St. Nicholas Day

This is the feast day of St. Nicholas, Bishop of Myra (Asia Minor, today's Turkey) in the early fourth century, and remembered today as the patron saint of Russia, Aberdeen, children, merchants, sailors, travelers, parish clerks, scholars, pawnbrokers, and thieves.

It was the Dutch who, to celebrate the feast of St. Nicholas and his kindness to children, began the tradition of giving presents to children on his day.  They brought the custom to the New World, and Sant Nikolaas soon became Santa Claus.

And so, we wish a splendid day to all Hollanders, Russians, Aberdeenians, children, merchants, sailors, travelers, parish clerks, scholars, pawnbrokers, and thieves.  I am now searching around for something I can pawn.  Or steal.

Steve Sings Again

Hi there, music fans!  This is your ole buddy Steverino, tinkling the ivories at the Jade Dragon Lounge in Hong Kong.  To quote longtime Conservative supporter Irving Berlin, "I know a fine way/to treat a Steinway."

Did I hear someone say, "Play it again, Steve"?  Well, we're gonna get the show going tonight with a Hoagy Carmichael classic, appropriate to my visit.  It's Hoagy's "Hong Kong Blues." Sorry if any of the lyrics offend.  This song was written before the era of political correctness, which as far as I know has not yet reached Alberta.  Political correctness--kind of an NDP thing, really.  You know what my friend Jack Layton says NDP stands for?  "No Ditzy Prime Ministers."  Ha ha, that's rich.  Jack is such a card.  Got any plans for your next career, Jack? Okay, here we go.  Music, maestro, please.

"This is the story of a very unfortunate colored man

  Who got stranded down in old Hong Kong.

  He got twenty years privilege taken away from him

  When he kicked old Buddha's gong."

Funny, Bacall loved it in "To Have and Have Not."  Well, moving right along, I've got a tune here for my old pal Iggy.  I was going to do "Harvard Blues"--you know, "I don't keep no dogs or women in my room"--but being as we're here, I thought this Frank Loesser number might be more apropos.  Comin' at you, Ig:

"I'd like to get you

 On a slow boat to China...."

Wait a second, how did Bob Rae get in here?  Okay, Bob, you just keep that up.  We'll send Mike Duffy over to sit on you.  

"...out on the briny,

  The moon big and shiny...."

Wow, that's the first time I've been pelted with pork dumplings.

 

Chicken a la Nose Candy

News item:  Man taken from plane in Guatemala and arrested, when found to be carrying a roasted chicken stuffed with several thousand dollars worth of cocaine.

Man says he got the recipe from Bon Appetit and his lawyer claims it is an old family favorite, but prosecutors sniffed at these stories.  The question now:  Is it safe to consume the chicken? Arresting officers need to know.  Right away!

Meanwhile, we are open to receiving your innovative recipes for new ways of dressing up traditional fare.  

Christmas Singalong

Disheartened by the latest Yuletide heavy hip-hop hit, "We Three Dudes of Orient Are," I ask: where are the grand old, traditional Christmas songs, those familiar melodies that speak to the heart? 

I'm thinking of "All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth," a particular favorite of orthodontists.  And "I Saw Mummy Kissing Santa Claus," very big with lawyers.  How about Eartha Kitt's "Santa Baby," a song that brilliantly encapsulates the spirit of acquisitiveness? 

And then, my personal favorite, a seasonal song steeped in beauty:  Yogi Jorgensen's "I Yust Go Nuts at Christmas."  Perhaps Bob Dylan will cover it.

And now, must run.  The Mistletoe Twins, Holly and Ivy, are going to record my offering for the season:  "Let's Put the X Back in Xmas."

Professional Gift Certificates

Gift certificates are always appreciated, especially those to Wines-R-Us, but some fear they may be considered--well--lacking in imagination.

If you are one of these, take heart!  This Christmas, we are proud to introduce the Professional Gift Certificate Collection!

Think what joy you would bring to those near and dear to you with one of these:

* The Orthodontist's Christmas Smile:  A gift certificate for one root canal.

* Strictly Legal:  A gift certificate good for one law suit.

* Accountant Angels:  Professional help for your Canada Revenue tax audit.

* Lovely Liposuction:  'Tis better to lose than to gain.

