Holiday festivities are muted and gatherings reduced this year, inspiring feelings that toggle between a yearning for glitter and a craving for comfort. How to celebrate and what to eat strive for a balance between these mixed desires. In my mind, the following recipe achieves just that. It’s simple yet elegant, special but not pretentious, and relies on a short list of honest ingredients that drive wonderfully fresh flavor.

I grew up in New England, where lobster is ubiquitous. It’s the quintessential summer food, associated with the seashore and bare feet, picnic tables and messy eating, accessorized by dribbling butter, nutcrackers and paper bibs. Now, many years and moves later, I rarely eat lobster. When I do, it’s usually on special occasions. The once standard summer fare has morphed into a celebratory treat, and there’s no time better for such an indulgence than the holidays, when shellfish and crustaceans go ever so well with a glass of bubbly.

This is a recipe for this time. It’s understated and comforting, yet carries the swag of fresh-cooked lobster meat. The method is simple, allowing the lobster to shine without bogging it down with heavy or precious ingredients; it humbly yet elegantly gives the lobster (and its necessary splurge) the respect and appreciation it deserves.

If you prefer not to use lobster meat, shrimp are an excellent alternative, and they will bump this recipe onto your roster of easy weeknight meals. When using shrimp, simply saute them in olive oil with a pinch of salt before adding them to the dish.

Lobster Spaghetti

Active Time: 30 minutes

Total Time: 30 minutes

Yield: Serves 4

1 pound spaghetti or bucatini

Salt

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

1 pound grape tomatoes, halved

2 garlic cloves, minced

1 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, plus more for garnish

1 pound cooked lobster meat, as chunky as possible

1/2 cup loosely packed basil leaves, torn, plus extra for garnish

Lemon wedges

Bring a large pot of generously salted water to a rolling boil. Add the spaghetti and cook 1 minute less than al dente. Drain, reserving 1 cup cooking water.

While the pasta is cooking, heat the oil in a large, deep skillet over medium heat. Add the tomatoes and cook until they begin to break down and their juices release, 8 to 10 minutes, stirring frequently. Stir in the garlic and red pepper flakes and continue to cook until fragrant and the tomatoes soften further, 2 to 3 minutes. Season with the salt and pepper and taste to adjust.

Add the lobster meat to the skillet and stir to coat. Add the drained pasta and 1/4 cup reserved cooking liquid. Continue to cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, until the dish is well combined, adding 1/4 cup more liquid at a time to your desired consistency. The sauce should be glossy and evenly coat the spaghetti without being stodgy. Stir in the basil.

Divide the pasta between serving plates and garnish with additional basil, freshly ground black pepper, and a squeeze of lemon.

CAPTIONS AND CREDITS

It's winter, nearly the new year, and uncertain times. With that convergence, we could all do with some hygge right now. You might have heard about hygge, a Danish word that’s made a splash beyond its Nordic borders. It’s an appealing term, albeit linguistically challenging (pronounced WHO-gheh). The meaning, however, is hardly challenging.

Hygge is an intrinsic notion of comfort, warmth and coziness that transcends borders and language. It's not so much an object as it is a state of being. Hygge and its adjective, hyggelig, can refer to a gathering, a meal, a conversation, or simply a collective and communal moment, enhanced by good will and simple yet pleasurable things, such as flickering candles, fleecy blankets, a cup of tea, an uplifting conversation or delicious homemade food. Hygge is nondenominational, nonjudgmental, undemanding and egalitarian. No wonder it's so popular. We all need a dose of it.

Which brings me to meatballs.

If there is any food group that evokes intergenerational and international comfort, it's meatballs. Not only do they simply taste great, meatballs are in nearly every cuisine and enjoyed by children and adults alike. Your mother likely made meatballs, and so did her mother. They are the epitome of comfort food, burrowed into our culinary DNA, establishing a baseline that transcends economy, class and the ages.

And, as with most comfort food, meatballs are an efficient means to stretch inexpensive cuts of meat by jumbling the ingredients with herbs and spices, and braising them in rich and robust sauces and stews, ladling them over noodles, swiping them in dipping sauce, and piling them into double-fisted sandwiches. There is a recipe for everyone and every preference, including vegetarian with beans and legumes.

Eating them is unpretentious, comforting and immensely fulfilling, and bets are that you've been nibbling on meatballs since you were old enough to wrap your fingers around them. So, while I cannot light a fire or knit mittens for you, I can at least share a meatball recipe with you, and wish you a hyggelig meal.

In keeping with the origin of hygge, these lettuce wraps are inspired by Nordic cuisine with straightforward, no-nonsense spices and garnishes. I’ve taken the liberty to substitute cranberries for what would be lingonberries, which grow prolifically in Sweden. Lingonberries can be tricky to find here, however, unless you live next to an IKEA. Cranberries provide the same tart kick, and you might even have some left over from Thanksgiving.

