A couple days before Christmas my flat was buzzed. A delivery guy for Morrison's (grocery store) needed in to make a delivery. So I let him in and opened my door. I was in time to see him go past my door and up the stairs to a flat above...? I guess the delivery wasn't for me:( Okay.
A couple minutes later the guy comes back down the stairs and knocks on my door. I open it and he tells me that "so and so" is not home and if I can hold onto her groceries until she gets home. I try to figure out who he's talking about and all he tells me is that her name is Miriam. He won't tell me what floor she's on or her phone number or anything. He just says that he'll call her and tell her that I have her groceries.
I'm super reluctant but figure it'd be the neighborly thing to do:) So I take them and put them on our entryway floor fully expecting to hear from Miriam that day.
Long story short, a week goes by and the groceries were still exactly where I put them. (Hey, we even buzzed all the apartments trying to find "Miriam"!) So, what do we do? Rummage through the grocery bags of course:)
Luckily there wasn't anything too fresh that needed refrigeration. But guess what there WAS??? A fruit cake. Now, I'm not sure if this makes me weird or privileged but I have never had a fruit cake in my life. I guess it wasn't a Grout family tradition growing up, but the idea of a cake made out of fruit made me feel like it would be healthy AND delicious...
Also, the fact that Lars was so against it intrigued me:)
Let's watch the adventure unfold:
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| It was quite tough to cut:( |
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| Here we go... |
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| ...Analyzing... |
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| Not good. |
Even with an inch of icing it was not a pleasant experience. I must thank my parents for not subjecting me to such torture in the name of tradition!
Thanks but no thanks, Miriam:)
Now I know.
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