Christmas ~ a time for celebrating the birth of Christ, a time to gather with family, a time to share the wonders of a white Christmas or for those in the Southern Hemisphere, the wonders of shrimp on a barbie.
But for me, too far from home and having no such religious inclination (I’m busy enough what with my worship of all things edible and spend Sunday mornings eating not praying), Christmas doesn’t appeal to me in the same way as it does some others ~ as a highly spiritual and loving time when families far and wide gather to eat turkey (or tofurkey as it may be in this day and age) and drink eggnog. Or vodka.
For me, Christmas is an excuse. An excuse to eat, cook, bake and sleep in. And further more, it’s an excuse to wear green and red at the same time because damned if I’m gonna be caught wearing that at any other day of the year.
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Those of you who follow me on twitter knew eons in advance that Panu’s mum was coming to visit. Why? Because I tweeted relentlessly about the packets of timtams she was bringing with her and how I just could. not. wait. to get my dirty little paws on them.
Well bring she did. But wrapped she also did. The timtams are my Christmas present and y’know, I can’t be upsetting Santa what with opening presents before Christmas day, right?
Wrong. I opened it anyway. Just to make sure it was all there ~ and yes it was ~ and it’s now re-wrapped and only T-minus two days until the great (official) unveiling! Let’s see if they last that long 
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There’s something to be said about Scandi food. And no, I’m not going to wax lyrical about the actual food because Lord knows I’m not the brightest foodie in the house, but seriously, those Scandinavians, are they tall and hot or what?
I mean, look at them. And then look at me. Oh you don’t see me? Sorry lower your gaze about two feet and oh there! There I am, three feet from the ground.
What is it that they feed these guys so they are super tall, super hot and super… well I don’t know if they’re all super smart but for arguments’ sake, let’s say they’re also super smart. Whatever it is they eat, I want some because I’m sure, I’m really sure, that at 30, I’m still growing, right?
Because I can’t be this short my whole life right? Right….?!
[...echo...]
Whatever. I figure that if I let myself loose on a Scandinavian smorgasbord buffet, I would have some semblance of a chance to grow an inch or two right there on the spot.
And if I don’t? Well, it still tastes pretty darn good… and with that excuse safely tucked under my arm, I headed off to Madsen last Saturday evening, ready for a Scandi assault.
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You know how sometimes, after you’ve been with someone for a while, you kind of stop expecting any surprises. And I don’t mean like oh hey here’s a no-reason gift kind of surprise ~ those are definitely still welcome, although maybe you do stop expecting those eventually too.
What I mean is, you think you know everything about them, what they’re like when they’re happy, sad, stressed, tired and hungry… and especially how they react when they find you’ve put a red sock in with the whites. But most of all you think you know all of their skills and what they are capable – or incapable – of.
So imagine my surprise when the boys’ turn to cook finally rolled around and Panu turned into something of a budding pastry chef and knocked out not just one, but two serves of sweet thangs.
Check it out: delightful little cinnamon scrolls and the very appropriately timed Christmas star.
Wow.
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