so, the nameless mouse needs your help.  please suggest a name for him in the comment section below.  we’ll sit down over a plate of cheese & determine the top 5 & then you can vote for mouse’s name.

i’m sure i’ll think of some wonderful prize (possibly cheese related) for the winning entry… or the submitter of the winning entry as the case may be.

deadline for name entries…. uh…. how does may 1st sound? good! may 1st it is!!!

happy naming!

last week, an unknown visitor showed up out of the blue at the home of my friends Noah and Jessica. is he a fan making a pilgrimage to the skull-a-day artist’s home in hopes of an autograph for his skulls or any of Noah’s other snazzy books on creativity? or is he searching for his muse in the wonderful muse-for-hire Jessica? or is he some crazed ne’er-do-well who will steal their organs during the night and sell them to extraterrestrial art dealers who prize them for their unique color palate & use of unusual materials that look great on any well-appointed intergalactic knick-knack shelf? all i can say is i hope it’s not the last one, because that can’t be good for their health & has got to cause one heck of a mess. but really, look at him, he’s such a little guy, i doubt that’s the case, so, let’s just rule that out right now ‘cause i know that’s not true. i made that up to add a little drama and you could tell ‘cause my heart wasn’t really in it.

now, please join me as i sit down with this mysterious visitor to find out a little more about the gentleman we have been calling Popcorn Bear.

M: Welcome Popcorn Bear. This is such an unexpected pleasure.

PB: May I call you monkey?

M: Please do.

PB: monkey, talk about unexpected pleasure, I really didn’t expect all this attention. Not that it isn’t welcomed and certainly appreciated.

M: What kind of welcome were you expecting…uh…you know, I’m not exactly sure what to call you.

PB: Popcorn Bear is bit of a mouthful, isn’t it? How about PB?

M: That’s great. So, PB, let’s backtrack a little, if we may. Give us a little background, so to speak. Where do you come from and how did you find your way to the home of Noah and Jessica?

PB: Funny story, Monkey. Like many kids from Nebraska I just wanted to get out of the cornfields and make something with my life. My heart wasn’t really into hangin’ out on the cob with everyone else and, honestly, I wasn’t niblet material. I fell in with a group of other tough-skinned kernels and let fate have its way with us. As luck would have it, we were all destined to be in the movies—‘cause we’re all hybrid butterfly kernels. I’m sorry, monkey, I’m monopolizing the conversation here.

M: Not at all PB. I don’t get to talk with a lot of popcorn kernels.

PB: Yeah, most are, well, how can I put this…most popcorn doesn’t have a lot to say. They just try to fit in with the crowd. I guess that’s what makes me a little different. I think outside the box.

M:  I’m enjoying our conversation and I want to understand a bit more about your kernel-hood. So, first, you say you were from a group of hybrid butterfly kernels?

PB: Yep, that’s right.

M: I can’t help but be concerned that you might be genetically engineered in some way.

PB: Oh, yes. Well. The Butterfly Hybrid was developed to alleviate the need for trucks to transport the popcorn from the fields to the storage silos. You know “a green initiative” to save gas. Everyone had some scheme going at the time. Well, the premise was the corn genes were spliced with butterfly genes so that each ear of corn was a butterfly/corn hybrid. The cob and kernels were essential the body of the corn-based butterfly with the wings replacing the husk. The idea was that the buttercorns would fly over to the silos where an airblade-style fan would detach the wings from the cobs with a quick blast of air and the cobs would fall into the silo below.

M: Now are these buttercorns sentient beings?

PB: Well, that was a problem…by instinct they would fly to where other buttercorns had flocked, but they were spooked easily and would take off in all directions and end up miles away. Getting the wings off was more complicated than they thought and eventually large groups of men had to be hired to net the buttercorns in the fields, tear their wings off and transport them by truck while they made the most pathetic moaning sound you could imagine. Then removing the kernels from the cob was another problem because of the wriggling. It was not one of the finest moments in corn history.

M: I should say not. The public should be outraged.

