We present to you: our twist on Clement Clarke Moore’s well-known Christmas poem….
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all throughout JAK’s
Not a bottle was stirring, not even the Faxe.
The gift bags were hung in the aisles with care,
In hopes that St. Nick would soon choose to share;
The partners were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar rums danced in their heads;
With managers in aprons and I having my schnapps,
We had just sat down for a winter’s nightcap;
When out on the street there arose such a clatter,
We sprang from the store to see what the matter;
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the door and was out in a dash;
The moon shone alight on the new-fallen snow,
Giving the lustre of vodka with objects aglow;
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a big honking sleigh, and eight crafty reinbeer;
With a little old brewmaster, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick;
More rapid than ferment, his craft beers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, then drank them by name;
“Now, Driftwood! now, Whistler! now, Steamworks and Fieldhouse!
On Four Winds! On Fuggles! On Granville and Phillips!
To the top of the pour! to the top of the glass!
Now pour away! pour away! pour away all!”
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the ceiling,
The clinking from bottles that sent our staff reeling;
As I offered my mug, and was turning around,
Down the aisle St. Nick came with a bound;
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his toe,
His clothes all a wet and covered in foam;
A bundle of brews he had flung on his back,
He looked a store merchant as he drank from his flask;
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his drinking how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
The beard of his chin was as white as the snow,
Our customers shocked as he was quite a show!
Then a shot of an Islay he held to his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like peat reek;
He had a red face and a handful of booze,
As my head shook, he still chose to amuse;
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
Then a wink of his eye for making a sale,
Soon gave me to know his love for retail;
He spoke not a word, but went straight for his whisky,
And filled all our gift bags; looking all frisky;
And sipping his dram with such a good nose,
He gave a last sip and down the aisle he strode;
He sprang to his brew sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew, like one big beer missile;
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight: