We all go a little nuts during the holiday season, it's true. But Jens, well, we kick it up a notch. Witness my relentless shopping spree on Friday. And tonight, Jen decided to make shortbread. Since she has an old Welsh family recipe, it seems only fitting to share its delights with the world. (Or, in this case, her girlfriend's family.) There was much flour and sugar and rolling-pin action, and then the glorious scent of shortbread filled our home. She put the little heart-shaped wonders on the cooling rack and said, "Now we wait." Very ominous. Once the cookies cooled, she broke one open. "Nooooooo!" she cried. "Whamblefunch?" I said. (That's "what" with your mouth stuffed full of shortbread.) "The line! They have the line!" Uhh, the line? Dude, I don't know what you're talking about, but these are seriously yummy. "They're no good!" she said, throwing her hands up in the air. Apparently, this line is the sign of inferior shortbread. "I can't give these to people." But the yumminess, I protested. And then I suggested that maybe the thinner cookies were okay. She broke a thinner one in half, and agreed that, yes, there appeared to be no "line" there. Okay. We'll just separate them out, then. Which we did. And she proceeded to break apart the "inferior" ones, creating a little pile of broken hearts on the table. Soon, the despair grew, and even the thinner ones were broken and cast aside.
Sam looked on in horror as the pile of cookies went in the trash and as his mom booked it out the door to get more supplies from the grocery store to begin the process anew.
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