Our Christmas Cookbook - 13. Amuse Buche

Amuse Buche

By Valkyrie

“It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” blared from the parking lot speakers, assaulting my ears like the pelting snow stinging my face. I pulled my knit hat over my ears and huddled into my black peacoat. I quickened my steps, although it was an exercise in futility. Moving through the ankle-deep snow wasn’t easy, even with sturdy boots. Plus, I was moving toward the annoying music, not away from it.

My breath followed me in puffs, then vanished, instantly obliterated by the wall of heat that blasted me the minute the automatic doors swished open. The loud clang of a bell, followed by a boisterous “Ho! Ho! Ho!” caused me to flinch as I shook off the blanket of snow covering me. I hurried past, avoiding eye contact. I hated feeling like I had to justify why I didn’t put any money into the black pot. It was nobody’s business which charitable organizations I chose to contribute to.

I sighed. I was acting like a Scrooge, when in fact, I actually loved Christmas. On my own terms, that is. I could do without the overdone commercialism and cranky shoppers. One of my favorite parts of Christmas was the annual party with my old college friends. I say old, but we started the tradition seven years ago after we graduated. It was a way for us to stay in touch, even if it was only once a year.

We took turns hosting, and this year it was my turn. I smiled as I reached into my pocket and removed my shopping list. I loved to cook. Coming up with new recipes to complement my old standbys was just as fun as seeing my friends. It took me about an hour to cruise the store and cross off all but the last item on my list.

I turned and headed down the frozen aisle to the ice cream section. Vanilla bean ice cream would go perfect with my chocolate buche de noel. The log-shaped cake was the talk of every party I brought it to. I wasn’t much of an artist with pen or paper, but give me a kitchen to bake in and some flour and sugar, and I could bring to life whatever inspired me.

So my buche de noel looked as if I’d taken a walk in the woods and scooped up a piece of fallen log along with the detritus near it. Meringue mushrooms on top and peanut butter cookie pine cones on the side, nestled into chocolate wafer/Oreo cookie dirt and sprinkled with powdered sugar for snow. Maybe this year I’d add some sugar-coated berries for a bit of color. I grinned. Yes, I’d definitely add some marzipan berries. And maybe even a fondant chipmunk peeking around the edge, even though I hated fondant. I heard the voice of my best friend screaming in my mind, as clearly as if he was standing next to me. What the fuck are you thinking, you idiot! Marzipan chipmunk! Marzipan!

“Excuse me.”

I jumped, broken out of my reverie. A man who looked about the same age as me gestured toward the freezer case. “I need to grab something from here, then you can go back to daydreaming.” He sounded annoyed and had the most adorable frown. It looked more like pouting.

“Oh sure! Sorry. I was lost in my own world for a minute.” My face felt hot. I’m sure it was bright red. I moved aside.

He opened the freezer door and removed a package of pigs in a blanket. “My gourmet contribution to a party where I know no one.” He glanced at my full cart. “Wow. You look like you actually know what you’re doing. Unless your wife is cooking it all.”

I laughed. “No wife. And I love to cook.”

He snorted. “I wish I knew how.” He waved the box of weenies. “I can’t guarantee I won’t burn these. But how lame would it be to show up somewhere and tell the host to pop them in the oven?”

“Do you have a slow cooker?”

He looked at me like I had five heads.

“A crock pot?”

“Oh. Well, yeah. I had one of those in college. I used to heat up my Chef Boyardee in it. I think I know where it is. I just moved here about a month ago.”

“Chef Boyardee?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. You know… that canned ravioli. I like the kind with the little meatballs.”

“I know what it is. I’m just surprised a grown up eats it.”

He scowled. “I told you, I can’t cook.”

I raised my hands in a placating manner. “Hey, no offence, man. I have an idea, if you’re interested. Put those frozen things back, and I’ll show you a simple recipe that’s sure to impress. No cooking needed. Just dump in the crock pot and stir every once in a while.”

He bit his lower lip and shrugged. My heart was doing this strange flippy thing. God, this guy was cute. I wanted to take him home and teach him an appreciation for good food. Among other things.

I smiled. “C’mon. It’s only three ingredients. It’s idiot-proof.”

“Did you just call me an idiot?” I wanted to kiss the corner of his mouth that had risen in an almost-smile.

“Of course not. I don’t know you well enough to call you that. Yet.” I pushed my cart down the aisle and glanced back to see if he followed, wondering what he thought of my adding ‘yet’. He raised an eyebrow, making him look even cuter. After hesitating a few seconds, he strode after me. I had to make a major effort not to skip down the aisle humming “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year”.

