We’re already over halfway through January, so why am I writing about mince pies? Besides the fact that if you’re reading this then you’re (probably) an adult (meaning THE RULES don’t apply anymore so if you want to eat a mince pie in mid-Jan or the height of summer, then do it!), there is a sweet reason. Pun intended, as per.
You see, this year I’m having to unlearn a LOT of rules that have followed me from childhood and through teenage years to well into my adult life. (More on that another time.) And one of the ways I’m doing that is to flip adulthood on its head and behave more like a child. Not in the literal sense, like throwing my apples and bananas out the trolley or demanding someone else wipe my bum, but in the pragmatic sense. Of just being. Being in the now, giggling more, and generally letting things go. So if that means a warm mince pie midway through January, then so be it.
I’ll disclaim that it wasn’t quite mid-January but the second week of the month that this warm mince pie made its way into my gloved hand – and then into my mouth. I was in the middle of a tennis set with my usual Monday foursome when one of the guys announced he’d brought mince pies to energise us as we played in the sub-zero temperatures. (I’m know, it’s almost TOO keen to be playing whilst your tits are literally freezing.)
Yet this wasn’t just any mince pie. And before you say it (because who can’t follow that phrase without saying it?), it wasn’t an M&S mince pie either. This was, however, THE butter-iest, mince-iest, hot dang still WARM homemade mince pie. Lovingly made by one of the guys in our four (and his wife).
Now, I know you’re wondering how the mince pie was still warm given:
1) That it was about -2 degrees C
2) We were in the middle of a set and the last time you checked, tennis courts don’t come with microwaves (still!)
3) Well, does it really matter if a mince pie is warmed or not?
I’ll answer point three first, because yes – yes my friends, it does. On this particularly teeth-chatter-y, dark January Monday evening, the warmth of the mince pie made all the difference. And meant all the more.
You see, not only had he made the mince pies. He’d also wrapped them in multiple layers of heat-retaining materials so that they’d still be warm when we braved taking off our gloves (or not, in my case) to eat them. Tin foil, a food bag, one sturdy tupperware, even a hug of bubble wrap, and these mince pies were snug. They were also carried across the court in a thick, winter coat – safe to say the wrapping elements were certainly putting in a shift to counter the literal elements. And boy, oh boy did it work. Not only were the mince pies warm – they were hot. But they represented more than just a welcome warmth to our frozen fingers and ‘hi’ to our taste buds.
Thought. Care. Friendship. Three feelings I didn’t know I could get from a mince pie, but I felt that Monday evening. Because he didn’t need to bring us a snack – he certainly didn’t need to make one at home. I’m not saying the pies were made solely for us – they could’ve been one of the many treats leftover from Christmas that were now in desperate need of eating. Who knows? And who cares. Time had been spent not just bringing them to share, but making (and keeping) them hot. We all stepped off the court with a warmth that turning up the thermostat simply can’t bring.
So, my friends, that brings us to the end of the story about the Monday mince pie. The moral of which, I hope, is that whilst you can buy all the gifts and gadgets in the world, and even boxes of mince pies, you can’t buy thought. And you certainly can’t scan friendship through the self-checkout.
January gets a wrath for being the bleakest of months. But remember, that’s only if you choose to let it be. Long live the Monday mince pie!
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