Christmas is a season of joy, celebration, and remembrance—the miraculous birth of Jesus Christ. But it’s easy to get caught up in the hustle: the sales, the gifts, tian a food/the nonstop loop of Christmas songs playing in every store.
The real meaning often gets buried beneath wrapping paper and to-do lists.
Christmas has always been about something deeper than anything you can buy. It’s about family. It’s about friends. It’s about those quiet moments sitting around a table, laughing, eating, and sharing stories. It’s about gratitude for those we hold dear and honoring traditions that connect us to the people who came before us.
These days, what strikes me most about Christmas is the mix of joy and longing. Missing loved ones who aren’t here anymore is part of it. But watching my children grow up and build their own lives, sharing new traditions and memories, brings a special kind of hope. The circle of family keeps widening, and that’s something to be thankful for. It's a bittersweet but beautiful balance—looking back with gratitude and looking forward with expectation.
Christmas is also about helping others, about showing love and kindness to those who need it most. That’s a lesson driven home for me by the work we’ve done through Extra Table. Over the years I’ve learned that pantries and soup kitchens receive a bounty of help during the holiday season. Churches, schools, companies, and individuals feel compelled to give in December, and thank God for that generosity.
But the thing is—food-insecure children are just as hungry in July as they are at Christmastime.
The stark truth is that while food banks may be overflowing in December, their shelves can sit empty come March. Those in need aren’t just hungry on the holidays; they’re hungry all year long. The work we do through Extra Table has taught me that consistency matters—that making a difference isn’t a one-time act of kindness, but a steady, intentional effort. If you feel so led, go to extratable.org and know that 100% of your donation for food will go towards purchasing food for those in need.
As we gather around our tables this season, let’s remember—Christmas isn’t just a day. It’s a way of life. It’s a call to love our neighbors as ourselves. To feed the hungry. To care for the least of these.
Long before decorated trees and candlelight services, there was a baby in a manger—born into the humblest of circumstances. And when the angel appeared to the shepherds on that quiet night outside Bethlehem, his words were clear and pure:
“Fear not, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.”
—Luke 2:10-11
It’s that joy we should carry with us beyond December, into the cold, quiet days of January and the heat of July. It’s that joy that calls us to help others, not just when we feel generous, but when they truly need it.
As I look back on all the Christmases I’ve been blessed to experience, I am overwhelmed by gratitude. For my family, who’ve been my foundation. For my friends, who’ve stood by me through thick and thin. For my team members, both in the restaurants and overseas, who’ve given me their best efforts and trust. For the folks at Extra Table who make the impossible possible. And for the countless people I’ve met along the way who have shared their kindness and their stories with me.
The greatest Christmas gift we can give is our love and our service. And the greatest gift we’ve ever received was given to us in the simplest, most humble way.
One Solitary Life
He was born in an obscure village,
The child of a peasant woman.
He grew up in still another village,
Where he worked in a carpenter shop
Until he was thirty.
Then for three years
He was an itinerant preacher.
He never wrote a book.
He never held an office.
He never had a family or owned a home.
He didn’t go to college.
He never visited a big city.
He never traveled two hundred miles
From the place where he was born.
He did none of the things
One usually associates with greatness.
He had no credentials but himself.
He was only thirty-three
When the tide of public opinion turned against him.
His friends ran away.
He was turned over to his enemies.
And went through the mockery of a trial.
He was nailed to a cross
Between two thieves.
While he was dying,
His executioners gambled for his clothing,
The only property he had on Earth.
When he was dead,
He was laid in a borrowed grave
Through the pity of a friend.
Twenty centuries have come and gone,
And today he is the central figure
Of the human race,
And the leader of mankind’s progress.
All the armies that ever marched,
All the navies that ever sailed,
All the parliaments that ever sat,
All the kings that ever reigned,
Put together
Have not affected
The life of man on this earth
As much as that
One
Solitary
Life.
—J.A. Francis
Merry Christmas, and may God bless you all.
Onward.
Author’s Note:
This column started back in 1999. What began as a simple weekly commitment has carried on without missing a single week — not one — no matter where life or work had me at the time. About 1,000 words have gone out each week, and somewhere along the way 15 books were written, too. When the numbers are added up, it comes to more than 1,300,000 words in print. That total doesn’t feel like an achievement as much as a blessing — a long stretch of steady work made possible by people who have been kind enough to read along all these years.
Faith hasn’t shown up in many of those words. Not because of reluctance, but because it never quite fit naturally in a column built on food, travel, and the stories tied to both.
This week felt like the right moment.
What follows is the afterword to my newest book, Robert St. John’s Mississippi Christmas. It ends with a piece I’ve loved for years by J. A. Francis, and it felt right to share it here as the season approaches and as a small thanks to those who have been reading for so long.
Harrison’s Brown Butter Mashed Potatoes
Having a son who’s following in your footsteps is one thing. Watching him take what you’ve taught him and elevate it to something even better—that’s special. During his Christmas break from the Culinary Institute of America, Hyde Park, New York, a few years ago, he nudged me out of the way and made these mashed potatoes. I was skeptical, of course as I’ve been making mashed potatoes for decades. But there was no question his version was better. There’s a lot of pride in seeing him excel in the kitchen, making something as simple as mashed potatoes taste extraordinary. This recipe has become a new tradition in our family.
Watching him cook now, with all that skill and precision, is a proud moment for me every time. This is his recipe, and I’ve adopted it as my own.
Serves 6 to 8
4 pounds Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and cut into 1 1/2-inch pieces
3 sticks salted butter, divided
1 cup heavy whipping cream
2 long sprigs fresh thyme, crushed in your hand to release the oils
1 teaspoon fresh garlic, minced
1 tablespoon kosher salt, divided
2 teaspoons fresh ground black pepper
Place the prepared potatoes in an eight-quart saucepot and cover with cold water, ensuring the potatoes are submerged by two inches. Add two tablespoons of kosher salt to the water.
Place the pot over high heat and bring to a simmer. Reduce heat to maintain a gentle simmer and cook until the potatoes are fork-tender, about 20 to 25 minutes.
Drain the potatoes thoroughly and spread them out on a baking sheet. Place the baking sheet in a low oven (200°F) for five minutes to allow the potatoes to dry out slightly. This helps intensify the flavor and ensures a smoother texture.
While the potatoes are drying, prepare the brown butter. In a medium skillet, melt 1 1/2 sticks of butter over medium heat, swirling the pan frequently. Once the butter foams and turns a rich, golden brown, immediately remove from the heat and set aside.
In a small saucepan, heat the heavy cream, thyme, and garlic until just simmering. Remove from the heat and allow the mixture to steep for ten minutes. Strain and keep warm.
Pass the dried potatoes through a food mill or ricer back into the pot. Place the pot over low heat, stirring constantly to keep the potatoes warm.
Slowly fold the brown butter into the potatoes, allowing them to absorb the fat completely. Gradually add the warm infused cream, mixing until silky and smooth.
Fold in the remaining 1 1/2 sticks of cold, diced butter, a few pieces at a time, which creates a smooth texture and a glossy finish.
Season with the remaining salt and fresh ground black pepper. Taste and adjust seasoning if needed.
Serve immediately or keep warm using a bain-marie (water bath) to maintain texture.
