Dear Feastlings,
I’m not a person who puts a lot of stock in a holiday. Thanksgiving is something of an exception because I grew up understanding that I had it pretty good, as people in the world go, and I still feel it’s appropriate to pause every now and again to experience some gratitude. I’m well aware that this might come off as disingenuous coming from someone who essentially writes a weekly gripe, but I mean it.
As for Christmas and Hanukkah, though, they’re not my thing. I’m grateful, mind you, to jump on the commerce bandwagon and try and dig Feast out of the red and close the year solidly in the black each year, which is partly what today’s email is about: you have until 8:00 pm tonight to place your Christmas pickup order, and the menu, one last time, is here:
and this week’s wine tasting, one first time, is here:
Nonetheless, on the whole, I’m not much for carrying on about the holidays.
Every year is a little bit different, though, and this year, in being different, is no different. Will, who’s joined us in the kitchen here and proven to be different from what we’ve been experiencing since the pandemic in that he’s adult and responsible and reliable, has a penchant for Christmas, so I’ve relented in a small way: Will, on his own time and with his own ingredients, inspired by something I can’t see, has made a Gingerbread Feast. I, despite my distaste for the commercial onslaught of Christmas decor and music and crass commercialism that begins, I think, shortly after Halloween now, have let him set up shop with his small yet large-hearted gingerbread version of Feast, and I must say, it’s rather dear. It’s charming and heartfelt, and you can’t argue with someone who’s that fired up about making a gingerbread version of the place he comes to work each day to wonder if all of his coworkers will show up.
If you show up, though, this week, you’ll see Will’s twinkly celebration of Feast and the holiday season and our guests as you arrive, and while your heart may not grow three sizes, it should at the very least elicit a smile. Will’s nearly my age, but all week, I’ve felt like I had a kid in the kitchen, and it’s actually been pretty pleasant. Not pleasant enough to want kids of my own, but that ship has already sailed long ago, and that’s a whole different email.
See you soon with a twinkle in my eye, but it’s really just a reflection of the twinkly lights on Will’s Gingerbread Feast.
Love,
Doug