The festive season has long lost its magic, but two things always bring back the cosy, tingle of Christmas: German television and struffoli.

Admittedly, the former is a little peculiar, but having passed my childhood in Germany where Christmas is celebrated to the maximum in the most tasteful and child-friendly manner imaginable, the unctuous tones of the Germanic language never fail to bring to mind the scent of coffee, candle light, copious amounts of chocolate and cakes, snow, real Christmas trees and the naivete of childhood that unquestioningly accepts the existence of Santa Klaus.

Moving to Britain in 1991 brought the collapse of Christmas: plastic Santas, cheap chocolate, dire music, and trashy television programs that are recycled to this day succeeded in cultivating a loathing of Yuletide and all its trappings.

When I returned to Germany for a conference last December, I was amazed to be awe-struck by the beauty of the German Christmas, and fell in love with it once more. I have learned to tune out the Slade, close my eyes to the garish neon and plastic baubles, and relish the nicer parts.

The nicest part is, of course, the struffoli. This week my mother and I spent two nights preparing the dough for frying and the caramel syrup for coating, and although the Neapolitan treat is a devil to make, it just would not be Christmas without it.

Oddly, there is no English language equivalent to the history of struffoli, which runs as follows:

Nonostante la loro tipicità, sembra che gli struffoli non siano stati inventati a Napoli ma che siano stati portati dai greci già ai tempi della Magna Grecia. Peraltro, nella cucina greca esiste ancora una preparazione simile, i Lukumates(ghiottonerie). Anche l’uso come dolce tipico natalizio sembra essere relativamente recente, in quanto il ricettario del Crisci (1634) ne fa cenno ma non specificamente in relazione al pranzo di Natale.

Struffoli originating from Greece? It’s a travesty. I shall have to scour the Internet to find another source – struffoli is as Neapolitan as Big Ben is British. I shall have to add this fact to my Christmas block out list, alongside Slade, the Santa ladders, and Morecombe and Wise Christmas Specials.

Returning to our Italian delicacy, struffoli comprises small, round balls of dough fried in oil, drained, and then coated in a combination of honey, syrup, and decorative fruits of your choice, and other colourful, edible treats.

Then wrapped in colourful paper, it is distributed to friends and family, or piled into teetering pyramids that will adorn the tables of the house and be pecked at over the festive season.

With each recipe unique to the maker, the exact ingredients of struffoli are a closely guarded secret and are often passed to family members on bleached, creased pieces of paper that are concealed all year, before being deftly whipped out for the preparation, and then stowed away once more.

Fiddly, time-consuming, and tedious, the preparation is always initially greeted with dread, but once it starts it is as essential to Christmas as going to midnight Mass, or pulling the crackers.

Arguably, the best bit is cleaning the spoon and pot after the sauce has been made: scorching your tongue on the fiery concoction is a worthy sacrifice as the caramel solidifies in your mouth and glues your teeth together for a few moments.

Christmas has, in recent years, become more commercialised, tacky, and devoid of spirit – in Britain at least. Nevertheless, this only makes me more grateful that my family have kept such traditions alive.

No matter which country we are in, there is always a little part of our heritage alongside, which is of course, exactly what is needed at this time of year!