Face it: for many of us, the holidays are about the food. Gifts are unpredictable — oh thanks, the sweater’s so, um, green — and relatives can pack as much drama into one day as a Mexican soap opera works into an entire season. But food, glorious food, is what gets us by, filling the awkward pauses in conversation with lip-smacking noises, giving us something to praise and agree upon. And it’s more than that: food crowns the day, with all the year’s best laid out to make us feel like kings and queens.

While that’s all terrific and terribly moving, what if you don’t cook? Or if you do cook but live in one of those tiny North End apartments with kitchens the size of French green beans, and you know better than to attempt serious meal preparation there? Or perhaps you simply like the idea of someone else doing the dirty work — making the meal so you don’t have to, and serving it up like a treasure.

For those who will skip throwing big holiday affairs but would still like to celebrate the season with fine food and drink, the area offers a sleighful of options. Below, you’ll find cocktails, appetizers, entrées, and desserts worth adding to your holiday list, from 10 restaurants around New England known for menus that make diners merry. Each restaurant was chosen for a particular dish that invokes some festive element of the season found in a popular holiday song, with a bit of lore for good measure.

So make a new holiday tradition. Stow away the KitchenAid, leave the Calphalon in the drying rack, and put on your best dining-out duds. Then head to one of these restaurants for a supper worth singing for.

"Santa Claus Is Coming to Town"

With little tin horns and little toy drums,

rooty toot toots and rummy tum tums,

Santa Claus is coming to town ...

No wonder Santa’s tummy is rummy — rum spans the globe as a must-use holiday ingredient in cultures that celebrate Christmas. Rum cakes and rum balls are parts of Americana; Nesselrode pudding, flavored with rum, adorns tables in Russia; and in the sunny Virgin Isles, spiced rum is served with guava. And no rum concoction is as inextricably linked to the holiday as eggnog, which began as grog made with wine, but morphed into rum-laden nog in Colonial times.

It might be hard to find eggnog on local restaurant menus, but you certainly can find rum. And no bar serves it up quite like Bomboa (35 Stanhope Street, Boston, 617-236-6363), the French-Brazilian restaurant on the edge of the South End. With its zebra banquettes, Bomboa feels more like Carnivale than Christmas, as befits a chef (Felino Samson) who spent nine years in the fashion industry before stepping into his whites.

As if to match the bold room, Samson’s cuisine favors big flavors, and the cocktails are similarly larger-than-life. The rummiest of these wonders is the Stumbling Islander. This concoction is for people who like their liquor: it blends what Bomboa describes as "the Best Three Rums of the Caribbean" with tropical juices. Its price is steep — $8 a pop — but you won’t need two: one’ll be enough to have you under the table (or the tree, as the case may be).

"The Hanukkah Song"

So drink your gin and tonica

But don’t smoke marijuanica

If you really, really wannika

Have a happy happy happy happy Hanukkah

Not everyone loves Adam Sandler’s Hanukkah song, but it’s certainly taken on a life of its own, including inspiring his current full-length animated feature, Eight Crazy Nights. And it may be the only holiday song ever to invoke a little weed, but we didn’t find that item on even the merriest menu in Boston this year. Instead, consider the drink of choice in Sandler’s ditty: a gin and tonic, which may be more suburban than authentically Jewish per se. But culturally attuned gin drinkers may indeed savor their tradition as they imbibe; Barkan Wine Cellars, the largest and most modern distillery in Israel, makes its own stock gin, which it exports around the world (along with its various wines). We at the Phoenix, of course, encourage consumption in moderation, so as to avoid the kind of gin frenzy (and ensuing public inebriety) that possessed England in the 1700s and became known as the "gin epidemic."

Sandler’s song simply celebrates a little indulgence for good cheer’s sake. To take him up on his instructions — with a twist, of course — head to Cambridge’s coolest neighborhood watering hole, the B-Side Lounge (92 Hampshire Street, Cambridge, 617-354-0766), which boasts 75 years of history in various incarnations, and a rockin’, modern laid-back staff. A number of gin combos grace the cocktail menu, including the Aviation ($6.50), a beverage extravaganza that begins with gin, but also includes maraschino liqueur and fresh-squeezed lemon juice. We’re not sure what any of those ingredients has to do with the drink’s name, but you might well be flying after you toss back one or two of these babies.

