It’s that dangerous, cinnamon-scented time of year. When fake snow beckons from shop windows and cousins-from-Connecticut make their brief appearance. When weighing scales and skinny jeans are harbingers of bad news.

Clearly, this nippy, festive season is unkind to those who count their calories. Some go weak at the knees when they spot the orange moons outside mithai shops — thalis of gajar halwa, glistening with desi ghee and khoya . Others can’t ignore the frothy charms of hot chocolate. And then some — like me — abandon commonsense when they catch that sugary, spicy whiff announcing the presence of Christmas goodies.

This terrible test of resolve begins in the middle of December when bakeries scrawl their Christmas wares on little blackboards: Plum cake studded with almonds, stollen stuffed with marzipan, star-topped mince tarts, yule logs, gingerbread men and jujubes.

The annual saga usually begins like this: I’ve dropped into my friendly neighbourhood bakery for a virtuous loaf of multi-grain bread, when I sniff that nutmeggy, boozy aroma. The counter is piled with round, red boxes full of Christmas cakes and rectangular boxes of stollen. “The first stollen of the season,” my greedy inner voice wheedles. “And how about a few mince tarts…?”

And I march home with a bulging bag that owes just half a bulge to multi-grain bread. And receive a rousing reception from my three daughters.

Stollen is a spicy bread — very popular in Germany — that’s rich with dried fruits, nuts, powdered sugar and marzipan. While the star-topped, English mince tarts are filled with chopped fruit, dried fruit and nuts that have been soaked in dark sugar, brandy and rum. (Great favourites in Tudor times, but the tarts that Henry VIII gobbled between disposing of wives were mixed with minced meat or beef fat. Incidentally, mince tarts are Santa’s favourite food. And it’s considered good luck to eat one on each of the 12 days of Christmas, beginning with Christmas Day and ending on January 5. So you still have time to amass some good luck.)

Anyway, mince tarts are wonderful with fresh cream. So I nip across to Modern Dairy. Then the tarts vanish but there’s cream in my pitcher. So I head back to the bakery for a few more tarts. Waste not, want not, and all that.

Once I’ve transacted my tart-related business, my eyes rove. And I realise that we still haven’t eaten Christmas cake this season. The plum cake I like best is the one with the snowy sugar and marzipan icing. But that’s available only on order. So I order. And then buy one of the bald ones anyway.

As I head home I acknowledge that sometimes, the good old days are a myth. When I was younger, I depended entirely on Aunty D’Souza’s generosity for my plum cake fix. Of course, there were Cake Ladies who made Christmas cakes on order. But traditionally, the preparations begin in September. So orders were accepted between September 1 and 15 — and, no matter how much I plotted and jotted, I always missed that magic window.

Then the first day of Christmas arrives, and so does my iced cake. After which we need some goodies for New Years. Then the panic sets in. During the first week of January, I snatch two stollens because the salesman says that this may be the last batch of the year. Then I buy a plum pudding for good measure. Then my husband arrives home with a plum cake because the pile on the counter has dwindled frighteningly.

Sometime in the middle of January I pop in for burger buns, and the salesman solemnly points to the four boxes on the counter and announces, “Our last batch of the year.”

I ho. I hum. And then I succumb. Then two days later the bakery calls. “We had a special order for stollens so baked a few extra,” they say in buttery tones. “We thought you might…”

Well, what would you do?

By the end of January it’s clear that skinny jeans are just not for me.

Shabnam Minwalla is a journalist and the author of The Strange Haunting of Model High School and The Shy Supergirl

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