PB: Ahh. monkey, I’m just pulling your leg. I’m joking! No, I’m just a regular hybrid. Basically there are two kinds of popcorn. Butterfly—when popped it looks like me, all open and fluffy. And Mushroom—it kind of has a dome shape to it. Someone figured out that you could selectively breed for one characteristic over another to dominate per cob. So, I’m from the fluffy butterfly group.

M: I’ve noticed that most of the popcorn I get at the movies are butterflies.

PB: Exactly! We’re more suited to holding on to butter, salt and dusted seasonings. We’re light and fluffy! Easy to pop. Crunchy! All-around crowd pleasers.

M: What about the Mushroom type? Are those considered duds, or are they prized for their characteristics as well?

PB: They tend to be denser—in a physical way. I think everyone knows that all popcorn tends to have much pretty much the same mental capacity across the board. This physical density and surface shape is perfect for the confection business. You’re from Chicago, right?

M: Yeah, how did you know?

PB: People talk. So, you know your caramel covered popcorn, your Garrets, your KarmelKorn. Remember how round and dense and crunchy those were? It’s the round mushroom shape that gets that perfect crispy caramel shell.

M: mmmmm…

PB: They pack a little tighter and travel without damage.  Let’s take a look at this chart:

See how Butterflies have a hollowed-out center and lots of bits extending out? Those nooks and crannies make it easy to catch salt and butter no matter how tight we’re packed in your popcorn tub.  Great arrows by the way!

M: thanks.

PB: See, it’s this round shape. You can see that it might be a little chewier but oh so tasty covered in cheese, caramel, toffee, butter pecan, nacho seasoning. Something like that would just crush me, but these mushroom guys (and gals) are built to carry a hearty sweet or savory flavor with pride.

M:  I can see how much I have been missing out by not really getting to know my popcorn.

PB: Well, as I said, most are quiet and keep to themselves. I’m, a little atypical in the popcorn world. Not that there is anything wrong being reserved and quite. Most of us spend a lot of time in movie theaters. The last thing you want is some loud-mouthed popcorn jabbering from your popcorn bucket during the movie, right? Actually, we’re all pretty interested in films and watch intently right until we’re popped in someone’s mouth.

M: About that, the eating thing…

PB: I can see that this disturbs you more than it does me. To be a corn, especially a popcorn, it means everything to be eaten. I grow, I’m harvested, I do a little traveling, I pop, I get eaten. This is my life. This is what fulfills me. A little salt, maybe a little real butter, if you’re a mushroom kernel, you may be in for some caramel. Of course, my path took a little twist.

M: Yes, let’s get back to that twist. You expected to be in popped in a movie theatre somewhere, enjoy a film and get eaten, right?

PB: Yep! So, you can imagine my surprise when POP! I’m in someone’s house! I know with the popularity of the microwave that popcorn has become a popular homemade snack. I just never thought I would be end up in a home. Really, monkey, the thought kind of, well, scared me.

M: Oh, PB. Is this too painful to speak about?

PB: No. My fears were unfounded. But I can see now that I really denied I could ever end up in a home because I was afraid I’d end up crushed under some toddler foot, left at the bottom of the microwave popcorn bag by a portion-measuring anorexic or, even worse, barfed up by her bulimic roommate after a 3am binge. I wasn’t ready for any of those things.

M: But, here you are PB. You just popped into Noah and Jessica’s and how did you feel?

PB: Like any popcorn, I was excited to be popped! I knew this was it! My moment. I was hot, fresh, and so fragrant! I knew I was tasty and crisp & I wanted the whole world to know it. I mean, look at me, monkey, couldn’t you just eat me now?

M: Well, if we weren’t friends, I’d certainly consider it.

PB: Well, I’d hope so! You would not be sorry, my friend! I’m probably a little stale now, but, if I’m looking tasty to you, after we’re done talking, let me know, and I’ll say my goodbyes and I’ll just hop right in your mouth.

M: That’s so thoughtful of you. Let’s just put that thought on the back burner right now, ok?