I went straight to the prepared meats section and grabbed a package of cocktail weenies. “You’ll need these.” I put them in the basket hanging off his arm, then headed toward the canned food. I normally didn’t shop in that section, but there were a few exceptions. I stopped for a jar of chili sauce, then moved a little farther down to the shelves full of peanut butter and jelly. “Just dump the chili sauce and a jar of jelly into the crock pot, along with the weenies, and let it heat up. Stir it all together, and I guarantee it will be a hit. Grape jelly works best, in my opinion. Or you could get currant jelly and mix it with a jar of mustard. They’re both tasty.”

He picked up a jar of Smuckers grape jelly and looked at it doubtfully. “Well it sounds kind of gross, so I’ll have to take your word for it.” He put it in the basket. “You’re sure this is better than frozen pigs in a blanket?”

“Yeah, it’s loads better,” I replied. “Can’t go wrong with spicy and sweet.” I winked. Good lord, I needed to work on my flirting skills. And I needed to remember not everyone wanted to be flirted with. All I Want for Christmas is You blared from my jeans pocket. Crap. Great timing. I fished it out. “Hey Mark. Yeah, I’m shopping right now. Sure I can pick some up. Can’t wait to see you either. Later.” I disconnected the call and turned toward Mr. Adorable. He was gone. Fuck. That’s what I get for answering my phone instead of adding his number to it.

****

I spent the next day cooking. And pouting. Well, not really pouting. More like daydreaming about having Noel by my side, helping me cook after I taught him what to do. And realizing it would never happen. OK, so I was pouting. Noel was what I decided to call the cutie in the grocery store, since I’d been too stupid to ask him his name.

I sighed. I was sick of being twenty-eight and single. My friends were mostly married, and the ones that weren’t were either engaged or in serious relationships. I was the odd one out. The few relationships I’d had were definitely not long-term. I couldn’t seem to find a guy with the same interests and life goals I had. Maybe I needed to change my approach.

Angst-driven cooking made the day go by quickly. I went a bit overboard this year, with hot roast beef sandwiches, a spicy crab dip, meatballs in a ginger/soy sauce, and my buche de noel—complete with marzipan chipmunk. It was potluck, so each of my friends would bring a dish to share in addition to what I had cooked. We wouldn’t go hungry, that’s for sure.

At least I wouldn’t be the only single person this year. Mark had asked if I minded if he brought a new co-worker—Simone. Simone was new to town and didn’t know anyone, so Mark had invited her to our party. I was fine with it as long as everyone else was. If one of my best friends thought enough of her to invite her into our circle, I wasn’t going to stop him.

Mark and Simone were the last to arrive. I was in the middle of mixing a Moscow mule for Freddy, when my kitchen door opened, blowing frigid December air into the small space, along with my beast of a friend. “Marky!” I grabbed him in a bear hug.

He grinned. “Brenty! Did you pick up the chips I wanted?”

I nodded. “Yup. They’re next to the crab dip.”

“Awesome. Thanks, man. Hey, I want to you meet Simeon. Even though he’s only been in my department for a month, I don’t know what I’d do without him.” He stepped aside to let his friend in.

Wait. Did he say ‘him’?

My jaw dropped when I saw Noel step through the door, carrying a crock pot. His eyes widened, and he almost dropped it when he saw me.

“Oh my God! Noel!” I said.

“Do you two know each other?” Mark asked. He turned to Simeon. “I thought you didn’t know anyone in the area?”

“Noel?” Simeon scrunched his face in adorable confusion.

“Uh….” Crap. What the fuck do I say to that? “Joyeux Noel,” I managed to get out. “En Francais.” The earth could open up and swallow me whole now.

I reached for the crock pot, then set it on the counter. “I see you took my advice.”

He nodded. “I hope you didn’t make it too.”

I laughed. “Nah. I made plenty of other stuff, though.”

“Advice?” Mark asked. He grinned. “Is this grocery store guy?”

Simeon’s face turned bright red. “Uh… yeah.”

Mark guffawed and clapped one hand on each of our shoulders. “Damn, I’m good! I knew you guys would hit it off perfectly!” He headed out of the kitchen, into the dining room.

“Grocery store guy?” I smirked.

“Noel?” he countered.

“I was going to ask you for your number, but you disappeared when Mark called.”

He looked down and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Yeah… I kind of thought he was your boyfriend.”

I laughed. “Only in his dreams. C’mon, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the crew.”

He grinned. “Sounds good. And thanks for letting me crash your party. Mark said you’re all good college friends. I thought I’d feel all awkward and out of place, but I have a feeling this is going to be a Christmas to remember.”

My heart did that awkward flippy thing again. “Yeah. I think it will.”

Recipe:

Cocktail Weenies

1 cup currant jelly

6 oz mustard

OR

1 cup grape jelly

1 cup chili sauce

Heat together until jelly dissolves, then add wieners