It's Despicable this Yankee Swap...said the Non-New Englandah!

It's that time of year again for the infamous tradition of the Yankee Swap.  This time honored tradition is either loved or despised and quite frankly I love it!  For those of you who have recently decided to make New England your home be prepared to recieve an invitation to engage in the finest type of holidays swap you'll  find this side of the Mississippi. This swap is bound to be full of mayhem and foolishness, for this my friend, is no Secret Santa.   Recently I have heard many people debating the likability of this tradition.  Of course most of the people I've heard complain are transplants.  Other wise known as Non-Native New Englandah's who are simply perplexed , disappointed and overwhelmed by the entire wacky experience of having their feelings hurt.  For those of you unfamiliar with the tradition let me explain.


First of all there is a dollar limit placed on the swap.  In a Yankee Swap each person participating brings a wrapped, unmarked gift and places it in a designated spot.  Then numbers are made up (1 for each package brought) and the numbers are then drawn from a hat but there is a twist.  The person who picks the #1 goes first and selects whatever gift he/she wants and yes, people are allowed to touch, life and shake packages.  The person who picks the #2 goes next and picks a gift.  Then he/she can chose to keep their gift or take the gift from person #1.  This goes on and on until the last person gets their gift.  The higher your number the more selections of gifts you have to steal from people.  You get to steal from your co-workers, friends or family.  Now here's the real kicker.  The person who had the #1 gets to choose again & pick the final gift.  He/she can choose to steal from anyone he/she chooses. The ultimate thief.  Whahaaaa (evil laugh)


So what's the harm?  Non-Native New Englandah's, unfamiliar with this time honored tradition usually spend way too much thought and money in choosing their gifts while us natives usually go for the worst or funniest gifts ever.  They also open up their gift and are not aware that someone is going to take it away from them.  You can always tell the gifts that are bought by the Non-Native New Englandah's.  They will put something classy together; like a wine basket complete with glasses and maybe some cheese & crackers while the Native will gift a Chia-Obama or better yet an Office Voodoo Doll kit.  Most people use the swap as a way to re-gift the worst gift the received last Christmas.  During the swap there is usually tons of laughter to see the totally ridiculous gifts that people give and perhaps even more hilarious is seeing who gets stuck with what gift. 

I remember at one Yankee Swap, this lady in our office brought a in pair of Vintage Americana Snowmen.  Yup that's right, complete with a blue & white starry vest & red, white and blue top hat.  They were something one would find in a village primitives shop and pay top dollar for.  Everyone in the office was laughing at these ridiculous snowmen, not realizing that she had spent hours making them by hand.  Everyone was dying to see who would end up with this pair of snowman.  It was the most Gothic Girl in our office!  Once everyone found out they were handmade we all felt bad...for about a minute but all in all it was so frickin' funny.  Everyone was in stitches.

Personally, I love Yankee Swaps and find them very entertaining.  For all you Non-Natives who find this tradition dispciable I recommend that you stop trying so damn hard to pick the perfect gift for your office holiday party.  Yankee Swaps are a time for cheer and if you're feelings are hurt I say it's time to simply lighten up.  Go buy the Clapper, Chia-Pet or some other random quirky gift and let the laughter begin!  Oh and PS-Welcome to New England~

Dirty Girl Scout!

Tis the holiday season and for those of you who are simply looking for a new martini recipe, I would like to share one of my all time holiday classics, The Dirty Girl Scout.

Ingredients

• 1 part vodka or Kahlua
• 1 part Godiva chocolate liqueur
• 1 part creme de menthe
• 1 part Bailey's
• 1 mint leaf

Directions

1. Pour the vodka, chocolate liqueur, creme de menthe, and Bailey's into a cocktail shaker over ice. Cover, and shake until the outside of the shaker has frosted. Strain into a chilled martini glass and garnish with a mint leaf to serve.  CHEERS!

Cakettes-little balls of delicious loveliness

One brisk autumnal morning I stumbled into my local coffee shop as part of my ritualistic need for caffeine.  Yes, I am an addict.  I am addicted to the sweet caffeinated concoction known as...the latte.  A bold blend of espresso delicately blended with steamy frothed milk.  Delish!  There, nestled behind the glass counter were the most dainty cakes that I've ever bestowed my eyes upon.  What were these?  I was intrigued my the circular shape of these little cake balls.  I'm not a "big cake" eater in fact I find cake very boring and often times too sweet for my palate.  These however, were simply irresistible and I had to taste just one.  "I'll take the one with the little carrot on top" I said to the Barrista behind the counter.  I popped the little cakette into my mouth and a symphony of flavors began dancing around in my mouth.  Tastes of spicy cinnamon, sweet carrot, and sinful cardamon swirled around my mouth like a pinwheel in the wind.  Bursts of flavor delicately
balanced with the sweetness of white chocolate.  A truly scrumptious delight.

