Christmas dinner is over. You have been eating for about 24 hours straight, starting with the Feast of Seven Fishes the night before. Dessert has come and gone, and you swear that you cannot eat another bite. And then, one of your aunts or cousins brings out a plate of her homemade struffoli, little balls of fried dough, glazed with honey, and you find that you can nibble just a bit longer. These go down very easily with an espresso or a glass of sweet wine, such as Marsala. (These can be—and often are—served for The Seven Fishes, too, because they don’t have any butter in them.)
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