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It could have been worse, it really could.  Lloyd and I could have been one of the thousands hapless enough to fly U.S. Airways and to change planes at Philadelphia International Airport.  Maybe it was just weather trouble, maybe it was a wildcat sickout, maybe it was none of the above, but either way it resulted in a pileup of luggage that made the cover of both the Philadelphia Inquirer and the New York Times, and made me dizzy with relief that our bags were not among them. 

Nevertheless, while it never approached that level of awfulness, our trip did not begin auspiciously.  The plan was for me to leave the office at 1, head to Penn Station, pick up our tickets from the Amtrak ticket machine (no long scary lines!) and meet Lloyd in front of the Krispy Kreme.  I ended up leaving the office closer to noon so that I could pick up some lunch and some extra cash from the ATM.  It was the smartest thing I did all weekend, leaving early.  Apparently somebody at the Amtrak Philadelphia ticket office punched a wrong button and ended up issuing our tickets to someone else, and thus when I went to print out the tickets at the Quik-Trak machine, surprise!  No tickets for you!  I had visions of spending all weekend trying to get out of New York, looking forlornly at the spiced beef that had to be roasted that day if we were to eat it on Christmas Eve, eventually seeing myself on file footage shot by the local news affiliates:  "Hey!  Look at all these stranded travelers!  Let's show you that exhausted furious chubby woman with the bag full of beef again!"  Fortunately, an extra ticket window opened up, a window expressly for Metroliner passengers and/or people who had bought their tickets online and were having trouble picking them up, and the nice folks at Amtrak issued us a set of dupe tickets, and thus was the worst of our travel trouble over.  (The drive from 30th Street Station to my parents' house in the pounding, driving rain, that was my mom's trouble to deal with.  Thank you, Mom.)

I'm afraid, dear friends, that anything that follows from this point is pretty much anticlimactic.  A happy family that plays together nicely is a grand thing, but it doesn't exactly make for scintillating reading.  The only real moment of drama in the weekend came when a friendly young woman knocked on my parents' door and asked us if we knew that, according to Biblical prophecy, there is a direct link between the birth of Jesus and peace on earth.  Unfortunately for her, Lloyd answered the door.  (Relax, folks.  Lloyd did not abuse the nice young missionary woman, but he did make perfectly clear, in a friendly but firm way, that further good news would not be welcome.)  There was also some ancillary drama on Christmas Day when we went to visit my grandmother, who has mid-stage Alzheimer's and a tendency to get very nasty to my mom, but other than that, it was a weekend full of meandering happily throughout various kitchens; finally roasting the beef after a two-week spice cure and smelling that inimitable fragrance all over the house; putting together a Christmas Eve dinner at my parents' house that consisted of that magnificent beef, scalloped potatoes, tossed salad, celery remoulade, and gingerbread; going to my mom's best friend's house in Kintnersville (a beautiful part of Pennsylvania for those of you not familiar with it) and watching her put together the best standing rib roast and Yorkshire pudding I've ever eaten for our Christmas dinner; and even more happy meandering through the kitchen. 

I had promised cinnamon rolls for our Christmas breakfast, the dough to be mixed after Christmas Eve dinner, left overnight in the fridge to ferment, taken out to be filled, shaped, proofed, baked and iced early Christmas morning.  Christmas Eve found me happy but exhausted amidst wrapping paper detritus and my spanking-new Christmas presents.  My mom told me not to worry about cinnamon rolls, that I had more than earned my stripes with dinner, but I felt guilty about reneging nonetheless.  Christmas morning found me poking through my mom's Hoosier cabinet, where she keeps all of her baking supplies, and mixing some spur-of-the-moment scones.  I've made a fair amount of scones in my day, but even I was surprised by how well these turned out, and by how well I could schwag a recipe based on the ingredients at hand.

"Oh, no," my mom said when she came into the kitchen on Christmas morning and found me elbow-deep in dough.  "You don't have to do this.  You shouldn't have to spend your whole Christmas working."  Before I could demur and insist that it was no trouble at all, and fun to boot, Lloyd beat me to the punch.  "Believe me," he said, "she considers this entertainment."  Well, sure.

Jen's Spur-of-the-Moment Christmas Scones

makes 9 huge scones or 12 nice moderate scones that won't make your friends in foreign countries shake their heads and ask "why must you Americans eat such big foods?"

3 cups (12 3/4 oz.) all-purpose flour, measured by spooning the flour into the cup and leveling it off with a knife

2 tsp. baking powder

1/2 tsp. baking soda

1/2 tsp. salt

scant 1/4 cup (1 3/4 oz.) granulated sugar

5 oz. (1 stick + 2 tbsp) unsalted butter, chilled (I used Plugra, which worked very nicely, but a standard American butter like Land O'Lakes or Breakstone will work, too)

8 fluid oz. (1 cup) buttermilk, plus a little extra if the dough runs dry

1 egg

about 1/2 cup dried cherries (tart or sweet will both work)

about 1/2 cup semisweet chocolate chips

1 egg yolk beaten with a little cream or milk (for egg wash)

coarse sugar (optional)

Preheat oven to 450F degrees (Gas Mark 7 for our friends in the UK).  Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

Combine the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt and sugar in a large mixing bowl.  Cut in the butter using a pastry blender, two knives or your fingers, until the dough is the consistency of coarse cornmeal.  Add the egg to the buttermilk and beat to combine, then add to the dry ingredients and mix.  Take care not to overmix, and feel free to add a little more buttermilk if the whole mix feels a bit dry.  Add the cherries and chocolate and mix to combine.

Flour a work surface, turn the dough out, knead about five times to be sure everything is well-incorporated, and roll or pat out into a roughly 1-inch thick circle.  Using a bench scraper or sharp knife, cut the dough into 9 or 12 equal pieces (you can also use a biscuit cutter).  Place the cut scones on the baking sheet, brush with the egg wash and sprinkle with the coarse sugar, if using.

Bake the scones for 8 minutes (if you're making the regular size) or 10 minutes (if you're making the large).  Turn off the oven and let the scones bake for an additional 5-7 minutes for the regular, or 8 minutes for the large.  The scones should be golden brown and well-risen.  Take them out and let them cool, but only a little.