card and replace it with 3/4. While I know better than to mess with an original authenticated document, to ensure that my son has the correct recipe, that mistake has been corrected on the copy.

I took over making the crunch in 2014, maybe 2015. Mom wasn’t up to doing it anymore, so I made my first batch at my house. The recipe lists the ingredients and then “Bake at 250 for one hour stirring every 15 minutes.” I knew enough to melt the butter and whisk in the spices. Then I put the whisk down like a normal person and poured the melted butter over the Chex mix. Too late I realized the spices had sunk to the bottom of the pan a second after I stopped stirring and while all the Chex mix got the butter, only 20% of it got the spices.

Clumps of spices. Pro tip: Saying “Shit! Shit! Shit!” while desperately trying to even out the clumps does not improve the situation.

When I brought it to my parents house, Mom gave it the thumbs down.

“You have to keep whisking it as you pour it,” she said. Well, that tip, or really any directions, would’ve been helpful to put on the recipe card, Mom.

After that first batch, I whisked and poured like my life depended on it, because I wasn’t sure I was going to be let into my parents’ house without the Party Crunch. Eventually I brought it to my sister‘s house when my parents were too elderly to host. I continued to make it during COVID, because while we weren’t seeing anyone, my son loves it and traditions by definition need to be passed down, right? Last year, I took pictures of it in the pan and sent it to my siblings. Despite our differences, we can all agree we have the best Party Crunch recipe. They were all so excited about it. Never underestimate the power of 1 pound of butter to unite 4 siblings and 2 in-laws. I decided to surprise them and sent them a care package, including a gluten-free one for my sister (thank you Cheerios and corn and rice Chex). Everybody loved it and even returned their containers (hint, hint), so I think I may have signed up for this for life.

I admit I was in a crabby mood in early December this year. Who knows why? I’ve stopped asking and trying to self-help myself out of these situations. Life is often hard. My hormones can bully me like a scrawny bespectacled kid on a playground. It’s dark at 4 pm. There’s air outside. Whatever. But making, packaging, and bringing the Party Crunch to the post office made my whole week better. The packages arrived around the same time, except for my brother who lives up in northern Maine. It was going to take an extra day anyway, and this year we had a big storm with flooding in the Northeast, so I think his arrived by boat one day after that. A few days later, we were all texting and a whole competition broke out about who had eaten more the fastest, and who was going to finish theirs first, and why did someone get a fancy tin? There was more, but what goes on in a Party Crunch sibling text string, stays in a Party Crunch sibling text string.

All I will say is I’m getting the 30-gallon barrels per sibling on order and finalizing supply contracts with General Mills for Chex and Planters for the mixed nuts. And that even if life wears away your traditions, sometimes you can find a way to bring something of them back. Starting with a pound of butter never hurts.

The recipe copy, revised for posterity. Oops! I better add the whisking and pouring…or maybe I make the kid learn it the hard way? It could start a new tradition!