A singular gift that most dream of but are seldom rewarded with receiving. An act that sends shivers down your spine and grants you the type of sensory satisfaction that you normally only find in works of fiction. Fifty Shades Of Grey doesn't even come close.
To some just the thought of it is repulsive. Dirty. Degrading. Even though, given the specialness of the time of year, there is justification for suggesting it to your loved one / partner.
I know. I know. Despite years of apparent intimacy, such requests - often coming out of the blue - can seem like a bridge too far. It can push boundaries to breaking point.
It is, I will admit, not everyone's bag. Some just can't handle the taste - slightly peppery, slightly salty - and can't close off the gag reflex.
Some switch off their taste buds and just go for it - functional, perfunctory - not really enjoying it; just going along to please and gratify.
This does not work for me. It does not float my boat.
I'd much rather an out-and-out no than a sighing agreement to suffer in silence.
I want the peak moment to be shared. To be indulged by all participants.
The hedonist in me is just built that way.
And so it was that, this Christmas, I girded my loins and propositioned my wife.
"Please", I said.
"It is only once a year. It is a special time. Why don't we, you know... do it? Do the deed we rarely speak of?"
She gave a maidenly blush (special and rare in itself, believe me) and, blinking away her sudden coquettishness, replied, "You mean... you want me to..."
I nodded down to the small, firm, round objects cupped seductively in the palm of my hands.
"Yes," I said. "I want you to make bubble and squeak. After all," I winked slyly, "We did buy in an extra big portion of sprouts especially."
And with that, she took those dreamy green nuggets of deliciousness out of my hand and mashed them up with boiled potatoes, coated them in flour and paprika and fried them up into saucily green burgers of vegetable delight.
Bubble and squeak might not be the food of the gods but in my house, at this time of year, it is the one thing guaranteed to pop my cork.
And blow me to ecstasy and back if my wife didn't enjoy gobbling it all up just as much as I did.
You can't beat a good bit of nosh at Christmas time, you really can't.
Happy Season's greetings to you all.