After sitting down at the rustic table, the bearded man asked for "a Christmas Donair, extra sauce on the side, and a triple Black Navy Rum on the rocks. I don't care what brand rum", he said to the freckled and red haired tavern tart.

"I don't know what a donair is", she quipped back, "let alone what a Christmas one is?" You'll have to stick to the menu, it's on the wall, written out on the blackboard. I'll return with your drink and give you more time sorting out what you want to eat"".

On returning, she passed him his drink, which he shot back quickly. "Do you have Newfie fries, or PEI fries with the works", he asked, in a gravelly voice, and a slight cough from the rum.

""No sir, she said, in frustration. We onty have what's on the blackboard.""

So, you don't have real tavern grub, just uppiddy crap like nachos, chicken wings and other bird parts, he quizzed? And, why don't you have Christmas donairs?""

""Like I said, we only what's written on the menu board"", she shortly replied back to the patron. ""Do you need more time to look over the menu?""

He reached into his bag, pulled out a full salmon, which seemed to be about five pounds, and slapped it onto the table. "Can you ask the cook to fry this up for me," he asked?

Startled, she said, ""no sir, please take it off the table and put it back into your sack. Do you have an order to make from the board?""

"Ok, he said, I get the message, I'll take my business down the street, where they know good tavern food and treat folks with respect. And, you call this a tavern, he said, as he walked out the door.""

Shortly after he left snorts and jingles were heard. They looked out, and the bearded gentleman was flying through the air sleigh, deer and all.

Imagine that, Santa eats donairs (and, not gyros) Cdn Maritimes donairs