Mountains, Meals, and Memory: A Celebration of Food and Grace
Before the season of gatherings officially began, we had one of our own. My parents came to visit us in Argentina, and last week we traveled to Mendoza—a few days of adventure, beauty, and shared meals that felt like a celebration in themselves.
We traced the curves of the Andes, watched the light dance on Potrerillos Lake, and lingered over wine tastings in sun-drenched bodegas. At Bodega La Azul, the five-course feast was pure indulgence: poached egg, choripán, empanadas, grilled meats, and the most luscious lemon custard and ice cream. A saxophonist played as people danced between bites and sips—abundance in every sense.
Then came Finca Minimal, a quieter kind of magic. A farm-to-table experience rooted in local produce and shared plates. We tasted watermelon steak with spicy corn, river fish in a citrusy salad, portobello causa that reminded me of my friend Yuri in Roatán, and rabbit paella that brought back Spain. Each dish stirred a memory, each bite a thread in the tapestry of my own food story.
That trip reminded me: celebration isn’t just about the calendar. It’s about presence. About flavor. About the people around the table.
And as the holidays approach, I find myself reflecting on the many tables I’ve known…
I’ve celebrated Christmas in three countries, across three climates, and each one has left its mark.
In Canada, Christmas was cold and cozy. The house smelled of my grandma’s famous pork feet stew and meat pies, and the table overflowed with snacks—potato chips, peanuts, sweets tucked into every corner. My favorite were the amaretto truffles, rich and velvety, eaten slowly or not at all. Greens were rare, cranberry sauce came from a can, and the rhythm was indulgent, familiar, and a little chaotic.
Then came Roatán. Christmas on the beach, with friends and family chasing down a turkey on a Caribbean island. Some years we gave up and settled for resort buffets, laughing over plates of mystery meat and tropical desserts. It was loud, sun-drenched, and full of movement—kids running barefoot, adults sipping rum punch, and the ocean always nearby. It wasn’t traditional, but it was joyful.
Now, in Argentina, Christmas arrives in the heat of summer. We gather under the willow tree for a long asado, the grill sizzling with meats and vegetables. The table is bright with summer greens, fresh tomatoes, and chilled wine. It’s slower, more spacious. The dogs nap in the shade, and the sheep graze nearby. There’s no snow, no stuffing, but there’s a quiet abundance that feels just as festive.
After all these years and all these tables, one thing stays the same: the pressure to “be good” around food during the holidays. The guilt creeps in with every bite of pie, every second helping, every snack grabbed between meals. And just behind it, the New Year resolution looms—start fresh, eat clean, lose weight, fix what feels broken.
But what if we didn’t rush to fix?
What if we paused, breathed, and gave ourselves grace?
The holidays aren’t a test. They’re a season. A moment. A chance to gather, to taste, to remember. And food is part of that joy—not something to fear or control.
Instead of tracking calories or planning a January cleanse, what if we focused on presence?
On the smell of roasted vegetables, the warmth of a shared meal, the texture of a favorite dessert savored slowly. On laughter around the table, stories passed between bites, and the quiet satisfaction of being nourished.
Balance doesn’t mean perfection. It means choosing with care, eating with intention, and letting joy be part of the recipe.
Food is just one part of the holiday rhythm. To truly feel nourished, we need to care for the spaces around the meal too—our sleep, our movement, our hydration, our emotional pace.
Here are a few rituals I return to, especially during the holidays:
Sleep as digestion’s best friend
Late nights are festive, but rest is restorative. Try to anchor your sleep with small rituals: a warm infusion, a quiet moment, a screen-free hour. Your body will thank you.Hydration with intention
Yes, there will be wine. Maybe cocktails. Maybe bubbly. But alcohol doesn’t hydrate—so balance it with water, herbal teas, or citrus-infused sips throughout the day. I like to keep a carafe nearby, just to remind myself.Gentle movement, not punishment
A walk after the meal. A stretch before bed. Dancing while cooking. Movement doesn’t need to be intense—it just needs to feel good. Let it be part of the joy, not a reaction to guilt.Snack with presence, feast with joy
Plate your treats. Sit down. Taste them. Then arrive at the meal with curiosity, not compensation. Let the textures, smells, and flavors be part of the ritual.Greens as celebration
Add roasted veggies, fresh herbs, or a bright salad to your table—not as a “should,” but as a way to bring color, crunch, and care into the feast.
As the season winds down and the rhythm shifts, some of us feel ready for a reset—not out of guilt, but out of care. If you’re curious about a more personalized approach to nourishment, I’ll be offering Metabolic Balance consultations in the New Year. It’s not a cleanse. It’s not a diet. It’s a way to listen to your body’s unique needs and build a rhythm that feels sustainable. When you’re ready, I’d be honored to walk that path with you.
Whether you’re celebrating with meat pies or summer greens, this dish bring balance and brightness to any holiday spread. It’s simple, flavorful, and rooted in care—just like the season itself.
Maple-Glazed Brussels Sprouts with Toasted Pecans
A nod to Canadian winter, but with a nourishing twist.
Ingredients:
500g Brussels sprouts, trimmed and halved and blanched
1 tbsp olive oil
1 tbsp pure maple syrup
1 tsp Dijon mustard
Salt and pepper to taste
¼ cup toasted pecans (or walnuts)
Optional: a splash of apple cider vinegar for brightness
Instructions:
Preheat oven to 200°C (400°F).
Toss sprouts with olive oil, salt, and pepper. Roast for 20–25 minutes until golden.
In a small bowl, whisk maple syrup and mustard.
Drizzle glaze over roasted sprouts, add toasted nuts, and roast 5 more minutes.
Serve warm, with a sprinkle of flaky salt if desired.
Wishing you a season of flavor, memory, and grace—wherever your table may be.
Julie
