Sprigs of brioche and crumbs of leftovers, it was indeed Mrs. Claus who could be seen there, along the fence, near the large gift barn, all battered, in the midst of the week’s preparations, and the countless little extras necessary for the setup of a good caterer. Miss Claus had won her battle in the elf arena; she had successfully succeeded the Father. With a light heart, he relinquished his place for the Grand Celebration of all Christmases. In the North Pole of Montreal and surrounding caterers, everything was going smoothly!
It must be said that she, the lovely mother of all the red cheeks of this world, had known for almost 17 years the existence of this Alibaba-like North Pole silo-cave, where all sorts of seasonings, napkins, plastics, metal and wooden utensils, rolls of protective wrapping, snacks, and the whole family of grouped and disparate necessities from paper and cardboard were gathered to ensure everything was perfectly ready—ready for the notable mischief of a post-25 impoverished society, and thus all guests according to their birth year, country of origin, and the distance charged by Santa the deliveryman to arrive safely, etc.
Mrs. Claus was radiant… as everyone knows, despite the statutory oddities of December and the most recent hours of toil. Father, for his part, did not realize how much work she had accomplished to appear all smiles during the last month… when the cold breeze was welcome by all. And all the elves purred at a glance, before the start of the day, precisely at 4 a.m., feeling the steps crunch as the Ho! Ho! turned into Hi! Hi! when the sleepy cat finally emerged from the All-in-All bag. At that moment in the darkness, Grandmother Claus, taller than Three-Apples, wondered about the thousands of things she might lack, the quantity of instruments of all precise kinds that she would need for the sleigh.
“Sprig of Brioche,” she murmured softly, but also to begin this blog, “it’s better to think that I have everything I need… rather than to worry that everything is missing.”
How was she to gauge the ocean of necessities compared to the sea of all deficiencies? “I will have to count everything relying on the letters of the alphabet, making sure nothing is missing—Hola, I would repeat to myself? —associating each letter with the quantity of things I need.”
For A, from rolled dough to offal… One must not shout at fools because the eel was going the wrong way. That sweetheart had missed the purse straps. The appliance, the spider, and the spices got along well. Phew! Without slathering buttermilk or star anise in the bain-marie, so as not to alarm the lower game. Thus, the tsp and the tbsp were full on the couch. And God knows how many Cs followed. As many as unbridle, decant, shell, deglaze, drain, degrease, dilute, nerve, gut, skin, bone, desalt, dissolve, brown, and plate—all share the starting letter D… Provided the Doggy Bag was washed up to the dessert…
She—namely, the Fairy turned Mother and Queen of Snow—had handled the first four letters of the alphabet without losing the following 18 sequences. Or barely. And she continued unflinchingly, well versed in all things culinary, meal organization, and the art of savoring dishes. She felt in nirvana when, happy and taller than the beloved forest…, she reached the final letter of the 26.
“I never would have believed that all the kitchen helpers needed so many tools to run the best catering service in town,” she said to Father, as if he had forgotten that the new society of feminist Mothers of Christmas already knew that there were fewer men than women on Earth. Naturally… the mother of the elves had the faith of an entire series of them, especially as the elf-women had gained in strength and muscle—not too big, though—and had harnessed the formidable desires of the North Country.
“I think I have completed the first part of this Christmas mandate,” she said to him. “And as I said before, I will be ready for Christmas 2017, otherwise everyone will remind me well before the start of next year.”
As in every year, the entire machinery, created by thousands of elves all daring and reinvigorated, like young school adolescents who had regained their taste for sports and hunger for all kinds of exercise. All to get in shape and shed those damned kilos (not pounds, but 2.2 pounds per kilo: Mrs. and Mr. Claus wanted to lose kilos, not pounds—the pounds are now for reading… because losing weight goes so well with learning to read. Alphabet faith!)
Suddenly, the email from the North Pole had triggered the notification on Zeste du monde’s cellphone, turned into a gigantic gingerbread of all kinds and collars. We were in Advent! And all the children would laugh for a long time!
