Twas the Night Before Christmas

Twas the Night Before Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas, and we, being Jews
My girlfriend and me -- we had nothing to do.
The Gentiles were home, hanging stockings with care,
Secure in their knowledge St. Nick would be there . . .
But for us, once the Hanukkah candles burned down,
There was nothing but boredom all over town . . .
The malls and the theaters were all closed up tight;
There weren't any concerts to go to that night . . .
And while all I could do was sit there and brood,
My girl saved the night and called out "CHINESE FOOD!"
So we ran to the closet, grabbed hats, mitts and boots --
To cover out heads, our hands, and our foots . . .
We pulled on our jackets, all puffy with down . . .
And boarded "The T," bound for old Chinatown . . .
The train nearly empty, it rolled through the stops,
While visions of wontons danced through our kopfs
At last we reached Chinatown, rushed through the gate,
Past bakeries, markets, shops and cafes,
In search of a restaurant: "Which one? Lets decide!"
We chose "Hunan Chozer," and ventured inside . . .
Around us sat others, their platters piled high
With the finest of foods their money could buy:
There was roast duck and bean curd, (sweet, sour and spiced,)
Dried beef and mixed veggies, lo mein and fried rice,
Whole fish and moo shi and chow mee foon,
And General Gaus chicken and ma po tofu . . . . . .
When at last we decided, and the waiter did call,
We said: "Skip the menu!" and ordered it all . . .
And when in due time the food was all made,
It came to the table in a sort of parade . . .
Before us sat dim sum, spare ribs and egg rolls,
And four different soups, in four great, huge bowls . . .
The courses kept coming, from spicy to mild,
And higher and higher toward the ceiling were piled . . .
So much piled up, one dish after the other,
My girlfriend and I couldn't see one another!
We fressed and we feasted, we slurped and we munched . . .
We noshed and we supped, we breakfastd and lunched . . .
We ate till we couldn't and drank down our teas
And barely had room for our fortune cookies . . .
Our bellies were full and at last it was time
To travel back home and write some bad rhyme
Of our Chinatown trek (and to privately speak
About trying to refine our chopstick technique) . . .
The MSG spun round and round in our heads,
As we tripped and we laughed and gaily we said,
As we carried our leftovers home through the night;
"Good Yom Tov to all -- and to all a Good Night!"

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