PB: Sure. Where was I? Oh, yeah…so, I popped and got moved to a rather luxurious bowl & dressed with the desired popcorn condiments. I was ready for the big moment. But, as the bowl of us popcorn was being transported from the kitchen to the popcorn eating area, I got nudged out of the bowl. I’m not going to say I was pushed, because I don’t want to speak ill of the recently eaten, but, I did not jump out of the bowl on my own. I said that I thought it looked like an interesting place to live, I felt a little nudge and the next thing I knew, I was bouncing off the floor by the side of the sofa.

I was so terrified I dropped all my salt. But nothing happened. I wasn’t hurt. No one hunted me down. No one stepped on me. Even the cats didn’t care about me. The music in the house is more eclectic than I’m used to and the conversation was lively. I started to venture from my hiding place when no one was around. I’d check out the books, look out the window and look at the paintings. Nice place they have here. Noah has some thing about skulls that I don’t get but, hey who am I to judge? Not having one myself, I just don’t get it. And it’s not like he’s out harvesting them himself, so, he’s okay by me. Besides—Jessica, what a doll. She picked me up, you know?

M: Really?

PB: Yeah. I had been staying out of their way under the corner of the sofa over there and finally decided I needed to let them know I was here. I was getting comfortable and wanted to settle down here. I figured it was time to approach them and offer to buy a square foot of floor I could call my own and set up house.

M: And how did they react? Were they surprised to find a popcorn living in their home?

PB: Honestly monkey, they wore me out. I tried everything to get their attention. I didn’t want to scare them by just jumping out in front of them and having them mistake me for a spider or something. So, I tried subtle tactics. Calling their names (too quietly). Leaving little notes for them (too small). Standing around where they would see me (too still). I could not get the hang of the telephone and the whole computer thing, well, really, me typing? That was out of the question. So, out of desperation, I just ran in front of Jessica with a pleading look on my face and hoped for the best. She noticed me and scooped me up! She took me right to Noah who gave me these great eyes and nose!

M:  I think we have the same eyes.

PB: I know! Can you believe that?! Honestly, I didn’t expect eyes and a nose. It’s a good look, don’t you think? I never considered eyes and a nose but I think it really works!

M: Weren’t you scared?

PB: Well I was concerned when Noah was jabbing the pen at me, but, he didn’t inflict any pain so, I thought it was some sort of welcoming ritual.

M: No, were you scared about what they might do when they found you?

PB: Oh, yeah, Sure, It was a risk. Maybe I’d get thrown away. Fed to some dog I didn’t know about or a sloth. Maybe Jessica would be one of those people who eats stuff off the floor even though it’s dusty (I, however, was not dusty) and she’d pop me in her mouth before I could say anything.

M: I don’t think she’d do that.

CB: There are some people who eat dirt for no reason. You never know.

M: You’re right. You never know. But when Jessica picked you up, did you know you were safe?

CB: Something told me I was. She didn’t hesitate a moment. She didn’t think I was a bug or disgusting or anything. I wish I could see what she saw. I don’t know what it was, but she had such a sweet look on her face; as though she had discovered something wonderful.

M: Well she did! She discovered you—the Popcorn Bear.

CB: I never thought of myself as a popcorn bear until they named me. I was popcorn, just popcorn. I was so caught up in the moment. The introduction to Noah, getting eyes and a nose, the photo! Everyone has been so kind…meeting you. I haven’t really had any good conversations in years. Even the cats are nice.

M: So, are you going to buy a little part of their house and settle down?

PB: We haven’t even discussed that. I’m still a little overwhelmed that I’m not in their trash bag.

M: I can imagine. Any thoughts about the future?

PB: I thought my future was all planned for me, but now I see I have some options. Of course, nothing would make me happier than having someone eat me—maybe a wild bird or a hamster? Wouldn’t that be crazy? That is, unless you’re interested? The offer is always open for you. But until then, I’d like to travel & meet some more people & see what makes them pop.

M: That could be messy.

PB: Oh monkey, You kid a kidder! Are you sure you don’t have a little corn under that terrycloth?

M: Thanks for taking the time to let me pop over, PB.

