Don Day believes there are three prime reasons why normal couples argue. Money, sex and work (as in who does what around the house). Don Day and Don Day’s Wife consider themselves very lucky that they seldom argue about money, sex or work but instead argue about a much more important subject. We argue about food.

One of our worst arguments ever is remembered these days…and not very fondly…as the Not So Great Mincemeat Tart Incident.

For Don Day, mincemeat tarts were an essential part of Christmas. And when Don Day’s Wife agreed to marry Don Day he believed it was for better or worse. And that included mincemeat tarts at Christmas. At first, Don Day’s Wife upheld her vows and the mincemeat tradition and even recruited one of the world’s finest mincemeat tart makers, her mother, as the designated baker. Each year, Don Day would meet his mother-in-law at the train station and take her overly large but underly light suitcase from her hand. It contained a nightgown, slippers, toothbrush, a few more personal items and two dozen of the finest mincemeat tarts known to man. Don Day’s mother-in-law knew that the crust of a mincemeat tart is not made with shortening, not made with butter. The crust of a mincemeat tart is made with lard.

Then, a few years ago, Don Day’s mother-in-law became the head patissier for a family with feathered wings and halos who lived far away and she no longer baked for Don Day. Don Day presumed a new mincemeat tart baker would be assigned to the task but Don Day, as is often the case, was wrong.

“There will be no mincemeat tarts this year,” said Don Day’s Wife.

“There will be mincemeat tarts this year,” said Don Day.

“There will be no mincemeat tarts this year,” Don Day’s Wife repeated, “nobody wants them but you. In fact the only reason your children ever eat them is to humor you.”

At this point, which was approximately 1:00 am, Don Day began to explain the deep and enormous significance of mincemeat tarts to his very existence. How they had been a family tradition for decades, probably centuries, possibly millennia.

Don Day’s Wife emphasized her side of the discussion by suggesting that, of the 22 people seated at the dinner table, 21 wouldn’t give a reindeer’s turd if there were no tarts to follow the turkey.

That of course lit the fuse for words that are usually represented by asterisks and exclamation marks in literature as Don Day stormed off to bed. It was a few minutes later that he heard the front door slam.

As Don Day tossed and turned, he detected a distinct smell in the house. As he fully awoke, he noticed it was not just a distinct smell it was a delightful smell. It was the ambrosial aroma of pie crusts reaching their peak temperature. It was now 3:20 am. Don Day’s Wife had rushed off to the all night supermarket, picked up all of the necessary ingredients and was baking Don Day’s beloved tarts.

Happy ending? Afraid not. That would have been the Great Mincemeat Tart Incident. This was the Not So Great Mincemeat Tart Incident.

The following day, Don Day’s Wife asked him what he thought of her mincemeat tarts. Now, included in those vows that Don Day and his wife took was one that they would always be totally honest and forthcoming in all of their conversations and never mince words (with the exception, of course, of the “Does this dress make me look fat?” question).

Don Day answered, “Not so great; they were a little too sweet.” The always calm and collected Don Day’s Wife was ready to make mincemeat out of him. He cowered out of the room and mincemeat tarts became history. Those were the last mincemeat tarts that Don Day ever ate. That was the end of the argument now known as the Not So Great Mincemeat Tart Incident.

I missed the tarts. I thought of trying to replace them with another seasonal pastry. I thought perhaps I could start another family tradition. I thought about it a lot when I would arrive in San Miguel de Allende right after Christmas and see enormous tables of three kings cake for sale in the supermarkets and bakeries.

Three kings cake, or rosca de reyes as it’s known here in Mexico, is served on the 12^th day of Christmas, which falls on January 6, or as it’s known by much more biblically-inclined scholars, Epiphany. Now I’ve never known exactly what the word epiphany means but I do know it refers to the three wise men (or kings of orient depending on what carol you’re singing) visiting the baby Jesus. I also know it’s one of three seasonal words that are almost sure winners in hangman (magi and myrrh are the others).

