One of my favorite memories of Christmas is the bourbon balls Mom would make every year. To this day, I carry on the tradition and eat my weight in them pre-Christmas. Then, around Christmas day when we visit my parents, I enjoy the b.b's Mom made for her cookie platter. I, basically, would not think to pass up the opportunity.
The ingredients are simple: ground pecans and vanilla wafers, confectioner's sugar, and a half cup of whiskey. Mix, shape into balls, add a generous coating of MORE confectioner's sugar and, walah, a bourbon ball is born.
UMMMMM. Sugar, cookies and liquor all in one place. The pecans? Strangely added. Probably by some thoughtful German who reasoned that the little protein kick would be good for the hangover you'd develop if you ate too many of them*.
I started eating bourbon balls about the time I could really enunciate "ball" and had the lung capacity to scream for several minutes if they weren't proffered. I don't remember anybody in my family telling me I couldn't have them. Today, people would be calling CPS and screaming child abuse. Thank GOODNESS I am not a child of the 00's.
Yet, interestingly, last night at our party, where these little jewels were served, I found myself discouraging the under ten set from eating them. None of the quite respectful children in my house asked "Why not?". But, if they had, I would have cleverly told them they were made with "fire water" and they wouldn't like them. Truthfully, I just don't want to waste a single one on younguns would can't appreciate a true delicacy.
Christmas has arrived here. In the form of a lowly bourbon ball. OH, the joy.
*I speak from experience. Sad, sad experience.