Spiced Meatball Lettuce Wraps With Cranberry and Dill

Active Time: 45 minutes

Total Time: 45 minutes, plus 1 hour chilling time

Yield: Makes 24 to 28 meatballs

Compote:

2 cups fresh or frozen cranberries

1/2 cup sugar

1 sprig rosemary

Pinch of salt

Meatballs:

1 tablespoon unsalted butter

1 small yellow onion, finely chopped, about 1/2 cup

3 garlic cloves, minced

1 pound ground beef

1 pound ground pork

1 large egg, lightly beaten

1/2 cup breadcrumbs, such as panko

1/2 cup fresh parsley leaves, finely chopped

1/3 cup fresh dill, chopped, plus extra for garnish

2 teaspoons salt

1 teaspoon dried thyme

1 1/2 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper, plus more for garnish

Olive oil for pan-frying

Butter lettuce or little gem lettuce leaves

Sour cream or whole-milk European-style plain yogurt

Prepare the compote:

Combine all of the compote ingredients in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Cook, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Reduce the heat to medium-low and simmer until the berries break down and the compote thickens, about 15 minutes. Remove from the heat, discard the rosemary sprig and cool.

Prepare the meatballs:

Melt the butter in a small saucepan. Add the onion and garlic and saute until the onion is soft, about 4 minutes. Transfer to a large bowl and cool slightly, then add the remaining ingredients. Gently mix to uniformly combine without overmixing. Using your hands, form the meat in 1-to-1 1/2-inch meatballs. Arrange on a plate and refrigerate for 1 hour.

Heat 2 tablespoons oil in a skillet over medium heat. Add the meatballs in batches without overcrowding. Cook until browned on both sides and thoroughly cooked through, 8 to 10 minutes. Transfer to a plate lined with paper towels to drain and repeat with the remaining meatballs. Keep warm.

To serve, place 1 to 2 meatballs in the center of a lettuce leaf. Top with a small dollop of compote and sour cream. Garnish with additional black pepper and dill sprigs. Roll up and eat.

CAPTIONS AND CREDITS

It's the middle of December, and I should be in the woods. More precisely, I should be in the woods freezing my toes off, quite possibly in the dark, most likely in the rain. And I'm feeling nostalgic.

My family lived in Denmark before we moved to California. Each year, on the first Advent weekend leading to Christmas, we packed up our car with kids, dog and provisions and drove to my sister and brother-in-law's farm, a thatch-roofed cottage nestled in a pine and beech forest in the center of Zealand, the largest island of Denmark. The capital, Copenhagen, was a mere 60 kilometers away, but once we turned off the highway and snaked our way over the pastoral hills deep into the wooded countryside, it felt like light-years from the bustle of the city.

The winter sun is finicky in Denmark. If it shows its face at all, it's austere and reserved, never shining too high or too bright, shimmering like an icy Nordic beauty. More often than not, it rains. Mindful of the elusive daylight, upon our arrival at the farm we would immediately get to the task at hand. Three generations of family would scatter into the forest to forage holly, twigs, pinecones and moss. We had to work fast. The silvery sun, if visible, would begin its cool descent at 3 p.m., and the cold would eagerly creep in, numbing fingers, toes and tips of noses, despite the paddings of wool and fleece.

As darkness descended, we would return to the farmhouse with our bounty, cold, hungry and wet. Fires would be stoked in the ovens, glogg (mulled wine) would be heated on the stove, and we would claim a space, shoulder to shoulder, at the long kitchen table. Our harvest would be piled in the center, and adults and children would get to work making wreaths, tree ornaments and centerpieces.

While we did this, we would take turns making batches of aebleskivers, which we dipped in raspberry preserves and powdered sugar and washed down with mugs of steaming glogg. It may have been cold and wintry outside, but inside, everything was warm and toasty.

Now we live in California, and we continue our family traditions from Europe at Christmastime. We still make many of our holiday decorations, and of course, glogg and aebleskivers. In fact, I just finished a batch this afternoon, and as we sat in front of the fire with a glass of glogg, it began to rain outside. We didn't mind a bit. It was just like Denmark.

Danish Aebleskivers

Danish aebleskivers resemble doughnut holes and are served as a treat throughout the month of December. While they are sold frozen in the shops, nothing beats the vanilla and cardamom scent and tender texture of homemade aebleskivers. To make them, you will need a special aebleskiver pan, which is a skillet with 6 to 8 round indentations. Cast iron is best.

Active Time: 40 minutes

Total Time: 40 minutes, plus 1 hour standing time

Yield: Makes about 20

1 1/2 cups whole milk

1 envelope dry yeast or .6-ounce fresh yeast (1 cake)

2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour

1 tablespoon granulated sugar

1 teaspoon kosher salt

1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom

1/2 vanilla bean

2 large eggs, separated

Unsalted European-style butter

Strawberry or raspberry preserves

Powdered sugar

Heat milk in a small saucepan until lukewarm. Pour the milk into a bowl and add the yeast. Let stand until the yeast dissolves.

Combine the flour, sugar, salt and cardamom in a medium bowl. Split the vanilla bean lengthwise and scrape the seeds into the dry ingredients.

Whisk the egg yolks into the milk and then add the milk to the flour and mix to combine.

Beat the egg whites in the bowl of an electric mixer until stiff. Fold the egg whites into the batter. Let stand one hour at room temperature.

Melt 1/2 teaspoon butter in each indentation of an aebleskiver pan over medium heat. Pour the batter into each indentation, about 2/3 full. Cook until golden brown underneath, 3 to 4 minutes. Using a wooden skewer, turn the aebleskivers over and continue to cook until golden and cooked through, 3 to 4 minutes more. Transfer the aebleskivers to a plate lined with a paper towel and repeat with the remaining batter. Serve the aebleskivers with powdered sugar and preserves.

CAPTIONS AND CREDITS