December in New Orleans doesn't arrive with a whisper; it crashes through the door like your favorite cousin who forgot to knock, arms full of presents and a cooler of something inviting. The air turns crisp enough to make you reach for that jacket you swore you'd never need. Suddenly, the city transforms into something that feels like coming home, even if you've never left.

This is the month when New Orleans remembers what it does best: Gather people around tables that groan under the weight of love disguised as food.

Walk through any neighborhood in December and you'll catch it, that unmistakable scent of somebody's grandmother's kitchen working overtime. Pralines cooling on wax paper. A pot of gumbo that's been simmering since dawn, its roux dark as Mississippi mud and twice as rich.

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