PB: Oh, monkey, now you’re really buttering me up! It’s my pleasure.

once the infestation started and the offending organic material was removed from the kitchen i thought the problem was resolved.  no.  without tasty treats to be had in the kitchen these little interlopers made a bee line for my the opposite end of the house and found new objects of their affections – my toothbrush & toothpaste.  you know they are not obsessed with dental hygiene. so,  i have begun brushing in the fruit fly free kitchen with my travel toothbrush that i keep sealed in the microwave oven and baking soda (thanks mrs. kennedy!). everytime i enter the bathroom i feel like tipi hedren.

of course we notice it around the holidays.  the bread products and pastries that were so soft and springy just days ago have lost their bounce and appetizing appeal.  they lay ignored on the counter, in the bread bin, on the cake pedestal.  soon, they are as hard as rocks and lost… forever.

staleness can happen to bread products at any time of year, not just the holiday season.  Through your attentiveness to your yeast and quickbread friends you can intervene and help them live out their lives as delicious breadpuddings, croutons, breadcrumbs or french toast.

so, keep an eye out for your pannetones at christmas, you hot cross buns at easter, your king cakes at mardi gras, but remember that any day is the right day for you to save a bread product from irreversible staleness.   only you can make the difference between a hopeless life on a trash heap or a tasty treat to share with family and friends.  please help a bread product live a full and happy life with a bread pudding intervention.

please remember that this kind of stale loneliness is not limited to panetones alone, it can strike anyone.  a brioche, a challah, a few hot cross buns,  croissants, even cinnamon raisin bread, coffee cake or a banana but loaf.  no bread product is immune.  so please, be attentive to your baked goods all year around and intervene with this recipe if necessary.  they will thank you for it and everyone else will thank you for it too.

and i can make his dream come true! if he is willing to endure the rigors of this dark and mysterious chamber (that i have preheated to a comfortable 325 degrees fahrenheit.)

after washing my hands, we reminisce about how his fragrant and inviting orange peel and sultana-studded personality was welcome at everything from festive gatherings to intimate snacks. excuse me while i spend a few moments of quality time before his ordeal begins.’

the transformation begins by gently breaking my friend into manageable 1 to 2 inch bits.

my objective is to loosely, but generously, fill a quart casserole with the delicious nuggets of bready goodness.

i’ve done this hundreds of times with challah, croissant, cinnamon rolls and a myriad of other bread products, so i know that means i will need about 4 heaping cupfuls.

on to the professionals. meet the eggs. two of these little fellows get are going to help bolster the bread’s confidence.

and you know one cup of milk, he’s bringing his powerful one-two punch of calcium and moisture to the makeover team.

the other half of the dairy duo, with her creamy richness and elegant demeanor, is a cup of heavy cream.

rounding out the fab five ingredients and adding flavor and subtle charm are the low-key 1/4 teaspoon of vanilla and demure two tablespoons of sugar. a brisk whisking gets everyone working together as a coherent team.

much like the role of guillermo ugarte in casablanca, butter has a pivotal role in today’s mission. without a generous slathering of butter on the inside of the casserole, the pudding would cling to the vessel and never escape to freedom and a new life.

time to nestle the bread hunks into the buttered casserole. to my dismay this chunk will not fit. i honor its wish and eat it quickly.

with the appropriate musical accompaniment and great care, i pour the liquid over the bread.

i can hear the whisper of great promise from this collaboration as i gaze upon the creamy and bready ingredients’ struggle to maintain their identities — much as we do in this big casserole we call life.

our group is allowed to rest, contemplate and absorb the creamy goodness. and, just as in life, a concerned individual will occasionally come by with a fork to check for maximum saturation.

it is time for our friends to perform intricate rituals and elaborate ceremonies that only the most advance initiates are even aware of. being a novice, i must leave them have their privacy in the “mystical chamber of transformation.”

it is time for me to engage in the wondrous alchemical process called “cleaning the kitchen.” without this vital step, the door to the oven will be sealed shut forever! … or so i’m told.

in only 45 minutes, i am intoxicated by the delicious fragrance. i approach the chamber and open it wide to find the glorious bread pudding!

