A while ago I was on holiday in Italy and ended up having lunch with some monks at their monastery, at the end of the meal they brought out a bunch of bottles of various liqueurs which were clearly made in-house...they were delicious, but then I suppose that making liqueurs is somewhat of a monastic tradition.
The cooking and baking primitives are always trying to replicate foods and rituals of their ethnic parents and grandparents, and coming up dry pretty much all the time, especially around the holidays.
It reminds me of Christmases and a few other holdays spent with the older brothers and sisters and their families after the parents died; something I did at first, but did less and less as time went on.
There were these desperate, pathetic attempts to have things as the parents had had them, and they tended to flop abysmally.
The difference was, with the parents, God had always been a part of such things, while the older brothers and sisters had been hippies, and forgotten God, Who had no part in such gatherings.
Even though the exact same ingredients were used, and the exact same instructions were followed, it wasn't the same. It was rather bland, as a matter of fact.