When I was growing up and watching movies about Christmas, I remember wondering how on Earth someone could not make it home for the holidays. The excuses presented by the characters I saw onscreen never seemed to be big enough to warrant not reuniting on this essential day: work, a snowstorm, a family dispute.
And then I grew up, moved abroad, and understood.
My first Christmas away from home stemmed from a visa debacle, what the French would call a “Cornelian choice”: I could either go home for Christmas and give up my visa, starting the process of residency again from the U.S. and risking missing weeks of school… or I could remain in France with what had been dubbed an “irregular status,” waiting until the next available préfecture appointment to normalize my residency. I chose the latter, and, the choice made, unknowingly set off a chain reaction. I had made it “OK,” in my mind, to miss Christmas at home. I had done it once; doing it again would be easy. And the more times I decided not to go home for Christmas, the easier it seemed to become.
This year, however, I’ve made it home for the holidays, after a debacle of a flight that has probably used up the amount of anxiety-induced cortisol production my poor brain can handle for the next month. Minutes before starting for the airport, I received a Google notification telling me my flight had been bumped up, which prompted me to leap into an Uber, only to find, upon arriving at the airport, that it was a computer glitch. I landed an hour later than I was supposed to and missed my train and, befuddled, lost all ability to make intelligent decisions, as is often the case when I’m overwhelmed.
I was reminded, last night, standing on the train platform of Newark Airport at midnight, of something similar that happened to me when I was 14 years old, similarly befuddled and overwhelmed in an airport, albeit a London one. I called my mother, then, frantic, because an airport official had sent me to the wrong terminal for my connection back from foreign exchange in Lille. I was carrying two massive bags – one filled with Christmas presents, the other with books for my upcoming final exams.
“Em,” my mother said. “Ask someone for help. They all speak English there.”
I think what she didn’t realize is that it was not the latter, but the former that I needed to hear.
I’m not very good at asking for help. I’m not too sure why, because whenever I do, I’m always pleasantly surprised at how willing those around me are to give it to me. Last night, my aunt and my brother became my brain when mine had had enough, guiding me home over the phone, to where my brother had made up a bed for me in the living room and, at long last, I could sleep.
I’m home for Christmas now. And boy, am I glad.
Homemade Meat Sauce
This isn’t a true Bolognese, but I love it all the same.
100 grams bacon, cut into matchsticks
300 grams Italian sausage
300 grams ground beef
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 onions, brunoise
1 carrot, brunoise
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 pinch red chili flakes
1/4 cup tomato paste
1 800 gram can whole peeled tomatoes
salt and pepper
Place the bacon in a Dutch oven, and heat over medium heat until the fat renders and the bacon is nice and browned. Remove the bacon from the pot, leaving the fat, and set aside.
Remove the sausage from its casing, and add it to the pot. Break it up with a wooden spoon and brown on all sides. Remove, setting aside with the bacon, leaving the fat behind.
Add the ground beef to the pot and season with salt. Brown on all sides, then set aside with the other meats.
Add the olive oil to the pan, if needed, then add the onions and the carrot. Season with salt and cook, stirring occasionally, until nicely browned and caramelized, about 10-15 minutes. Add the garlic, chili flakes, and tomato paste, and fry 2-3 minutes, until fragrant. Add the tomatoes and stir to combine.
Simmer the tomato sauce for about 15 minutes, then use an immersion blender to blend until smooth. Add the meats back to the pot and simmer for an additional 20-30 minutes.