overcome with emotion, i gaze in awe as the pudding cools. i never cease to be astounded by this magnificent metamorphosis from talented individual ingredients to a perfectly pleasurable pudding and deliciously divine dessert.

coaxing our delightful delicacy is easily accomplished with a lovely serving spoon and the promised destination of a lacquered dish. but, had i offered a sturdy earthen wear bowl, a dainty dish of danish design or a fragile crystal goblet, she would have been just as eager to try out some new digs.

see how the golden brown exterior has concealed the aromatic and poetically smooth and almost custardy interior? it reminds me of the ancient haiku:

one must look closely.
the elusive bread pudding
conceals such delights.

after a pause for centering and all of my senses alerted, i approach a spoonful of the pudding with humble respect.

what an indescribable delight in a spoon! try some yourself! unadorned in all of its natural glory or lavished with cream or a bourbon sauce, you just can’t go wrong!

my two little friends from idaho have graciously consented to be turned into potato pancakes or as i like to call them latkes. each of my pals weigh about a pound each. i like to call them chubby, but they insist they are just big boned.

after thanking them profusely. i peel my little pals. please don’t do this with any of your friends unless they are actual potatoes and have given their consent, ok?

next i poke their little eyes out. again, this is appropriate behavior with consenting potato friends, but, should be avoided with all other life forms.

 now, i pop them into the food processor and grate them up. you can use a regular grater if you like. i prefer a thinner grate because it’s a bit more slenderizing. i place the grated the potatoes in a large glass bowl and let them sit for at least 10-15 minutes. they will turn a yucky brown color… this is just what we want. honest. really.

while the potatoes are sitting turning and icky brown, i grate part of an onion you can use any kind of onion, but i have chosen a delicious and sweet maui onion.

after the onions are grated, i take one egg and crack it into a little bowl.

with my official whisking fork i vigorously whisk my egg until it is well mixed and possibly more than a bit confused.

how disgusting! it’s the fault of all that starchy stuff that lurks in unsuspecting potatoes. i know how to fix this. first i dump the shreds into a nice colander.

with a good hard stream of very cold water, i rinse all the icky stuff off the potatoes. i work through the potatoes vigorously with my fingers to make sure everything is all rinsed and sparkly white. then, i let them sit and so that all the water will drain off of them.

while the potatoes dry, i put an eight of an inch of canola oil into a large frying pan. when i feel like a traditionalist, i add a couple of tablespoons of chicken fat too. then i turn on the heat to medium high and let it get hot.

now i add the grated onions and whipped up egg to the potato shreds.

with two forks strapped to my legs i toss the whole mixture until the potatoes are evenly coated with egg. if you’re with cirque du soleil you can do this without a spotter, if not, make sure to fall into the potatoes to break your fall.

when the oil is hot, i add a lump of mixture to the oil. look at it sizzle! the aroma is tantalizing!.

while the latkes are happily sizzling away, i put a few layers of paper towel over an over-proof plate. this is where the latkes will relax and drain off the excess oil.

i know that spattering hot oil can damage delicate terry cloth, so, while the potato pancakes sizzle, i retire to a safe distance to observe the fying. hmmm…for some reason, i want a nice cup of tea.

when one side of the yummy pancake is golden brown i gingerly slide the flipper thingie under it and turn it over before it knows what hit it.

when both sides are crispy and golden brown, i gracefully transfer the latke to the plate for draining. soothing music and adagio training really makes a difference, doesn’t it?

like all certified latka professionals, i like to keep my latkes in a warm oven while the other latkes fry.

just look at all these delicious latkes! you can serve them warm with either sour cream or apple sauce.

as the cook, i get to taste the first latke. i start by admiring the golden crispiness. just smell that golden brown carmelized goodness.

i like to start with the ritual dab of sour cream. its a cool and creamy contrast to the warm latke.

flanked by a matching dollop of apple sauce. it’s sweet, tart fruitiness adding harmony and depth. 

mmm! the perfect blend of temperature, aromas, textures and flavors makes me want to exclaim oy! so i shall!  oy!  this is the perfect treat for hannukkah, chistimas, new year, father’s day or any time of year! try some, won’t you?

