Since I married a woman who spent a few formative years in the U.K., and I’ve got friends there and even done some traveling in Old Blighty, we’ve got a few English terms in our lexicon. One is Boxing Day, traditionally the day the servants got the day off (and presumably ate the leftover Chinese from takeout boxes, hence the name*).

A decidedly pedestrian bouche, not up to the usual standards. Except for the creatures, mostly done by the young ‘uns.

We’re all pretty much tapped out on anything sweet, having ploughed through a mince pie, three panettone, the obligatory chocolate orange, and a bouche de noel (see right).

Alcohol is also low on the list of preferred tipples today. In fact I’m taking a delicate course of bran flakes and oatmeal as I purge the body. Meanwhile, the soul still wallows in the swollen river of self-indulgence that is Christmas in America. Here’s my New Traditional American activity graph for Boxing day:

We’re doing a bit more than that — I’ll be walking (!) to the liquor store to pickup a Glenfarclas 12 for review on the whisky blog. And we’ve got our charitable giving still to do (before the end of the year). The Syrians have got everyone’s attention and though we enjoyed the fruits of peace and enterprise here in the U.S., we’re keenly aware that the world is not yet the peaceful place we all hope for. Maybe it will be better next year.

*Yeah, I’m b.s.-ing there, the real deal explained here.