"Christmas meant that the whole family was together—my parents and their five children, and also my father’s brother and sister and my mother’s sister. On Christmas Day in Enniscorthy, at one o’clock—the same time as every other Irish family—we ate the same food: turkey and ham and vegetables, including mashed and roast potatoes. The only difference between us and everybody else was that our Christmas pudding was better. My grandmother had known the cook at the Castle, and the cook had slipped her the recipe for the plum pudding that the Roches ate each year."
Read it: The New Yorker