Excerpt: The Year Santa Died

This isn't an excerpt - it's my short story that inspired the novel ...

"The Year We Ate Brains"

We have a division of labor in our house. In the morning, Mom makes breakfast, me, Becky and Nat pack our lunches, Dad reads the paper. In the evening, Mom cooks dinner, us kids set and clear the table and wash the dishes, Dad watches the news. That’s the routine every day of the year but one. On that day, Christmas Eve, Dad cooks.

“Why’s that, Dad?”
“Division of labor.”

When Dad cooks it’s a big deal so forget about something normal like hotdogs or hibachi chicken. It’s always something none of us – us kids anyway – have ever heard of. Or if we have heard of it, we never thought of it as food. Like tripe which sounds harmless but is actually a cow’s stomach lining. Or sea cucumbers, which are not what you think. It wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t Christmas Eve. That means instead of just looking forward to turkey dinner and Christmas presents you have to worry about what horrible thing Dad’s going to make for dinner the night before.
One year we had couscous.

“Dad, what’s couscous?”
“Look it up.”
“Nat, what’s couscous?”
“Look it up.”

See? He doesn’t know everything, even if he did get accepted to UCLA. It’s a North African dish of steamed semolina served with meat and vegetables, if you really want to know.

“Becky, what’s semolina?”
“Look it up.”

So I still don’t know what semolina is. But couscous is like rice only different. Dad served it with lamb and carrots and chopped raisins. Apparently if you live in North Africa a raisin is a vegetable. Nat, Becky and I chopped raisins for hours. More division of labor. Why do you have to chop raisins? Aren’t they small enough already?
One year we had beef tongue. Dad’s recipe says, “simmer for 3 hours, skimming off any scum that rises to the top.” Scum? Ugh. It gets worse. “Remove the tongue and skin it.” Tongues have skin? Nat says, “indisputably,” one of his SAT words. Becky says, “I bet we’re the only kids on the planet that have to eat beef tongue for Christmas Eve.” I’m wondering, how do you tell the difference between the beef tongue and your own tongue while you’re eating it? What if you eat the wrong tongue?
Nat says he doesn’t care about Christmas presents anymore and he’d forego them if it meant he could skip Christmas Eve dinner. “Forego” means “give up,” by the way. Easy for him to say, he just gets clothes, I still get cool stuff. I’d forego dinner though, if I could still get the presents. That would be great.

Last year was the worst. Dad says, “It may be the last Christmas we’re all together, so let’s make it special.” We had calves brains – the brains of baby cows. No joke. Dad scrambled them with some eggs.

I say, “How come we can’t eat the same parts of a cow as everyone else? Normal parts?”

Becky says, “It’s like Indiana Jones and The Temple of Doom Christmas.”

Nat says, “Hannibal Lecter Christmas.”

This year Nat’s away for college. He came back for Thanksgiving because he was homesick and he can’t afford to come again for Christmas. And Becky’s doing her exchange program in Egypt. Dad decided not to cook since it was just three of us and Mom said I could have whatever I wanted.

We ended up getting Kentucky Fried Chicken and bringing it home. Can you believe they’re open on Christmas Eve? Maybe if they had Kentucky Fried Turkey they’d be open on Christmas Day too. Back home it’s quiet with the just the three of us, me, Mom and Dad. The chicken smells really good, like it always does, but I can’t even finish one piece. I wonder what Nat’s having for dinner. Dorm food, if the cafeteria is even open. And Becky, with her host family in Egypt? Probably couscous.

Mom says “Do you want something else?” because normally I eat two or three pieces. And I almost say, yeah, how about some goose liver or blood pudding or kidney pie? How about some beef tongue or some brains?