Do you or your family make any special dishes for the holidays?

Holidays in my family donβt start with decorations or musicβ
they begin with the unmistakable orchestra of the kitchen.
Before anyone says βHappy Holidays,β someone has already asked,
βDid you buy the ingredients?β
Every year, like clockwork, our home transforms into a delicious memory factory. And at the heart of it all are our familyβs special holiday dishes, each one carrying a story, a habit, and a little harmless argument.
The Sweet Beginning: Momβs Signature Kaju Katli
The official sign that the holidays have truly arrived?
The sweet, nutty aroma of kaju slowly roasting on the stove.
Mom insists no store-bought version can compete with hers.
And honestly? Sheβs right.
Her kaju katli is so smooth it almost tastes like nostalgia pressed into diamonds. Each piece is cut with the same steel ruler sheβs used for 15 yearsβher proud little tradition.
The Spicy Middle: Dadβs βSecretβ Undhiyu
Dad takes over the kitchen only once a year, and he behaves like a Michelin chef on a mission.
Every year he whispers,
βDonβt tell anyone my secret ingredients.β
We all nod.
We also all know the βsecretβ is just extra coriander and a handful of love heβll never admit to.
But his Undhiyu?
Oh, it deserves its own paradeβwarm, rich, slightly smoky, reminding us why winter tastes better at home.
My Contribution: The Not-So-Perfect Hot Chocolate
I like to think I add a modern twist to our otherwise traditional spread.
Every year, I make hot chocolate that is either:
a) too thick
b) too sweet
or
c) somehow both
Yet my family insists on it.
Not because itβs perfect, but because itβs mine.
Because it completes the pictureβour slightly chaotic, always comforting holiday table.
The Best Part? The Togetherness.
The dishes are special, yesβ¦
but itβs the stories, the teasing, the shared spoons and stolen bites that stay with us long after the holidays are over.
Our kitchen is not just where food is madeβ
itβs where the year melts, memories simmer, and laughter rises like steam.
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