whether you spell it channukah, hanukkah, hanukah, hannukah, chanukah, chanukkah, channukah, channukkah or hah-nu-quah (i just made that up, but trust me, it will catch on), the festival of lights is a special time for families and friends to get together to celebrate.

it’s day 4 of hannukkan and i’m in charge of arranging the lovely hand embroidered cloth before the menorah. it’s a tradition in my friend’s family and tradition is what hanukkah is all about, isn’t it?

what would the festival of lights be without a menorah of candles? ok, it would be less of a fire hazard, but, candle dominated holidays is exactly why god made fire extinguishers.

visiting with family and friends, old and new, is one of my favorite parts of this 8 day holiday.

when everyone arrives, we all gather as blessings are said before the candles are lit.

the lighting of the menorah reminds us of the miracle of the oil lamp burning for 8 days when the maccabees rededication of the temple in 165 bce. while my hebrew rusty as a moses’ bobby pins, i never hesitate joining in for the last blessing.

how humble i feel, standing in the glow of the candles with those i love knowing that people all over the world have participated in this ritual for centuries.

since no one’s hair caught seriously on fire, it’s time to whip out the dreidel and get the party started!

every night wonderful little gifts are exchanged. this tradition is where most school age children get their sock and underwear drawer stocked for coming year.

i’m hoping to get an honorable mention in the family holiday headgear competition held right after the traditional dinner of chinese take out.

after the blessing, the candles, the gifts, the eggrolls and a few dozen latkes (with extra sour cream)  it’s nice to just quietly sit and reflect on  peace and happiness. i wonder if i make a wish and blow out the candles it it will come true? it can’t hurt!

mazel tov!

what better way to salute this tasty treat that we call fruitcake?

fruitcake haiku

Fruitcake in the spring
soaring tastes like wind in March
the tongue cannot speak

by Christopher

a nice fruitcake cinquain

Fruitcake
mysteries are
like open secrets to
discover spices flowing through
our mem’ries

by Christopher

it’s fruitcake weather! so i am at the national fruitcake preservation institute to partake in the annual fruitcake ritual. as you can see, all the ingredients of a good fruitcake have been assembled.

this is the most important ingredient – a copy of truman capote’s “a christmas memory.” omitting this vital ingredient renders the fruitcake inedible. this is the flaw with many commercial fruitcakes. these doomed fruitcakes remain unopened and circle the worldwide postal system never finding a home.

fruit cake always tastes better when prepared on a table that is covered with a plastic christmas table-cloth on it. non-christian fruitcake aficionados use a festive table cloths related to joyous occasions such a hanukkah, kwanza, winter solstice or the japanese emperors birthday.

no fan fare heralds the start of the ceremony. the ritual begins with the lining of the baking pan. butter secures the wax paper to the special fruitcake pan that has been handed down through the ages.

i have the important task of creaming together the sugar and butter. the goodness of this fruitcake depends on how well i do this. i will live up to this challenge.

the careful sifting of the secret dry ingredients reminds me of a gentle winter snow fall,an enchanting snow globe or baby powder on a hot summer day. don’t you think so?

yummy nuts, candied fruit, holiday colored cherries, raisins and cute little currents are all mixed together in another bowl.

i had better taste a walnut to make sure that is tasty enough for this special fruitcake. yep. it is.

bedecked in the ceremonial floral apron, the fruitcake master whips all the ingredients together with my creamed butter and sugar. what a stirring moment.

the melange or fruits and nuts are then gingerly folded into the rich and creamy batter.

it is always appropriate to taste the mixture at this point of the ceremony. i take just a little taste being mindful not to drool on the spoon.

accompanied by the humming of a cheerful improvised tune, the batter is poured into the fruitcake pan.

spreading the batter carefully in the pan assures that the cake will bake evenly and be attractive.

oh! look! this wooden spoon looks like it needs to be licked clean. i am always happy to offer my services to such a task.

now, the solemn moment comes when the cake is placed in the preheated oven.

a moment of silence is observed then the oven timer is set.

all the ritual implements are now washed, dried and put away for use next year.