"Away in a Manger"

Away in a manger, no crib for his bed

The little lord Jesus lay down his sweet head

The stars in the bright sky looked down where he lay

The little lord Jesus asleep on the hay

Restaurant trends come and go, and cutesy terms enjoy their moment of vogue. We’re just beginning to emerge from the era of "hay," "straw," "nest," and "bed," terms that often referred to a mound of starches that had been shredded or thinly sliced, and then fried and baked. Potatoes, plantains, yucca — each became a fanciful mound in the hands of inventive chefs.

But the humble sweet potato was largely ignored. Despite its embrace in other parts of the world — from Hawaii, where it’s prepared with macadamia nuts, to New Zealand, where it’s beloved as "kumara," it has never enjoyed a high profile in these parts. Lacking the of-the-moment pan-Latin cachet of plantains or the general acceptability of white or gold potatoes, these meaty gems show up on vastly fewer menus, at least until holiday time, when a few brave restaurants roll out sweet potatoes in their icky orange-glazed form as a side dish.

Thank God for Southern restaurants like Magnolia’s (1193 Cambridge Street, Cambridge, 617-576-1971) in Inman Square. Chef John Silberman received his culinary training in New Orleans (including at the famed Commander’s Palace). He makes a mean hay mow of delectable crispy sweet-potato strings ($3.95), the kind of ethereal preparation that brings to mind good Belgian frites. Topped with crumbled Maytag blue cheese to offset the natural sweetness, they’re more flavorful than just about any other carb you could possibly load up on. And the fact that they’re on so few menus makes them all the sweeter here.

"Blue Christmas"

You’ll be doing alright

With your Christmas of white

But I’ll have a blue, blue Christmas

In 1890, Godey’s Lady’s Book, the English women’s magazine, offered an elaborate Christmas menu, which served as a model for the better families in Victorian London. Topping the list, an American export: Blue Point oysters. Originally named for Blue Point, Long Island, where they were discovered, these tasty mollusks were also found along the Atlantic Coast up to Canada; once the elite of Quebec developed a taste for them, they became all the rage in France as well. From there it wasn’t long before Londoners adopted them as must-have menu items.

If you’re going to fête the holiday in such grand old style, you most certainly want your surroundings to match. That’s why you’ll choose Maison Robert (45 School Street, Boston, 617-227-3370), located in Boston’s Old City Hall, a grand old period building that practically begs for a top hat and tails. For 30 years, the Robert family has served classic French cuisine with innovative flourishes. Jacky Robert, who trained at Maxim’s of Paris, helmed the kitchen for years, but today it’s a Georgia native, Ken Duckworth, handling the oysters in this grand palace of cuisine. And Duckworth is a man to be trusted with seafood: he’s a National Geographic Society traveler, whose previous stints as chef were on an island and on the coast of Florida. He serves up elegant huîtres Point Bleu sur glace et mignonette au verjus. (Yes, that’s in French, but would you expect any less at a classic establishment like this?) What that means is six Blue Point oysters, served on ice ($11) with a tangy, acidic verjus sauce, which makes for a bracing mouthful — oysters not being something you can nibble, after all. The kind of flavor that energizes the palate and wakes up the senses, Blue Points are the perfect cure for the holiday blues.

"It’s Kwanzaa Time"

The first fruits mean Kwanzaa

We’ll say the Nguzo Saba

From Umoja to Imani

Love! Joy! And Harmony!

In the United States, it’s hard to imagine celebrating the holiday season as a harvest time. What with the short days, long nights, and bitter cold, we tend of think of this season the way much of Europe did: a time to long for the return of light, hoping to survive the winter on our way to spring. But for fully half the world, it’s a time of warm weather, blooming gardens, and thankfulness for the bounty of the earth.

It’s one of those regions that shines at the heart of a distinctly American tradition. Kwanzaa celebrates the culture of people who trace their heritage all the way back to Africa, and its rituals highlight the gifts of the earth. One element of the seven-day celebration is mazao, which represents the harvest of the "first fruit." Mazao praises the labor of a community to produce its own food; but since many urban dwellers can’t bring their own harvest to the table, most celebrants adorn their Kwanzaa mats with fresh vegetables and fruits.

