There are about 109 things that can wrong when you’re learning to bake sourdough bread. Instructions will give you precise measurements (“355 grams of whole wheat flour at 65% hydration with a water temperature of 87 degrees”) coupled with vague, quasi-mystical admonitions like “you’ll know the dough is ready when it springs back slowly to the touch – but not too slowly! – and strikes a delicate balance between elasticity and extensibility, and has the faint smell of gym socks that have been worn twice by a casually athletic teenager, and glistens like gossamer under a pale Capricorn moon.” And woe to the novice baker who is off by a few grams of underhydrated flour, or a few milliseconds in proofing the dough, or foolishly thinks a Capricorn moon is pretty much like every other moon.

But if the planets align, and you’ve lived a somewhat virtuous life, sometimes the mixing of simple flour and water with the application of heat can result in a delicious loaf of edible goodness. I’ve been dabbling in sourdough baking this year, and let me assure you that it’s an inexact science – trial and error and persistence and luck are just as critical as a precise recipe. I’ve made progress in my experimentations (and have even successfully concocted sourdough bagels and pretzels!), but I still have much to learn – which is why you’re getting this crummy Christmas letter instead of a delicious loaf of tangy sourdough! Maybe next year.

Around Christmastime, one bread we often think about is gingerbread.  As with many of our beloved Christmas traditions, we can thank the Germans for this – they introduced gingerbread house construction in the early 1800s, building on the popularity of the Grimm’s rendition of the fairy tale “Hansel and Gretel.” (Recall that the unsuspecting guttersnipes in that tale were lured inside a tasty gingerbread house by a nefarious, cannibalistic witch… kids, let that be some sort of lesson about the pernicious consequences of unrestrained appetites.)

But the original bread house was Bethlehem – the domicile not of a wicked witch, but of the newborn Prince of Peace. Scripture tells us Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, whose Hebrew name rendered in English is “House of Bread.” The one who would declare himself the “Bread of Life” was born not in a worldly metropolis named for a king, but in a humble backwater named for the humblest of foods – bread. And this humbly-born sage would subsequently remind us of a simple truth: the bread which sustains the body is not nearly as important as that which sustains the soul.

We enjoy stuffing our bellies with tasty treats this time of year, perhaps because in these northern climes the landscape can otherwise seem bleak and kind of barren. But as you indulge your stomach this season, don’t forget to also treat your soul!

Sing some songs. Read a good book. Say some prayers. Get outside and walk. Write a few thank-you notes. Pet a cat. Take a long nap wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket. Call someone you’ve lost touch with. Write a poem. Pick up a new hobby, or renew an old one. Ugly cry over a sad movie. Light a candle for world peace. Go for a long car ride in the country and finger-wave at everyone. Do some journaling. Volunteer for a cause you believe in. Design your own family crest. Spend an entire day without touching your damn phone. Play cards with old people. Get that tattoo you’ve been thinking about. Get up early to watch the sunrise. Listen—really listen—to the pealing of church bells. And above all… count your blessings.

Whether this has been a year of feast or famine for you, my holiday wish is that you can take some time during this busy season to savor whatever it is that truly nourishes you – even if it’s just a vague sense of hope for a better tomorrow. Know that you’re in my thoughts right now, and that YOU have in some way nourished me. And I’m just very, very grateful for that.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year