Christmas has a way of showing up early at my house—usually while the pumpkins are still on the porch.
We haven’t even made it to Thanksgiving yet, and here I am talking about Christmas. Maybe it’s because I’ll be flying home from working overseas the day before my newest book is released—or maybe it’s because Christmas has been living rent-free in my head (and heart) for the better part of two years.
Fifteen books in, this one feels different. It’s the most personal, and one that’s been sitting in my heart for decades. I’ve talked about writing it for over twenty years, always saying I’d get to it “one day.” That day finally came. Robert St. John’s Mississippi Christmas is full of recipes, of course, but also stories—about the people, places, and memories that shaped what the holiday means to me.
Writing it sent me back to my childhood home on Bellewood Drive in Hattiesburg, and the kind of Christmases that didn’t need snow or matching pajamas to feel right. My mother, a public-school art teacher, could make a home shine with imagination and a little help from two boys paid in cookies and guilt. We didn’t have much, but she made “not much” feel like everything.
The air back then smelled like cinnamon, bacon grease, and cigarette smoke—the official scent of a Hattiesburg December. Larry Foote roasted pecans so salty and perfect they disappeared before they cooled. His wife, Barbara Jane, handled the sweet side of things—baking cinnamon rolls that set the tone for the whole block. Mary Virginia McKenzie’s orange sweet rolls were the unofficial currency of Bellewood Drive. And the Webb sisters—three old maid schoolteachers with matching bouffants—turned out gingerbread that never survived past Christmas Eve.
Digging through those memories to write the book reminded me why Christmas still matters. It’s about people, about sharing, and about that strange alchemy where casseroles and kindness somehow multiply. We didn’t have much, but the neighborhood made sure no one ever went without.
You can’t fake that kind of community.
No one makes a book like this alone. The same way a Christmas table comes together dish by dish, this one did too. Chef Linda Roderick—who’s been by my side testing recipes for over twenty years—knew exactly where to push and when to nod. Chef Scott Strickland was right there beside us, steady as ever. Kate Dearman caught the feeling of the season through her lens in a way that no lighting setup ever could. My wife Jill and our friend Justin Jordan joined me in the staging and food styling, turning muffins, ribbon, and pinecones into something you can almost smell on the page. And my one-man design team, Anthony Thaxton—friend, collaborator, creative force—pulled it all together with that same mix of heart and precision that’s made every project we’ve worked on better than I imagined.
Somewhere between the recipe testing and the final edits, my mother passed away. She’s the one who gave me my love of Christmas in the first place—the one who could turn a lean December into magic with nothing more than imagination and heart. She’ll never get to hold the book, but her fingerprints are on every page.
I’m proud of it—not because my name is on it, but because it feels true to what a Mississippi Christmas really is: imperfect, homemade, family oriented, and full of love and grace.
So yes, it’s early to be talking about Christmas. But there’s a reason for that.
The timing’s no accident. Before we roll into the holiday rush, this Sunday seemed the perfect moment to kick the season off—not with shopping, but with giving.
From 4:30 to 6:00 p.m. this Sunday, November 16, at Crescent City Grill, I’m hosting a Mississippi Christmas launch party. Everyone’s invited—you, your neighbors, their friends, and their families—and anyone who wants to ease into the holidays early. I’ll be there, pen in hand, happy to sign books, talk food, and share a little Christmas spirit. We’ll have Christmas music, good cheer, and food samples straight from the book. My wife, Jill, and our daughter, Holleman, will be there handling gift wrapping— free for anyone who grabs a copy. The book will be 15% off that day, but if you bring a new toy for a child at Thames Elementary this Christmas, you’ll get another 5% off.
My team and I planned it before Thanksgiving on purpose—to lead with generosity before the rush begins. Thankfulness should come first. For every book sold at the party, I’m donating five Thanksgiving meals through Extra Table to feed our neighbors in need right here in Hattiesburg—families who deserve to sit down to a holiday meal of their own before we ever hang a single strand of tinsel.
So, when a copy goes home with you Sunday, you’ve already helped put food on a table before you even try the first recipe. It’s Christmas and Thanksgiving rolled together—the same thing, really: giving and gratitude.
That’s what this season has always meant to me. Faith, family, friends, food, and fun. And finding small ways to pass along the blessings we’ve been given.
The book may be new, but the sentiment behind it isn’t. It’s the same spirit that filled those kitchens on Bellewood Drive—the spirit of neighbors showing up for each other, of casseroles left on porches, of love shared quietly and often. That’s the Christmas I grew up with, and it’s the one this book tries to hold onto.
So yes, we’re starting early. But if you ask me, there’s no better time to remember what gratitude looks like—before the rush, before the wrapping, before the noise. It starts with a plate, a story, and the simple act of feeding someone else.
Come by Sunday if you can—bring your family, bring a friend, or just yourself. Everyone’s welcome. There’ll be food, laughter, music, and that same old spirit that never really left Hattiesburg.
Onward.
