If you don’t get a Christmas present from me, it’s probably not that I didn’t buy you one. I probably just ate it already.
Last week, I went on a no-holds-barred mission to complete all my Christmas shopping in a single afternoon. I’d negotiated a four-point targeting system: Martys Liquors, Burdicks Chocolates, Cardullo’s Market and Formaggio Kitchen. (With a quick stop at Black Ink, because you never know.) I didn’t want to send the standard pre-made gift baskets – I wanted MY Christmas gifts to be a delightful, unique gastronomic experience.
Of course, the afternoon was an unmitigated success. My haul at Cardullo’s was so huge that they gave me a free canvas bag (not shocking in itself, but the clerks at Cardullo’s normally couldn’t be bothered to spit at you if your hair was on fire), and I blew over three hundred bucks at Burdicks. The cashier was practically throwing free chocolate at me as I left. I thought I was done by the time I got to the cheese shop, but no – cornichons, gourmet breakfast cereal, special little jam jars, and I mean, pepperoni and sharp cheddar, hello. By that point, I’d forgotten who I was buying what for, so I returned home to find a number of perishable / non-mailable items that *sigh* Katsu and I would just have to polish off on our own.
That was fine.
Then we ran out of Kix. So didn’t I tear into that expensive breakfast cereal and eat half the bag with my bare hands. Class-y.
Then we ran out of pickles. And no, I’m not pregnant, but there’s no snack I love more than pickles, cheese, and mustard. Or, in this case, retardedly pricey cornichons, house-aged cheddar, and imported dijon.
And you know, who can have all that chocolate sitting around without eating just a LITTLE BIT of the hand-dipped fruit? It’s like, almost healthy. Yes. Because of the fruit.
I assessed the situation last night, while sucking on a piece of candied ginger meant as a stocking stuffer for my sister. Pretty soon, I’m going to have to go shopping all over again. And possibly for new pants. Maybe this “food gift” idea wasn’t my best.
So this morning, I was like, “I think I’d like some black tea instead of coffee”. And, what else, we were out of black tea. Luckily, I’d bought a blend of Irish Breakfast that sported a price I’d consider unreasonable even for a double martini. Sorry, John MacGibbon. I’m drinking your Christmas.