For a taste of mazao that reflects the vibrant African-American culture of the American South, settle into a seat at Rouge (480 Columbus Avenue, Boston, 617-867-0600). The newest venture from Gretchen and Andy Husbands, owners of Tremont 647 and Sister Sorel, Rouge offers a bar and dining room featuring Southern-inspired treats, including fried green tomatoes ($9). Chef Salvatore Fristensky serves his with celeriac slaw, rémoulade, and Maine crabmeat, and these orbs of beauty yield a juicy burst of summer even in the dead of winter cold. Their sunny disposition is a cheering way to celebrate traditions both recent and ancient.

"Little Drummer Boy"

Mary nodded,

The ox and lamb kept time

I played my drum for him

I played my best for him

Pa-rum-pa-pum-pum

Several years ago, Americans were enchanted by the food climax of the movie Big Night: the serving of a timpano, a drum-shaped (and, for that matter, drum-size) concoction with macaroni walls and just about everything you can imagine spilling out of the center. The movie’s timpano was a rendition of the more common Italian timballo, a kettle-like creation of pasta or rice and filling, which draws its name from the timbale drum.

You might not recognize the word timbale, but you’ve certainly seen them in action. From the flying hands of Tito Puente to the marching bands in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, the shallow, metal-rimmed drums have been part of our musical landscape. More recently, the term "timbale" has become a staple on restaurant menus to describe small, individually molded dishes that sit like little drums of flavor on your plate.

Icarus (3 Appleton Street, Boston, 617-426-1790) not only offers a timbale, but lamb that keeps time as well. Chris Douglass has been turning out lovely meals in the two-level space for almost 20 years now, so he has elegant pairings down to a science. In this case it’s a pan-roasted lamb loin with eggplant timbale ($32). The earthy moistness of the eggplant is balanced by the red-pepper crostini that accompany the dish. And if you don’t mind substituting the sparkling music of a piano for the rum-pa-pum-pum of a drum, dine at Icarus on Friday nights for live jazz by Mark Kross.

"Do You Hear What I Hear?"

Ringing through the sky, Shepherd Boy,

Do you hear what I hear?

A song, a song, high above the tree,

With a voice a big as the sea

Seafood is at the very heart of one of the most beloved Italian traditions: the feast of seven fishes for Christmas Eve. The tradition specifies that dinner on Christmas Eve should be meatless, and by Catholic logic that prohibition does not include seafood. The seven dishes may vary from region to region; you might find a menu that spans baccalà, calamari, eel, smelt, and shrimp.

Italy, of course, is a coastal country, which allows such a tradition to partake of the best ingredients. One of the great joys of living in New England is our own coast and its ample supplies of fresh seafood. Raphael Conte, owner of Raphael Bar-Risto (1 Union Station, Providence, Rhode Island, 401-421-4646), not only specializes in Italian preparations of fish, he frequently takes to the sea to reel in his dishes. Cruising off the waters of Rhode Island, he’s an avid fisherman as well as an award-winning chef.

One of Conte’s signature dishes does indeed speak with a voice as big as the sea. A confident dish that reflects both his study with his grandmother in his ancestral home of Naples and the experience of opening five acclaimed Italian eateries, Conte’s lobster fra diavolo (market price) makes quite an impression. The lobster meat is served out of the shell, with littleneck clams, and the two distinct ocean flavors — one sweet, one briny — are made harmonious on a plate of pasta with a flavorful but not overwhelming red diavolo sauce. It took only two fish for this dish to become a tradition with Providence diners, who have made it a most-requested item.

"Oh, Hanukkah"

Let’s have a party, we’ll all dance the hora.

Gather round the table, we’ll give you a treat.

Sevivon to play with, latkes to eat.

For many Jews, the aroma of latkes cooking at holiday time is akin to Proust’s madeleines, a transporting experience. The word latke actually means "pancake" in Yiddish and used to encompass any small, disk-shaped fried cake of shredded vegetables. It wasn’t until the 17th century that potatoes became the traditional ingredient, and it wasn’t the vegetable itself that related the dish to the holidays: it’s the oil in which latkes are fried that carries the meaning. The oil represents the cleansing of the Temple of Jerusalem after it was liberated from the Syrians in 165 BC.

