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Saturday, November 26, 2005

T-day wrapup

The gallon of cream I bought at Costco has been mostly used. I am going to make a couple of more batches of truffles, but most of it got used at various dinners, for Kahlua Eggnogs, and for my cousins' other grandmother's (may she rest in peace) cranberry-marshmallow-whipped cream salad.

I got lots of pix of truffle-making, which shortly I will write up with recipe (the better for holiday consumption).

I always hate admitting that I usually do Jack Shit for T-day dinner (except set the table) because Mom does it all. Well, Mom is a lot better, but she still can't bend. Dad dealt with the turkey and I dealt with the stove (potatoes, asparagus, gravy reheating, and rolls). My potato-peeling practice at the Feeding the Multitudes exercises came in handy.

People who are far better than I can sniff at our Stove Top stuffing, bought rolls, and bought pumpkin pie, but we *LIKE* Stove Top (esp. as a vehicle for homemade giblet gravy), and it got dinner on the table with a minimum of fuss. And Fatapple's pie is as good as my grandmother's (and better than anything my mom or I can produce at the moment).

We had a good time together ... and that is what counts.

I acquired my brother's hacking cold, so have been drinking hot vinegar water and chowing down hot-and-sour soup since. But I'm still pretty thankful.

Comments:
Aw, sorry to hear you're down. Or were down. Don't sweat it for not being a food snob. Personally I think people get too caught up in their snobbery for holiday meals, Thanksgiving and Christmas. While food, family and religion may be the center point, scoffing at someone's use of boxed stuffing is mean. It takes days of preparation, hundreds of dollars and hours in the kitchen, that's hard. There are some years where you plainly don't have 'it' and need some relief. As long as there was love at the table and everyone had smiles, you did fine.
We used mallows on the sweet taters and that seems to be this year's pet peeve, goodness gracious. If you like marshmallows, who cares?

Biggles
 
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