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There we were, driving home from Troy, Michigan, a suburb of Detroit, where we visited our son and family for Christmas.
We’ve finally realized that “going home for Christmas” no longer means coming to OUR home. Nowadays, few children live right around the corner from where they grew up. Now that they’re raising their own families somewhere else, they no longer have to “go home.” They’re already there. Their home is now “home.” Grandparents can visit them. Fortunately, ours invite us.
Anyway, to get from Troy to Richmond, Indiana, you have to go through Detroit, and Detroit is not the happiest place in the world right now. The long lines of vehicles heading south may have had occupants with some of the Christmas cheer still flowing in their veins when they started, but by the time they cleared the Motor City, most of it had disappeared. When we approached Toledo, it was all gone (including mine).
Just south of Toledo began the longest, unexplained traffic jam I’ve ever been in. We inched along, sometime stopping entirely, wondering what world-class accident was causing it all. Have you ever been in one of these? It took more than an hour to get to Bowling Green to find a few open spaces in the jam – and we didn’t see a single accident all the way. How do these highway traffic jams happen? Meanwhile, all the drivers had replaced yuletide kindness with either sullenness or aggressive obnoxiousness. Young cowboys kept darting from the adjoining lane into the small space right in front of me. I honked at a couple of them, which didn’t deter their dastardly intrusions, but it pacified my sullenness.
Well, thanks to Faye’s presence, there was a bit of Christmas charity still lurking in our car. “Wasn’t it nice the kids invited us?” she offered. “But they asked you to bring persimmon pudding.” “Of course, I usually do, but I couldn’t find any persimmons this year. I told them I’d bring a Stollen. They said that was fine but asked what was a Stollen?” “Didn’t they remember that Aunt Eileen always gave us a Stollen for Christmas?” When we broke out this delightful confectionery at Troy, someone said, “Oh, this is like fruit cake.” Uh, no! Maybe it’s somewhere between coffee cake and fruit cake. Much better.
Stollen is a traditional German delicacy, honored in our family tradition. Blessed Aunt Eileen is no longer with us, so we buy the packaged kind found at the local Aldi’s grocery, a German firm. Paul Schiele, a master baker German immigrant, could bake one down at his Joy Ann Cake Shop, but he only bakes Springerle cookies at Christmas. They are anise-flavored delicacies individually stamped with a yule scene on each one.
After maybe a little gentle pressure, we convinced the younger generation that they were SO lucky to have genuine German Stollen and it was NOT fruit cake.
Not that I am a fruit case basher. The right kind, like the Collin Street creations from Texas are delicious, and any with a rum soaking can be enjoyed by the unprejudiced. But as you may remember, since Calvin Trillin spread the canard that there is only one fruit cake and it is passed from house to house but never eaten, they’ve had a bad name.
We finally survived the traffic jam, even though it took us seven hours to make the trip instead of five. But when we arrived home, we had the delightful surprise of finding our young relatives had packed half the Stollen they hadn’t eaten. I guess they had decided they only deserved so much of a Very Good Thing.

–Vic Jose

Vic Jose :: Dec.27.2008 :: Uncategorized ::

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