Last year, November 2008, we discovered a church that had a German Christmas market thing going on. There were all kinds of imported goodies, ornately-carved decorations, and toys for sale. It was right up my alley and I planned to do a post about it. I practically pranced around the place taking in the Christmas goodness of church people and German shit. I was picking up boxes of quaint, delectable cookies to review and whistling Christmas songs all the way.
Then everything changed. One woman was selling these surprise bags for $5. They were plain brown bags stapled shut with a surprise inside—which she assured us was worth at least five dollars. I love surprise bags and immediately handed over ten dollars for two bags containing items I had no idea what they were.
I handed one to the girlfriend and we ripped open our bags. Inside each was a beaded bracelet. Ten dollars for some stupid bracelets. My will to live tanked and my idea for a Surfing Pizza post deflated. We came home and tried the cookies. They sucked. So I never posted anything.
The girlfriend had also bought this thing:
A marzipan pig. The girlfriend loves pigs and has a collection of pig stuff—stuff she claims was solely accumulated because she got pegged as the pig lover and everyone was always getting her kitschy salt & pepper shakers and other crap heaped upon her. I don’t believe her. I’ve seen her buy this crap herself.
Anyway, she treated this marzipan pig like it was a fragile goblet that Jesus drank from. She refused to even put it in our bag with the other goodies we purchased, afraid it would get smashed by a boorish box of cookies. Instead of eating it the way God intended, she displayed it on her shelf.
And for over a year, that’s where it sat. Until last week.
“Time to throw this out, I think,” she said, and tossed it into the dustbin—where I immediately rescued it.
“Can we eat it?” I asked.
“It’s like a year old,” she said.
“I’ll put it on The Surfing Pizza.”
“Please don’t, you’ll get sick.”
And yet I sincerely doubted this shiny, slightly sweaty-looking pig with blue eyes could make me sick. Don’t think there’s any dairy in it and besides, everyone knows cute things don’t make people sick. I’d been waiting for one year and two months to unwrap this bad boy and take some oddly angled photographs.
I couldn’t get the thing to stand on its base—it had melted or warped a bit over the year. I thought this shot was kind of like lying in bed next to the pig looking in his bedroom eyes. I was getting artistic with it.
Then I got barbaric with it. The pig took like a beauty to the knife, a nice clean slice through the neck. I expected him to be rock hard after sitting on a shelf for a year, but he had remained wrapped the the whole time, and was still soft like butter.
So yeah I ate it, the whole head. Eating candy heads is one of my secret passions in life. I thought it was tasty. It reminded me of circus peanuts a little bit, but almond flavored. I didn’t get sick, but I also am still within the incubation period of many food-borne illnesses.
I wish I had more to say about it, but in the meantime while we wait to see if I develop symptoms of botchulism, please enjoy these artistic photographs.