Fuck Gingerbread Houses
Yeah, I said it in the title. And I will say it again...
FUCK
GINGER-
BREAD
HOUSES
My wife’s family has a wonderful holiday tradition where my mother-in-law has her 2 daughters over for the evening a couple of days before Christmas, and together the three ladies make delicious traditional Italian Christmas cookies.
I love that they do it and I am jealous that my lazy Irish family has nothing similar in our back pocket… Plus, my wife refuses to bake anything with me because I make too many semen references when she is handling frosting.
But because my inlaws can’t leave well enough alone, they have one other tradition… One where my mother-in-law gets all 6 of her grandkids over for an early-December evening, and she and the kids make gingerbread houses.
They also drink cocoa, have snacks, and watch classic holiday movies that night, but it’s the house building that is front-and-center.
When either my wife or I pick the kids up later that night, my mother-in-law is undoubtedly left with a mess of a house, but one thing she isn’t left with: Three useless and subpar-looking gingerbread houses that my kids insist we put out for display alongside the rest of our high-end Christmas decorations at home.
“You’re an asshole, Large… Having a couple of GBHs (yeah, acronyms!) on display is a small price to pay for your kids’ happiness and to uphold a family tradition.”
Correct… It is a small price to pay AND I am certainly an asshole.
But here’s the thing… I have three wonderful kids. They are all good students, good people, and they are a pleasure to raise.
Unlike Kate in 15 years (ZING!), I can proudly boast that, as of today, my 2 sons have no unwanted pregnancies on the horizon and my daughter’s career trajectory involves neither a pole nor a sequined thong.
So they are all aces with me, and they are all very special individuals in their own right, but the one thing they all share is their utter inability to make a halfway decent GBH.
As a result, every December, I get stuck with a mantle that is littered with fly-attracting eyesores.
In years past, I have found ways to get rid of these abominations before the company arrives… I have stumbled "inadvertently" towards the mantle and knocked all three onto the floor. The resulting crash leaving all three in absolute shambles… Almost like someone purposely stepped on the moderately-cracked houses AFTER they hit the ground.
I've also tried eating them (terrible), donating them (nobody wants my garbage), and one year I started a small fire on the shelf above the kitchen sink where the 3 houses sat.
I'm all out of options this year, so I will be saddled once again with these three pieces of confectionary shit.
How can I make myself feel better about this, you may have asked? (but probably didn't)
Well… I think I found a way, and it's by joining in on the fun.
Except instead of using stale gingerbread and leftover Halloween cand to adorn a dessert nobody will eat, I am going to make a gastronomic milkshake that will bring all the boys to the yard…
And damn right, it's better than yours.
I can teach you, but I hafta charge.
And the price is just finishing this blog, I guess.
A social media friend named "Dad Strength" showed me this little beauty, and now it's all I can think of…
Isn't this a fucking fine idea?
And maybe you've seen meat-houses like this before, but I haven't and I am FURIOUS that I didn't think of it first.
I am not familiar with the Instagram account that posted the picture, but they've provided me with a great starting point… I see what looks to be chorizo as the roof tiles, and there are some braided breadsticks holding up the actual roof. I am guessing the cheese is white-American (like me), but perhaps it's a squared-off provolone. Proscuitto for the door, windows, and most of the front yard. Simple cucumber slices and halved cherry tomatoes for the landscaping. And then some questionable use of raw bacon as the outside walls.
I am not here to judge how this person did, but I will be here to bastardize and elevate the shit out of his-or-her design. I will probably invite Cons over to supervise since that thick-wristed veteran has become Barstool's de-facto charcuterie expert AND he always brings good wine.
(I'm always Goose… sigh.)
And by the time Cons and I get done, you can be sure I will present this fucking MASTERPIECE to my diners on Christmas Day with more heart-swelling pride than any of my shitty cookie making kids could ever provide.
Will keep you up.
Seasons eatings, and an early Merry Christmas.
Take a report.
-Large
I had a little piece of merchandise hit the store last night.
I started this Largini Walk Club (LRC) to rival the MASSIVE group of runners that Nardini has following her (NRC).
I am "briskly" walking a half-marathon along with Erika the day before Thanksgiving, and for the handful of people who want to join, the walking club has a uniform…
And when the marathon is over, the Large Walk Club will transition seamlessly into the Large Wine Club (probably with Cons again), and the logo will still make as much sense at the bar as it did at the track.
The shirts will be available for only a limited time, just so the store can ensure enough shelf space going forward for EVEN MORE clothing emblazoned with quotes insinuating that you may or may not be a whore.
(They have sold THOUSANDS of these, by the way… God bless, Alex.)
TAR
-L