Laura, a former intern at Chronicle Books where I'm interning, invited me to a gingerbread decorating party today at the apartment of a friend of a friend. At first it sounded fun. Then, we were instructed to buy a gingerbread-house making kit and assemble it at home the night before. The kit I found was produced by the Wonka candy company (a corporation whose products, no matter how good, can't help being a set up for disappointment. The everlasting gobstoppers are not everlasting! Where's the soda that makes you float? Where's the tasty wallpaper?) and failed to include one of the walls. In an act that would impress any Cal Poly architecture major I moved the pieces around and improvised until I had constructed something that looked a little like a house and could stand on its own while the icing dried. George called it a gingerbread outhouse.I'm a bit surprised how popular these parties are. This is the third gingerbread house decorating party I've gone to since I started college, but nothing prepared me for the lengths Becky, the girl hosting the party had gone. She had her apartment completely decorated, with a Christmas tree and a holiday collar on her cat. A video of a crackling fire was playing on her tv, and she had made dozens of different snacks (like bacon wraps, spinach filo puffs, sausage and cheese biscuits, crackers, and cookies). She offered us a choice of eggnog, mimosas, champagne, or hot apple cider. Even the tables were decorated with different gingerbread house photos she'd printed out glued to the tablecloths.
And everyone loved the gingerbread outhouse.
