I’m a bit late with my Thanksgiving post, but I was really busy yesterday. Really I was just busy stressing out as opposed to actually crossing anything off my to do list, but what’s new?! Haha, I’m a stressball. Yay! Fun times.
Anyway, I had a rather uneventful Thanksgiving, which was quite relaxing. It was just the usual: sitting around watching the Seahawks lose, drinking wine, laughing at my nephews, eating a lot, and regretting not wearing a more forgiving dress.
It was a nice change from the previous Thanksgiving, which was fun – don’t get me wrong! There was just a slight problem with the dessert. A week prior to Thanksgiving my mom had to have surgery on her back, surgery that meant that for the next couple months or so she wasn’t allowed to move her neck. Meaning my dad, big sis, and I were in charge of the Thanksgiving feast. My dad was in charge of the turkey and stuffing and my sister and I did the sides and we each made a dessert.
Oh, and did I mention my parents had just finished remodeling their kitchen? With a new fancy oven? Well, they did. (Ultimately, this will be a lame story because it takes too long to explain the back story, but I won’t let that stop me!)
Soooo, my sis made a chocolate pie and I made an apple crostata that according to the recipe HAD to be served right out of the oven. So my plan was to put it in the oven after dinner and it being ready would surely coincide with everybody being ready to eat dessert. Of course, my plans did not incorporate a three year old boy who wanted his chocolate pie RIGHT NOW DAMNIT! As a result, my sister and I would alternate looking into the oven to see if the crostata was ready.
Unfortunately, the fancy new oven had this weird touch screen thing and the oven light was stubborn and you had to press really hard on it AND it was right next to the oven cleaner button. So, someone, I won’t name names, but I will tell you that her initials are E.M. and she is quite fond of bossing me around and has an unnatural fear of E.T., pressed the oven cleaner button. This caused the door to self lock and the temperature of the oven to skyrocket. We did manage to get the crostata out of the oven before it burnt, but, unfortunately, it tasted a lot like what I imagine chemicals taste like. Yummy.
This year I just brought the salad (much easier) and I made sure not to tell anyone that the impatient four year old boy ate half of a walnut and then spit it out in the salad proclaiming it “yucky” until after everybody had eaten their share.