* Degree Delight:  Good for one honorary doctoral degree, university of your choice.

Our family has embraced this new concept in gift-giving.  In fact, my wife has already revealed her gift certificate for me:  ten hours of basic instruction at the Arthur Murray Dance Studio.

The Dreaded Christmas Letter

I'm terribly sorry, I haven't had time to prepare anything today.  I've been working on my annual Christmas letter, my one-communication-fits-all.  As usual, I will type it single-spaced on a manual with a faded ribbon and then run off copies on a 1928 ink-smearing Gestetner, to make it as illegible as possible.  Hey, it's traditional.

I'm sure you, too, love receiving letters like these at Christmas.  However, I often find  myself sympathizing with their writers.  Especially those who have committed themselves to composing their Yuletide letters in rhyme.

As you know, these letters are commonly a wrap-up of the year's events--who graduated, who had liposuction, who came out of the closet--that sort of thing.

Well, I think, it must be very difficult for people when they have news to relate that is less than cheery.  Allow me to quote from a letter I received last December: 

"Did you hear of the investigation?

  Frank had to leave the force.

  When we were near starvation

  We barbecued his horse.

  Then we tried a separation,

   But settled on divorce.

   We hope your celebration 

   Is untarnished by remorse."

Good luck with your Christmas letters.

Are You Ready for a Throwdown?

So there I was in my kitchen preparing la specialite de la maison:  a peanut butter and cheese sandwich.  Suddenly, the door was flung open, and I heard a familiar New York voice cry, "I'm here to challenge you to a peanut butter and cheese throwdown!"  

Yes, it was Bobby Flay, looking like James Cagney's grandson, and accompanied by his equally daunting assistants, Stephanie and Miriam.  What could I say?  I said, "Uh--okay."

"Great," he said.  "What kind of peanut butter are you using?"

"My usual, " I said.  "Adams Crunchy."

"Sounds terrific," he said, "but I am roasting and grinding my own specially harvested peanuts. And, for an extra dash, I am adding macadamias, cashews, and the rare Nepalese Nugget, grown only in the Himalayan mountain tops.  Whaddya got for cheese?"

"A sharp, extra old cheddar from Armstrong."

"Yeah, that's good, all right.  Adding anything to it?"

"Maybe a little mayo.  Couple of pickles."

"Uh-huh.  Well I'm using this yak's milk cheese from Mongolia.  Then I'm spreading on my own beet root aioli, and for a little punch, some minced poblano and habanera peppers.  It all goes together on this poppy seed challah, which Miriam and Stephanie baked this morning. Whaddya got to drink with that?"

"I usually like a glass of milk."

"Very traditional, and I commend you for that, but I think I'll make my Tequila Surprise. Couple of jiggers of silver tequila, Triple Sec, juice of the rare Saudi Arabian oasis melon, and a sprig of saguaro cactus as garnish.  Okay, let's call in the judges!"

"Judges?"

"That's right.  Steph and Miriam found two for us.  Tell us your names, judges." 

"I'm Todd Fruehling, I'm ten years old, and I love peanut butter."

"Good for you, Kid.  And you, sir?"

"Mah nom ess Phil Foosher and ah jess cum from mah dentish.  Mah jaw ess froshen."

"You'll be fine, Phil.  Okay, now the moment of truth.  My spectacular and innovative take on an old favorite, labeled A, or my friend's humble offering labeled B, although personally I would label it F.  What do you say, judges?  Todd?" 

"I go for A, Mr. Flay.  I loved it!"

"Thanks, Kid."

"And thanks for the five bucks you slipped me."

"Okay, now let's hear from our second judge.  Phil?"

"It's definitely sandwich A!  Those poblano and habanero peppers completely unfroze my jaw, and the tequila has removed all pain!  Bless you, Chef Flay!"

"Well, Steph and Miriam, another triumph.  Let's move on to our next challenge:  pork rind and marmalade casserole.

"All you awesome cooks out there, keep doing what you're doing.  But ask yourself this:  are you ready for a throwdown?"

And then, quickly as they had appeared, they were gone.  I had hoped they might have left some tequila, but no such luck.  I was preparing to bite into my sandwich when the door burst open again.

Could it be?  Yes it was.  Gordon Ramsay.  "Where," he bellowed, "is the #%$*& kitchen?"