As well-known to Americans as the dreidel (or sevivon, as it is also called), latke variants are found widely on menus, from homespun American hash browns to the Swiss-originated rosti, which is a latke without matzo binding, served all year round. Perhaps because latkes are not an inherently glamorous dish, they’re difficult to find in an upscale restaurant (or perhaps Americans just can’t get enough mashed potatoes instead).

Whatever the case, a drive north to Kennebunkport, Maine, yields a cousin to the latke that will both satisfy yearnings for its simplicity and reward the diner with a stunningly elegant presentation. White Barn Inn (37 Beach Avenue, Kennebunkport, Maine, 207-967-2321), the only restaurant in Maine to earn the AAA Five-Diamond Award, serves beef tenderloin in Barolo oxtail sauce on potato rosti. Accompanied by baby vegetables and horseradish, it’s like a celebrity chef took mom’s Hanukkah dinner up a notch. And the glamorous setting, all white linen and fine silver in restored 1860s barns, will make you feel so celebratory you won’t even mind the tab for the four-course prix fixe meal ($81 per person, before tax, tip, and beverage).

You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch

You’re as cuddly as a cactus.

You’re as charming as an eel, Mr. Grinch,

You’re a bad banana with a grease-black peel.

Leave it to Dr. Seuss to prove that holiday sentiment doesn’t have to be reverential or sanctimonious. Long before the ending in which the Grinch gets into the spirit, children of all ages get to revel in his bad behavior and sour approach. That’s the genius of Springfield native Theodor Geisel, whose books have been translated into 18 languages (including Latin, la-di-da) and have sold more than 100 million copies, a testament to his combination of off-kilter humor and inventiveness.

There’s very little hope of finding most of the Grinchian ingredients on local menus. Eel is generally reserved for sushi bars, and cactus is something you feed tourists in the Southwest. But bananas have a solid place in holiday dining. Bananas Foster — which involves setting the dessert aflame — was the show-off dish of the ’70s, and, in this non-berry season, bananas appear in countless versions of fruit salad (the ever-present but somewhat unloved member of the holiday-dish family). The offering at Mantra (52 Temple Place, Boston, 617-542-8111) is caramelized bananas and black Mission figs, with cardamom ice cream and nuts ($8). Pairing a European presentation of the bananas with the Eastern flavor of the cardamom yields the kind of intoxicating dish that has earned chef Thomas John praise from the likes of Food & Wine and Esquire magazines.

The exotic diversity of his dishes reflects John’s personal story, which begins with a childhood spent on a farm in India — which has some unusual holiday traditions of its own. There, Christmas is celebrated with gusto as a secular holiday that involves carols, gifts, and decking the filigreed halls. But while city dwellers may spring for potted spruce trees, rural citizens are more likely to decorate banana trees, elevating the fruit to a whole new place in the holiday pantheon.

"We Wish You a Merry Christmas"

Now bring us some figgy pudding

And a cup of good cheer ...

We won’t go until we get some

So bring some out here!

Mmm, mmm, suet. Yeah, baby, love those Brits with their inventive use of parts. Who else (okay, maybe the Scots) could have a beloved holiday pudding featuring a custard made with the white fat from the loin and kidney regions of farm animals? It may be worth singing about in England — or immortalizing in literature, thank you, Charles Dickens — but it’s not exactly surprising that your average American has skipped that little tradition.

Trust Gordon Hamersley of Hamersley’s Bistro (553 Tremont Street, Boston, 617-423-2700) to offer an enticing alternative. Hamersley is a master of blending regional dishes and traditional preparations with creative, contemporary technique. With wife Fiona choosing the wine list and more than a decade’s experience in their South End location, the Hamersleys have carved a niche for their bistro as a true fine-dining spot, without any kind of stuffiness or pretension in the experience (check out their informal dress policy). So it’s a natural place to turn for a little reinvention of fig pudding that will strike a festive note without, er, slinging the suet.

Here, you can sink your teeth into an apple-and-fig tart ($8.75), a combination that yields a subtle cousin to the earthy sweetness that old New Englanders sought from mincemeat (made either with venison or green tomatoes, raisins, and, yes, suet). No frightful images need come to mind regarding this dish, which comes adorned with brandied caramel and sweetened whipped cream — and, God bless us all, no suet in sight.

David Valdes Greenwood can be reached at mambobean@aol.com