Santa's Little Helper

Lately, I've been looking up from my book or computer with the sense that things are happening all around me. A phone call here with breathless questions of "what do I bring, what do I make?" A wife sitting there, picking through a stack of cooks illustrated. As always, the full effect of holiday meal preparations hits me when half the work is already done. I just look on dumbfounded and in awe of all the work that's slipped beneath my notice, kind of like the drool collecting along my lip.

Jen recently had a similar realization that led her to comment that, "Christmas is for women." Thinking myself witty, I replied that "Christmas is for men." Joking aside, she's entirely right. I know perfectly well what I see when I look at a table full of food. As a runner, my mind starts up a calculation of the calories that I'll be replenishing by sitting down to this repast. Pork becomes protein, and cake sugar and starch. There's no appreciation in my conversions. But I can't help myself. I've got the taste buds of a gadfly. I'll say this though, it's a much quicker eat.

In the meantime, I try to help out where I can. It's my personal opinion that every decent chef needs a humorous sidekick to lighten the mood. So I stand by like Statler and Waldorf with an unlimited supply of unhelpful quips and witticisms. Because what is christmas dinner, if not a meal made with love, joy, and laughter. I sprinkle cupcakes with chuckles, entres with double entendres, and ho hos with ho ho hos. See, men aren't completely useless.