June 17th – Life with Santa Blog Post

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Oh, my darlings,

If you think Santa only craves sugar cookies and peppermint bark, well… bless your heart, but you don’t know my husband.

Yes, he adores Christmas (we all do here), but when the snow softens just enough to coax the wild herbs from the north-facing rocks, and the smell of pine shifts from frosty to sun-warmed, Santa begins to crave summer meals—and near the top of that list? Potato salad.

But not just any potato salad. Oh, no. Santa has strong opinions on this matter. He says, and I quote:

“Potato salad is like a cookie—every batch has its own personality. And not every personality gets along with mine.”

He’s a mayo man. Strictly mayo. Real mayo, the kind that’s creamy and full of body, not the whipped, fluffy stuff. And don’t you dare sneak in a spoonful of mustard or a speck of relish—not unless you want a disappointed Santa peering at you over his glasses like you’ve just told him the reindeer are unionizing.

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🍴 The North Pole Struggle for Ingredients

Now, I must confess—getting a Vidalia onion up here is nearly a Christmas miracle in itself. But with a little help from a very kind elf in our import department (who happens to owe me a favor or three), I usually manage to have one on hand for this special dish.

It’s a treasured tradition: finely diced sweet Vidalia onion, a healthy heap of chopped hard-boiled eggs (Santa insists on at least two per person), radishes and celery for bite and color, and tender russets or red potatoes—peeled before boiling, of course, because mushy skins in a cold salad are no way to treat a marriage.

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🧀 Herman’s Selective Vegetarianism

Now, Santa usually enjoys this potato salad with a grilled hamburger, juicy and hot off the fire pit. But Herman—his right-hand elf—prefers it with a grilled cheese sandwich.

Well, he says he’s a vegetarian, but I once saw him polishing off a bowl of chicken noodle soup and humming carols afterward. So, make of that what you will. More on Herman’s dietary flexibility another day.

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🧂 A Word on Mayonnaise (and Marriage)

The mayo amount is up to taste, but here’s my rule, my darlings: if you’re unsure whether there’s enough mayo, stir what you’ve got, then chill the bowl for an hour or two. Once the flavors marry (peacefully, I hope), give it a second taste. If it’s too dry—add a bit more. If it’s swimming, well… you’ve just made North Pole potato soup, and I suggest serving it with a ladle and a sense of humor.

The texture should be pasty, not sloppy, and certainly not soupy. It should hold its own on a plate, but still feel soft and welcoming—like Santa himself.

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📝 Santa’s Favorite Potato Salad (Serves 4)

Ingredients:

• 6 medium russet potatoes or 8 small red potatoes, peeled before boiling
• 6 hard-boiled eggs, peeled and chopped
• ½ cup finely chopped Vidalia onion
• ½ cup diced celery
• ¼ cup thinly sliced radishes
• Real mayonnaise, to taste (start with about ¾ cup)
• Salt and pepper, to taste
• Optional: A pinch of sugar, if you like things sweet (Santa doesn’t mind a touch)

Instructions:

1. Peel and boil potatoes in salted water until just fork-tender. Do not overcook! We want them tender, not mashed.
2. Let them cool slightly, then dice into bite-sized cubes.
3. In a large bowl, gently combine potatoes, eggs, onion, celery, and radishes.
4. Add mayonnaise a bit at a time, folding carefully.
5. Salt and pepper to taste.
6. Cover and chill for at least 1–2 hours.
7. After chilling, taste again. Add more mayo if needed—it should be creamy, but not wet.

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And there you have it—Santa’s favorite summer dish. He says it goes best with a cold mug of lemonade, a grilled hamburger, and a long, quiet sigh before dessert.

And as for me? I think potato salad reminds us of something important: that even the most humble dishes—when made with care, patience, and love—can bring comfort to those we cherish.

“Better a dish of vegetables where love is than a fattened ox with hatred.” —Proverbs 15:17

So go make something simple today, my darlings. And stir in a little joy while you’re at it.

With a chilled bowl in the fridge and joy in my heart,
—Mrs. Claus