I found out that these cake balls, properly known as Cakettes, were made locally in Warren by Tessa Dagger and her husband, whose name I don't know, so with all due respect, I'll just refer to him as "the English guy."  "Warren?  Where the heck is Warren?" The only thing I knew about Warren, was that Molly Bish came from Warren and why the Hell would I ever want to go there.  Oh wait, I know for an adventure!  A sugary, caffeinated adventure whose sole aim will be:  To find the source of Cakettes (wink).

Driving down the windy country roads flanked by tall pines and cedars, past the apple orchard and down a steep hill into Warren I came.  Located in the quietest town this side of Mayberry, I arrived in rustic downtown Warren.  Situated right between the post office and the police station I found (drum roll please) the glorious Cakettes shop!  I walked into the shop, which is much larger inside than it appears from the street and was pleased with delight as I met the owner Tessa. She explained to me that she had made these small cakes & gave them to co-workers.  She eventually started taking order and when business took off she decided to take a leap of faith with the Englishman and open up a shop.  She herself is the proud daughter of a baker. 

After the quick chat I looked into the display case at all the dainty cakes.  Cakette's headquarters was bursting with so many fun flavors.  Red Velvet, German Chocolate, Lemon, Peanut Butter, Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, Carrot Cake and their latest Maple Bacon.  I bought a box of 16 and brought them in to work to share.  Everyone loved them.  They're moist, flavorful, beautiful to look at and fun to eat. 

Cakettes make great "Thank You" (as some friends & Senators can attest to), Holiday and Hostess gifts.  I brought some to my Uncle Rich's for Thanksgiving because they're just so darn cute.  I've already placed my order for the special edition "Christmas Cakettes" to bring to several Christmas Parties. Looking for the perfect gift this holiday season?   Appealing to all five senses, Cakettes are the perfect gift to give anyone on your list. You can place your order online and they ship anywhere in the U.S.  http://www.iwantcakettes.com/

Why Ed McFly?

Ed, Ed Mc Fly.  That's just one of the many nicknames I've earned over the years.

One scorching summers day on the banks of Lake Holly, located in good ol' Sparta, Virginia I was dubbed "Ed" by the infamous Kenny Jones.  At the time, I was part of the U.S. Junior Olympic Team and was spending the week at Lake Holly training with my teammates.  On the final day of training we had a tournament.

My step-father Doug, for whatever reason has an obsessive compulsive need to label any and every piece of sporting equipment everyone in the family owns; despite the fact that we all know what equipment belongs to whom.  He would write our names on pieces of masking tape and slap them onto our snow skiing poles, mind you we each had our own size, brand and color.  He would do the same thing to our snow skis even though we all had different types. So OF COURSE he HAD to label my slalom ski before I went to Virginia.  Obviously he thought I had no clue what my ski looked like, despite the fact that I had the only 63 inch pink & blue Kidder ski with double high boot wrap bindings and despite the fact that I had used it for 2 seasons.  The fact remained that I could have forgotten what it looked like.  So before I left, being a good Doougie, he went to Tru-Value to buy some of those REALLY gianormous, white sticky letters.  You know the kind you stick on a mailbox or a moving truck and spelled out the name "DEE" (Note:  For my first 21 years on planet Earth I was know as Dee or Dee-Dee, never ever was I called Diana....ick.)

The tournament began and I was up.  So I put my gloves on, buckled up my best, grabbed my handle and ski and walked down to the starting dock.  I dipped my ski in the water and pulled it out again, put it on the dock so I could squirt some dish detergent into my binding that was I could just slide my foot right in to the slippery wet binding.  When I looked down to slide my foot into the binding--my ski said "ED" instead of "DEE" I thought, "What the HELL?!*  I turned around to the sound of my teammates laughing their heads off and a heckling coach, Kenny Jones.  My coach thought it was a riot that HE, himself had rearranged the letters on my ski.  I didn't mind so much, it made me feel cool and Kenny Jones was really hot back then.  He was around 24.  Tall, tan, buff with curly blond hair and eyes as blue as the sea-I often wonder where Kenny is now?  Probably old, bald and selling tires somewhere.  So that's how I got the nickname Ed.  Now the last name...McFly.  That's a story for another day.
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