The Proof Is In The Pudding

birdwomanchristmas puddingI don’t know what message this Victorian Christmas image is trying to convey, but it’s certainly not Christmas cheer. Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol refers to “the pudding singing in the copper,” so I can only assume this pudding decided to do a little choreographed number as well. It may be smiling, but the birdwoman is not.  She looks downright alarmed. Fortunately, the lid serves as a protective shield. The message here: pudding is dangerous, albeit polite.

I (like most  Americans) am not familiar with what a Christmas pudding actually looks or tastes like. When Americans think “pudding,” we think chocolate pudding and Bill Cosby. Pudding is not hard and aggressive; it is soft and creamy.

In my mind, the copper pot pudding resembles a yummy fried hushpuppy. Yet, I know that it most certainly is NOT a hushpuppy, because hushpuppies are “comfort food.” They do not get violent.

When Mr. Deasley posted his top ten “alternative” puddings last week (t, I got my first glimpses at these foreign puddings.



This holly-sprigged treat doesn’t look anything like the dessert in the birdwoman cartoon. It does, however, resemble THIS image of what appears to be a burnt meatloaf, carrying his own weapon of execution.

Charles Goodall & Son
Charles Goodall & Son

Perhaps Brits feel the same way about Christmas pudding that Americans feel about fruitcake: unless it is drenched in brandy, why bother? The difference is, we don’t stick currency in our food.

Apparently, custom once dictated putting a coin inside the pudding, and the one who bit down on it and cracked his tooth would interpret it as a sign of good luck. The irony in this cartoon, is that the value of the pound was falling. I liken it to putting a peso in a fruitcake. You’d have to shove seven thousand inside it to make it valuable, at which point, every bite would be fraught with pesos, and everyone would need dental work. OH, I GET IT! THAT’S WHY BRITS HAVE THE REPUTATION FOR BAD TEETH. It all makes sense now. What a revelation.

Anyway,the tradition seems as foolish as slipping a wedding ring inside a cake or a glass of champagne; choking hazards are nothing to rejoice about. Unless you know the Heimlich Maneuver, I would discourage it altogether.


All Nogged Out


I started this blog nearly a year ago, while I had taken ill, and it was under the effects of Theraflu (which is now nonexistent on the shelves–thank you, crack addicts) and the advice of my hubby that I took to WordPress to express my concerns over two troubling world issues:

  1. Baked potatoes should come with five toppings standard, like automatic windows in a new car.
  2. Egg nog should be accessible to every American throughout the month of December.

As I reflect on that second nog-related post (, I realize that right here, right now (as Jesus Jones would say–or would be saying if he were culturally relevant), egg nog is abundant. It is, in fact, accessible. The shelves are stocked. What chapped my hide last year was that only four days after Christmas, it was gone. Disappeared, like some glorious Doug Henning trick.

You remember him, right? The stache? The buck teeth? Anyway, R.I.P. Doug Henning.

The point is: it’s available, and I’m already over it. I’ve already gone through two cartons of it, and I’m plum nogged out. It’s so thick and rich, like Pepto-Bismol coating your tummy lining. But you bet your bippy come 12/29, I’ll have a sharp hankering for it. And therein lies the problem: sales peak on 12/26. We’re on the way to the tippy-top of nog sales; we’re waxing, brother. We’re waxing. But after 12/26, it’s a sharp wane, a steep cliff down to complete nog in absentia.

Oh. My. Gosh, you guys. I just found a picture of some nog I’ve never been witness to.

EggnogWhat is this brand? I’ve never heard of it. If I recall high school French class, that loosely translates to “how good, the milk of the chicken.” Correct? That’s not appetizing. Maybe I won’t want nog on 12/29 after all.

Christmas Mold

jelloI don’t suppose Santa would prefer a jiggling foot-high Jell-O mound to a batch of warm Tollhouse Cookies, but it’s better than nothing–and low on calories. Although I would never allow my toddler to sleep under a table for safety reasons, I can confirm that the pose is a common one for children, as though they were kneeling in prayer and simply toppled forward. My concern is the rodent in a cradle on the mantle. ‘Twere I Santa, I would question the hygiene of the home and pass on the gelatin altogether.

Coolest. Wrapping. Paper. Ever.

ET010What you are witnessing surpasses the pairing of peanut butter and jelly, Jack and Diane, or even Tanqueray and Tonic. It is indeed a combination of the Extra-Terrestrial and the celebration of the Savior’s birth. My mind is too blown to continue. If you are unaware of the merits of wrapping paper, feel free to go back in time and check out:

Egg Nog

It’s only December 29, four days after Christmas. Our tree is still up, the lights on our house are still blinking. But the grocery store today posted this sign on a refrigerated shelf: “Sorry–no more egg nog. It’s out of season.” How long was the season? Did it end at midnight Christmas day? I realize that the demand for eggnog gradually increases throughout the holiday season, but surely they could stock it up to New Year’s Eve?  This graph from shows sales clearly decreasing, yet still existent.

nog sales

What if Ted Danson, Jude Law, or Mary Tyler Moore wanted to celebrate their birthdays today with some egg nog and brandy? This is America, after all. That shouldn’t be too much too ask. What is wrong with a little residual Christmas spirit? We showed up at Hobby Lobby on the morning of the 26th, just HOURS after Christmas had ended, and employees were frantically tossing reindeer and snowmen aside to make way for red sequined hearts for Valentine’s Day. Valentine’s Day! That’s not until the month after next. And don’t get me started on how insignificant THAT holiday is. The pressure to effectively yet forcibly express your love through Russell Stover boxed chocolates.  I’d rather drink egg nog.

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