Oh Holy Rumball

Friends, Rumball Season is upon us.

That’s right. Nothing says the holidays like a dense, boozey confection. In fact, with the amount of both baked goods and alcohol consumed by the average American during the month of December, it’s no wonder some brilliant pastry chef somewhere along the way decided to combine the two and enable multi-tasking. I think that should be enough to make us all say a little prayer of thanksgiving.

And so, to get back into the rumball spirit, honor The Season, and recognize the fact that Restoration Hardware is already on its 83rd day of Christmas, I decided it was time this blog paid a little homage to its roots.

Ever since I started this little adventure (in March) and with each of the countless (5) postings I have written, I have been bombarded (once) with the same question: What is a rumball?

Rumball [`rëm `bo´l]: From the German rumründ and Old Norse lusHbeall.

A truffle-like confection, being sweet dense balls flavored with chocolate and rum.

Yes, the inspiration for my blog and the object of my life’s pursuits is, more or less, an alcoholic Milk Dud. But such a Dud few have ever tasted! The original ball hailed from a Swedish bakery in Tiburon, CA, the aptly named Sweden House Bakery. It is a humble place, whose sole claim to fame may be its immediate proximity to Sam’s Anchor Café. But once you’ve tried the rumballs within, you realize that there is no place quite like it on earth.

But, as with the holiday season, we must not spend the entire blog dwelling on what was. We must forage onward in search of rummier pastures. That said, and because wheresmyrumball is still a travelog at heart, I take you now to the most appropriate destination I could think of for the season. I take you to Snow Village.

As much as I would like to remain non-denominational right now, there is no denying that The Village is a Christmas affair. Not so much in the sense of religious beliefs, but in the sense of shameless commercialism. Nonetheless, it is a glorious tradition, one of fine ceramic craftsmanship and strategic batting* arrangement. And, at least in the Rinder family, it is serious business.

Snow Village entered our lives on December 25, 1994, when my father – ever desperate for ideas for my mom, whose idea of a “helpful” Christmas wish list includes items such as 4” x 6” photo paper (glossy) – gifted her The Snow Gothic Farmhouse, just to see if it would take. And, as no Snow Building can be without at least a few accessories, he threw in The Snow Mailbox and The Snow Fire Hydrant too. With such emergency response preparedness and USPS compliance, how could Mom object? Snow Outpost was established in the dining room.

With this initial success under his belt, Dad continued the “tradition” next year and gave Mom another Snow House, a few Snow Benches, and (gasp) the first Snow Inhabitants. Snow Outpost successfully transitioned into Snow Settlement. And there was much rejoicing.

I cannot recall whether it was the next year or a few years later that Snow Village experienced a real estate boom similar to Silicon Valley circa 1999. Dad happened to stumble into the lower level of our local Christmas tree vendor, where he discovered nothing less than Snow Mecca. Every available surface of the store was covered with it – Snow Houses, Snow Shoppes, Snow People, Snow Foliage, Snow Pigeons, you name it. Dad’s decision was clear: Snow Presents for everyone.

It should be said at this point that I personally thought Snow Village was the best thing to happen to Christmas since the Barbie Dreamhouse of '87. So you can only imagine my delight when I joined the ranks of proud homeowners, and my near ecstasy when I became the proprietor of not only the Snow Skating Rink (the people really move!), but also the Snow Chimney Sweep and Snow Trash Cans.

A few Christmases later, for completely unrelated reasons according to Mom, my parents decided to set a present limit for each other. 3 items. No more, no less. One might think this stipulation would lend itself to gifts such as nice jewelry, or elaborate vacation packages, or expensive electronics. Or a pony. One might think it would not lend itself to gifts such as lip balm, or day planners, or the unthinkable, Snow Tchotskies.

On Christmas morning, we all gathered ‘round the tree and began to open presents (which we do one by one, in turns, to allow for the appropriate oohing and ahhing and togetherness). It quickly became clear (because I looked) that the very large package toward the back of the tree had Mom’s name on it. The anticipation mounted – definitely the electronics! or the pony – and finally she ripped it open to discover…

That was the year that Mom realized she needed to set some Snow Zoning Ordinances. Ignoring Dad’s somewhat feeble protestations re: the subtleties of “item” versus “wrapped item,” she firmly declared that she was not going to let us become “one of those families that can’t even play their piano because it is covered with Snow Village.” We would happily remain one of those families that can’t play their piano because we don’t know how.

From that point onward, Snow Development in the Rinder household would adhere to the following code:

I) All Snow Dwellings, Offices, and Commercial Establishments would hereafter be relegated to one (1) surface in the house, that being the buffet cabinet in the dining room.
II) The aforementioned surface could be expanded via artificial means, i.e. plywood, provided that the offended party could still access her dishware.
III) Failure to comply would result in the offending party’s immediate removal to Snow Hell.

Thus, Snow Village quickly settled into a happy and stable no-growth economy. And there was much rejoicing.

I need a rumball.


* Note that, contrary to popular belief, batting is the fluffy white stuff used as quilt filler, fake snow, and impromptu après ski blanket as needed. Bunting is the cloth crap used to make flags and other flag-themed trimmings.