24/12/2025
The grills softly sizzled, last embers still glowed,
While Malbec lay dreaming where fine vintages flowed.
The steaks had all rested, the knives tucked away,
And chimichurri whispered, “It’s nearly the day.”
The servers stood ready, with waistcoats just so,
Stockings hung neatly by bar and by door.
When out in the street there arose such a clatter
A sleigh? Or a taxi? (In London, what’s matter?)
In burst Father Christmas, not thin but well-fed,
With a smile for the staff and a wag of his head.
“I’ve travelled far,” he said, “and I won’t be obtuse
But even old Santa could fancy some jus.”
He nodded approval, then vanished from sight,
Leaving crumbs, empty glasses, and wishes goodnight.
So remember this tale as you dine with delight:
Even Gaucho was stirring that cold Christmas night. 🎄
