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ONE MORE TO GO.

And then I should probably start my Christmas shopping. And maybe throw in a little baking. I did manage to crank out a nice pan of almond roca the other night. I needed to unwind after yet another hectic day of feeding the masses.

And of all the masses I've fed these last 10 days, I have to say that office parties are the best.

When you get people out of their cubicles, feed them mass quantities of shrimp and ply them with liquor, their personalities take off like fire crackers.

Grumpy McGrumple Pants was no exception.

He walked in to the party wearing a bright red sweater with a picture of Santa on the front. Santa's beard was made of white fur and the rosy cheeks of felt. And Grumpy wore a santa had, with the words, "BAH HUMBUG" emblazoned in gold glitter.

His mission upon arrival was clear - grab a handfull of shrimp from the hors d'oeuvres table. No plate, just a handful of shrimp, and then a determined march over to the bar. Once there he leaned on one elbow, guzzled his beer, and scanned the crowd, chewed with his mouth open, and dropped shrimp tails wherever he felt like it.

I happened to be at the bar when all of this took place, and on my way back to the kitchen I picked up his shrimp tails. To which he responded, "A woman's work is never done", followed up by a nice burp.

What a keeper.

When he came through the buffet line he was 4 chafing dishes away from me when he hollered, "I want an end piece!". I kept carving the prime rib and making chit chat with the people ahead of him in line. The darling lady I was carving for leaned in laughing and said, "Don't take it personal - he talks a good game but he really is a nice guy. Sort of. Sometimes."

And he persisted.

"I want an end piece!"

"How damn long do I have to wait?" And then he let out a big sigh coupled with a 'dramatic-for-effect' eye roll.

Keep smiling, Food Whore... keep the knife steady.

I raised my eyebrow and said, "Well how long do you want to wait?"

He raised his eyebrow in return, rolled his eyes again, and said, "Oh nevermind. I will take that piece there."

"Good choice, you won't be sorry."

He grunted and had a roasted potato in his mouth before he even made it to his table.

The rest of the night went along fabulously, and by the time I took my final sweep of the room Grumpy was singing Sheena Easton on the Karaoke machine, Santa had turned inside out.

I think besides hearing him say that his baby takes the morning train, the best part was his hip swing.

Amazing what a few cocktails can do for a man's spirit.

Happy Holidays Grumpy McGrumple Pants.

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