It took me a couple of years to make the move. The Mincemeat Incident still loomed in the back of my mind. I’d never seen rosca de reyes offered in a restaurant. It had never been served to me in anyone’s home. And I must admit that rosca de reyes aren’t exactly the most inviting looking pastries in the world. They resemble a giant donut topped with unrecognizable forms that have usually been soaked in unappetizing dayglo food colors. But yesterday I did it. I bought my first rosca de reyes and, last night, I served it for dessert.

The occasion was a small dinner party that began with Don Day’s Wife spending most of her day preparing and serving a tuna and avocado tartare, followed by a yellow Thai shrimp and verdolaga curry. It continued with Don Day spending about a minute of his day opening the box and then the cello that was wrapped around the three kings cake.

I sounded like a child in a confessional box as I asked the guests to forgive me what I was about to do, use them as guinea pigs for my experimental testing of an untried dessert. I didn’t even want to personally serve the cake and so placed it in front of Steen, the great Dane, to handle the distribution.

As he sliced, I shared my research on the significance of the cake and Epiphany in Mexico.

Before going to bed on January 5, Mexican children place a box or shoe outside their home, filled with hay or dried grass plus a bowl of water as a gift for the wise men’s camels. They then return indoors and, before going to bed, chow down on the rosca de reyes, hoping that they’ll be the lucky one, the one who finds a little figure of the baby Jesus that has been hidden in the cake.

Whoever finds the baby Jesus must take it to the nearest church on February 2, Día de la candelaria or Candlemas day. Candlemas celebrates the day, forty days after his birth, that Jesus was presented to God in the temple. Whoever finds the Jesus figurine is expected to host a party on February 2.

Don Day was surprised when the first slice was lifted from the plate by Steen for there, hidden inside the cake, was a very appetizing looking brown cream. Don Day’s Wife was the first to try it and did one of those cock the head to the side moves. She declared it “not bad at all”. Don Day’s friend Lorainna was next and simply said, “It’s fine. Better than expected. I like it.” Don Day took his first mouthful and thought it was a decent bread style pastry, that the chopped fruit on top added a little something and, as chocolate mousses (mice?) are just like blondes where there’s never a bad one, only some better than others, the filling worked as well.

However, there was one more ingredient in Don Day’s mouth. It didn’t appear to have any taste but it definitely had texture. Don Day gnawed on it between his molars a couple of times and then placed his thumb and forefinger to his mouth and held it up for everyone to see. It was a white piece of plastic about and inch and a half long that, even though it didn’t exactly resemble the baby Jesus, definitely resembled a slightly more grown-up Jesus.

“I found it, I found it”, Don Day screamed. “I found the baby Jesus, I found the baby Jesus.”

He licked off the remaining chocolate as he thought what a relief it was that those in the positions of authority consider the world a much safer place without Don Day behind the wheel of the car. Otherwise, he would be faced with the impossible decision as to whether to place his Jesus on the dashboard or hang it from the rearview mirror.

Don Day began singing the Billy Idol song..

I don’t care if it rains or freezes

As long as I’ve got my plastic Jesus

He began thinking would he offend all or only some of the people if he memorized all of the lyrics to the song and performed it at the dinner table when, as tradition demanded, he hosted a party on February 2. And, most importantly, next year, would Don Day’s Wife be agreeable to baking him a sweet rosca de reyes or would there still be bitter memories of The Not So Great Mincemeat Tart Incident.

Don Day purchased his rosca de reyes at Mega, the San Miguel supermarket. Don Day’s spies tell him that the best rosca de reyes in town can be ordered from the bakery La Buena Vida located at Hernandez Macias #72. They’re open from 8:00 am to 4:00 pm, Monday to Saturday. La Buena Vida’s version (that’s it at the lower left, on display in their showcase) doesn’t, however, include the chocolate mousse filling but it’s much closer to the traditional recipe.