The day before New Year’s Eve, I dug out our French tart pan with its removable bottom and made dessert: Tarte aux Pommes from Julia’s book, with an occasional glance at La Rousse. Not my first turn with this dish, so it didn’t take forever and the scent of the apples baking was ambrosia-like. A few days before that, I cavalierly added some lemon juice and sugar to some heavy cream, and to my delight—and surprise—it turned into a passable version of crème fraiche to garnish the tart.
The penultimate day of 2025 was also onion soup day. Facing five big onions with my freshly sharpened large santuko—I have three, ranging from a three-inch blade to a six-inch blade and finally the ten-inch one; Mama, Pappa and Baby Knife—I started slicing and crying. Once the onions were cooked according to Julia’s directions, into the big pot went homemade chicken stock. Oh, boy, did that smell heavenly.
On the day of, I sliced a mountain of white potatoes for the Dauphinoise au Gratinee, also from Julia’s book. What a fussy recipe that turned out to be, with precise timing and the additions of boiling milk and grated cheese that was supposed to be, somehow, mixed with butter. First, not enough cheese, so back to the box grater to produce more. Then… Julia didn’t explain how to mix the cheese with butter, so I threw caution to the wind and melted the butter. It worked just fine. The full recipe made a lot, so we enjoyed this dish re-heated for several more meals, and it tasted better each time.
Go figure.
While grocery shopping, I’d seen beautiful, almost ghostly white asparagus spears and couldn’t resist. Once again, Julia gave me a recipe that was perfect: an orange and rosemary flavored hollandaise sauce. Unfortunately, my first attempt at the sauce came out more like scrambled eggs—I was rushing at that point—so my husband stepped in and made a passable version. Sadly, those asparagus spears turned out to be fairly tough. I guess you can’t always judge a veggie by appearance. At least they weren’t as expensive as they looked.
It was the main dish, a three-rib veal roast, that we three were convinced would be the most difficult to obtain. Turned out, no, it was the easiest. I went to the fancy—read outrageously expensive—grocery store and asked if it was possible to order such a roast. Ten minutes later, the butcher’s assistant was wrapping it up. The roast spent overnight perfuming the fridge in its rub of garlic, rosemary and lemon zest, then perfumed the entire house as it roasted. As a once-a-year treat, it was spectacular.
We imbibed a very inexpensive—Yeah, okay, cheap from Costco, to balance the rib roast insanity—and surprisingly good Prosecco throughout dinner. Of course, we’d all pigged out on the appetizers, and the soup with its baguette rounds smothered in melted cheese was so rich, that we three ended up sharing one slice of the roast. (Which also reheated very nicely for several days afterwards. Don’t you love leftovers?)
With the tarte aux pommes, we enjoyed snifters of Calvados, because French apple pie calls for French apple spirits. The crème fraiche was just right as a garnish.
The final tradition we indulged in was to watch silly cooking shows until almost midnight, then open a bottle of real Champagne to count down to 2026.
Next year? I’m thinking something a little simpler that we three can take equal shares in, something that won’t take three days to prepare.
But, boy, was it deliciously worth it!
Here’s to a Wonderful and Healthy 2026 to all! 
© 2026 Kate Freiman