It’s officially Christmas Eve. Or should I say it’s officiously Christmas Eve. In either event, the calendar claims the date is December 24, the day before evidence of the existence of Santa Clause will be found in households across the land. Not in this household, mind you, but in many households.
In this household, the evidence will point to the existence of the Chile con Queso Spirit, a moderately obese man of Mexican heritage who delivers incredibly flavorful cheese sauce to the tamales of children who have been good enough to merit tamale deliveries in the days leading up to Christmas. Inasmuch as there are no children in this house, the Chile con Queso Spirit has seen fit to deliver the ingredients for that delectable cheese sauce. Fortunately, one of my brothers organized the delivery of a couple of dozen pork and jalapeño tamales to our house a day or so ago, so there will be something in which the Chile con Queso Spirit’s make-it-yourself-sauce to bathe. And it will be good.
In advance of that spiritual undertaking, we shall attend a Christmas Eve candlelight service at an accepting-of-non-believers-church, where we will share soups at the conclusion of the festivities. Only afterward will be return to our home to eat tamales and chile con queso and chips and drink Arkansas-brewed beer.
Tomorrow, I will smoke enormous rib-eye steaks for an hour, then reverse sear those monsters. And THAT will form the foundation of a meal that will satisfy all of the eaters. Christmas comes only once a year. But we may decide to increase its frequency.