Keep the Cookies For Yourself, Santa’s Getting a Steak This Year

Year after year, house after house, Santa picks up the cookie, sniffs on it, looks at it, and routinely lifts it to his bearded mouth for a nibble. Santa’s bored, folks. Cookie after cookie, sip of milk after sip of milk. Cookies were fine way back when. There were fewer stops, and he could eat a few cookies but still make it home for a great Christmas dinner made by Mrs. Claus. But now, with such a big delivery schedule, he’s forced to eat on the run, scrounging on whatever is left for him while delivering around the clock. He needs something hearty and deserves something unique to remember YOUR house by. Give Santa what he really wants but because of the stereotype, he can’t ask for. After all, he has an image to maintain. The following read will explain things, I think…

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring, except for Jerry, Olga’s spouse,

The barbecue tools were all hung by the grill, with great care,

Ready in a moments notice, as hickory smoke filled the air,

The family was asleep, all tucked under their sheets,

But I was still hungry, thinking only of grilled meats,

When up on the roof there were sounds of such a clutter,

“Oh great”,  I thought, “Someone’s stealing my gutter”,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a loaded down sleigh, hooked to eight flying reindeer,

With a tired looking driver, somewhat old, yet still slick,

I knew in a moment it was the real St. Nick.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished from ashes and soot,

A bundle of toys was flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes, how they twinkled, his dimples so merry,

His cheeks were like roses, his nose, a Manhattan cherry;

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow,

After gazing at St Nick, my first initial thought, 

Was  “This guy needs a good meal, not something store bought”,

Cookies are plentiful, and he could eat them without break,

But what Santa really needs is a nice, juicy steak,

“Sit here Santa”, I motioned over to a seat,

Then I served him up a delicious grilled treat.

By the time he was finished, he had eaten his fill,

He looked satisfied now, next to my smoking’ hot grill,

 His face had a smile, with his big round belly,

That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly,

He was chubby and plump, looking more like his old self,

I had to grin when I saw him, in spite of myself,

A wink of his eye and a thumbs up in the air,

Was proof he enjoyed my hickory smoked fare, 

“The ale”, he said, “ Will have to wait”,

“I’ve a big night ahead, and cannot be late”,

After those few words, he went on about his work,

He filled all our stockings, then turned with a jerk,

“I now have the strength to complete my long night”,

“Thanks to that great meal, I’m ready for my flight”,

And motioning with his finger, pointing towards my grill,

“And a bag of coal for you, Jerry” , He said with a thrill,

Santa sprung to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle,

But I heard him yell out, as he drove out of sight-

“Cookies are all good, but that steak was just right“,

He waved and then burped, a sign of his content,

Just as he realized, finally, how much time he had spent,

“I’ve got to fly now Jerry, my schedules so tight”,

“So Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night”.

Because Life is Better Wood Fired