the guardian of the fireplace has started a lovely roaring fire and the comfy chair is pulled close to the hearth.

this part of the ritual assures that the fruitcake tastes wonderful. i have the honor of reading “a christmas memory” out loud for all of the assembled guests.
“imagine a morning in late november. a coming of winter more than twenty years ago…”

“…as if i expected to see, rather like hearts, a lost pair of kites hurrying toward heaven.”
i think i sounded exactly like the author, truman capote, as i read that, don’t you?

buzzzzz! the fruitcake is cooked! the aroma is over whelming and the lovely golden brown color is so stunning that it brings tears to my eyes.

using the traditional festive holiday pot-holder, the hot and friendly cake is placed on a cooling rack.

then we wait for the cake to cool. this takes forever….

after a while, the fruitcake is removed from the pan and the protective wax paper is peeled off to expose the attractive character of the warm fruitcake.

we wait some more for the cake to cool completely. this gives me an opportunity to admire the beautiful cake and ponder its mysteries just as the monks from the abbey of gethsemani do when they make their scrumptious fruit cakes.

inspired by the divine and etherial qualities of this unique holiday treat, i have written this poem:

fruit cake golden brown and warm,
tasty fruitcake with such charm.
i bet that you will taste so yummy
and feel real good in my tummy.

i inspect the combination fruitcake vault and aging receptacle (aka cookie tin) for cleanliness. i am prepared to eat any stray cookies that may be found in the tin should it be necessary. not everyone is willing to make such sacrifices, you know.

a delicate basting of bourbon is applied to the cake to keep it moist and happy while it is sealed in the lonely dark cookie tin.

a hush falls over the room as the fruitcake is lowered into its new home. how calm and aromatic the fruitcake is during all this attention.

now that the fruitcake is hermetically sealed in the high tech fruitcake vault. we must now wait for it to age to perfection before we open the container to taste it.

the other guests have left, but, i am going to stick around so that i can be the first to greet the fruit cake when it comes out of the tin.

i will take this opportunity to jot santa a little note about how good i have been this year.

i’ll sit in my monkey sized comfy chair and relax a bit.

i think i’ll enjoy a little exercise and self expression with a few of my favorite dance steps.

i’ll play outside a little, but, i’ll be within earshot of the fruitcake should it need me.

leaping around in the fall air was invigorating, but, maybe i need to take a little nap now.

i’m just checking to make sure that the fruitcake is properly sealed in the tin. we don’t want any of those flavor molecules sneaking out!

it’s been a long day, it’s time to dream about fruitcake!

more waiting…and waiting… i’m glad i that i brought a book to read…and more waiting … and still more waiting!

i wonder if i will ever get to taste the fruitcake…

the day has finally come to taste the fruitcake! yippeeee! this is just as exciting as waiting for the ground hog to come out and see his shadow on ground hog’s day!

i’ll just climb up here and help open up the top of the fruitcake vault.

hmmmmm! it smells delicious!

hello fruitcake. for a moment, i believe it is stunned by the bright lights after all that time in total darkness.

it sure looks well rested and tasty, doesn’t it? i don’t think i would look so good if i has been sealed in a cookie tin for a couple of weeks. would you?

how moist and relaxed the fruitcake is even though it is about to be removed from it’s tin and sliced. i am so impressed.

the fruitcake is placed on the ceremonial cake plate and we all wait for the fruitcake master to begin.

the initial cut is made by the fruitcake master. i sure hope she washed her hands first.

then i am asked to make the second cut symbolizing the passing of the tradition from the masters to the young initiates that are present. it is one of the most moving and memorable parts of the entire ritual.

then i am asked to make the second cut symbolizing the passing of the tradition from the masters to the young initiates that are present. it is one of the most moving and memorable parts of the entire ritual.

no, after thinking about it, i will be able to eat. look at the delectable little currants, the sweet and colorful cherries and those nutty nuts. who could resist? not me!

no, after thinking about it, i will be able to eat. look at the delectable little currants, the sweet and colorful cherries and those nutty nuts. who could resist? not me!

now, can i get you a slice too?