24/12/2025
’𝐓𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞
’Twas the night before Christmas, the grill fires were low,
The last steaks had rested, the embers aglow.
No milk by the hearth, no cookies in sight,
Just a cork pulled slow in the warm firelight.
Santa came over — not for sweets, not for cheer,
But for a fine red poured, honest and clear.
He sipped to the flame, to the farmer, the land,
To patience and craft, done properly by hand.
“For even,” he smiled, “on this holiest night,
The best things are earned — never rushed, always right.”
And off through the cold with a laugh deep and clear,
He left us one truth: good steak and great w**e belong here.
𝐹𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑃𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑟ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠,
𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬.