Gingerbread Latte

Winter solstice Wednesday. I drove to the river at dusk this year rather than dawn — different time, same spot, the ice at the edges and the dark current in the center. The sun setting behind the mountains to the west, the light going amber and then gone. I stood there until full dark. Five years in two weeks. I was thinking about the man who stood in the parking lot in Billings in January 2018 and decided not to go in. I've been thinking about him differently this year. Not with the distance I used to maintain, the separation of that man from this man. More as the same continuous person, who made a decision that changed the direction, and who is still that person and also this different person. The continuity matters. You can't inherit the good parts of what you've built if you disown the person who built them.

Christmas in five days. The table set for seven: Mom, Dad, Tom, Cole, Emma, June, and me. June at her first Christmas, which she will not remember but which everyone who is there will. That's what the first Christmas is for — not the child's experience but the family's record.

Sourdough for the Christmas gifts again. Five loaves, wrapped in cloth, delivered Thursday and Friday. Tom, the Brennans, the Kowalskis, Dr. Meyers, Father Brannigan. The same list, mostly, every year. Small economies of generosity that require only time and flour and attention.

Made oyster stew for the solstice. The tradition of the second batch, the one that arrives at the turning of the light. Cream and butter and oysters and celery salt. The food that means December at its most specific, tasted on the night the year turns back toward light.

After I came in from the river that night — hands cold, the full dark settled in, five years sitting quietly in my chest — I didn’t want anything complicated. The oyster stew had done its work at the table. What I wanted after was something warm to hold, something spiced and familiar that tasted like December specifically and not any other month. The gingerbread latte has become part of the same solstice ritual: the stew for the meal, this for after, both of them belonging to the night the year turns.

Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 10 minutes | Total Time: 15 minutes | Servings: 2

Ingredients

2 cups whole milk
2 tablespoons molasses
1 tablespoon brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/8 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1 cup strong brewed coffee or 2 shots espresso
Whipped cream, for serving
Pinch of cinnamon or gingerbread spice, for garnish

Instructions

Warm the milk. In a small saucepan over medium-low heat, combine the milk, molasses, and brown sugar. Whisk together and heat until steaming, about 4–5 minutes. Do not boil.
Add the spices. Stir in the ginger, cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, and vanilla extract. Continue whisking over low heat for another 2 minutes until fully combined and fragrant.
Froth the mixture. Remove from heat. Use an immersion blender, a whisk, or a jar with a tight lid to froth the spiced milk until slightly foamy, about 30 seconds.
Brew the coffee. Brew 1 cup of strong coffee or pull 2 shots of espresso. Divide evenly between two mugs.
Combine and serve. Pour the spiced milk mixture over the coffee in each mug. Top with whipped cream and a pinch of cinnamon or gingerbread spice. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Gingerbread Latte — The Warmth You Carry Back From the River