Years ago during one of our first trips to the UK, my husband and I stumbled into a Christmas Market in Manchester, England. Despite the blustering cold, we were mesmerized. The historic square was lined with rows of countless wooden stalls draped with twinkling lights. An ornate stone clock tower loomed overhead, both backdrop and kind of gentle watchman. Music filled the air, while handmade goods and gifts spilled from the stalls for browsing. Our senses were entirely delighted and overwhelmed with more local and European fare than could be taken in. We inched close inhaling the aroma of roasting nuts and sausages, strolling along pointing and gasping at the vast array of gorgeous handmade strudels and pastries.

But etched most vividly into both our memories is the man with the ladle and knowing smile who beckoned us to his wooden barrel…