Dessert

“it’s a mincemeaty treaty sweety”

I really don’t know how to approach this. I had to preface this text with a photo, because I’m not sure you’d understand why I’d devote my time to writing about that thing presented to you above without having seen its majesty. Look at the majesty. Alright, maybe majesty isn’t precisely the right term and maybe the peculiarity of it hasn’t yet become apparent to you. That block is some sort of pastry treat, some sort of sweet snack. I’m sure you’ve heard of, in however may decades you’ve been hearing of things, the English phenomenon of mincemeat pies. I certainly do not know what, or why, mincemeat pie is, and I have done nothing to rectify this particular blotch of ignorance. Some things can be better appreciated as mysteries, really, and I frankly do not desire to taste a cow pie. I love cows, and despite my habit of eating them, I won’t degrade a cow to pie status. And that probably says more about my opinion of pies than it does my opinion of cows, but I also won’t let this become an anti-pie rant. In truth, I don’t really know if mincemeat pies actually have meat in them, or if it’s just some quaint carnal nomenclature, but a brief google search on the matter suggests to me that some pies in some places got meat in ‘em. But, I actually wasn’t aware of what I was holding when I acquired the item, so I never intended to partake in a deep, meaningful exploration into the meaty world of English delicacies. Luckily, there’s no meat in that brick anyway.

The real reason for my acquisition is because of the unrivalled, charming packaging. It presents in bold red lettering my favorite seasonal adjective: “CHRISTMASSY!” I prefer it with an exclamation point. I hadn’t noticed the small text beneath this (“mincemeat flapjack”), and being the largest word on the package, I was led to believe that Christmassy might be a noun, and that it might be residing beneath the thin plastic. I’ve never tasted Christmassy. But I have heard good things, and it’s from the renowned “Fabulous Bakin’ Boys,” so I’m sure it’s no surprise to you that I purchased this. (I’m more accustomed, and I’m sure you are as well, to having such treats baked by a fictitious grandma, gammy, or aunt, but I decided to give the boys a chance). The phrase under the Christmassy title, in quotes, has already been presented to you: “it’s a mincemeaty treaty sweety.” I really hope the folks in the marketing department got extra cushiony Christmas bonuses for that one. Enclosing this declaration in quotes directly suggests that someone actually spoke it; presumably it was one of the Fabulous Bakin’ Boys. The Boys are calling me “sweety”? Hmm. You know how those two Bakin’ Boys live together, and seem so happy together? I think they’re more than just roommates, if you follow my drift. Fabulous indeed; more power to ‘em, so long as they keep baking.

But this isn’t about mascot sexuality, this is about mincemeaty treaties, sweeties. The side of the package features Santa’s hat with angel wings attached, hovering in holy glory. I don’t think I’d call this personification, or anthropomorphization, but maybe angelfication. I’m not sure what their angelfication of Santa’s hat is based on, but I am wholeheartedly in favor of it. Though I can’t help but wonder if the rest of Santa’s clothes flew away too. Poor guy. It’s cold up there. As a final attempt to charm the consumer, on the bottom of the package where the ingredients and factoids are, there are three informative emblems: suitable for vegetarians, may contain nuts, and “unsuitable for grumpy people.” Those Bakin’ Boys, god bless their little ‘earts.

Oh, what does the Christmassy treat taste like? I dunno, sweet nuts and stuff. Who cares ‘bout that.