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You know what the greatest thing about Christmas in England is?

It's not the presents. It's not the snow. It's not the Christmas cake and the turkey. It's not the decorated houses and office parties. It's not even Slade's Christmas song.

It's mince pies.

The most fantastic thing in the universe.

Just the blend of the raisins and the apple and the spices and the deliciousness wrapped up in little pastry.

Mmm mmm mm...

Sometimes, even, *voice lowers to a whisper*, I want to buy a jar of mincemeat, grab a spoon, and just eat it straight -- no pastry, no cream, just pure mince, forever and ever.


But that's just sometimes. Then I get better. Really. Truly.

I'm also going to, eventually, make a pumpkin and mince pie -- I think it ought to taste good, but I don't know.

However, those mince and cranberry muffins that are in one of the bakeries in the middle of town....damn, I so want one of those. I'll seriously have to pick one up shortly.

It's literally the best thing about Christmas over here. As much as I love everything else, I could get that all back in New Orleans (except for the snow. Thank fuck.). And I had drinking.

But, man, if it was a choice between being able to get an amaretto sour at 8pm on Christmas Day, and having mince pies from around mid-November until mid-January...

Yeah, it's all about the mince.


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