It's Thanksgiving morning and I just got back from a walk. It's freezing and my walking buddy, Mindy was smart and stayed in. Our neighborhood rooster was crowing his head off and sounded a little sickly. Do you think he knows he looks enough like a turkey that someone might cook him up for Thanksgiving dinner if he sounds healthy? Tricky rooster.
I'm about to start cooking the dish of all dishes. The dish that has finally, after 12 years of marriage officially inducted me into my husband's family.
They have traditions. Actually,it's a wonder they're all so skinny because almost all of their traditions revolve around food.
Each Thanksgiving, their are certain dishes that make up the Thanksgiving Meal. They are not just dishes but recipes. Special recipes that, for the rest of the year remain locked in a vault in my mother in law's kitchen.
Ok, I kid.
The vault isn't really in the kitchen.
Truth is, I have, for a long time had access to the recipes but have never been chosen to actually cook any of them for the official Thanksgiving Day lunch. I was allowed to make pies.
Pumpkin Praline, Chocolate Pecan, Chess. Oh, and the cherry salad that my brother in law loves but no one else would make.
What they said was that I was too busy giving birth, changing diapers, and just overall trying to not go insane when my kids were so little.
In truth, I think it was my fault. You see, I joked about the recipes. Little quips about how I found a sweet potato recipe that sounded good in Cooking Light that we should try. How Vegan Today had come out with a new cookbook that we could glean some ideas from. How you can make mashed potato casserole with cauliflower and it would taste "exactly the same". My jokes made them think I would somehow use some artistic license with the recipes so, in their defense, I dug my own cooking grave.
This year, they caved.
Broccoli Rice, baby.
I am so officially a part of the family.
I'm gonna make that beast perfectly. I'm gonna use measuring spoons, exact ingredients, and a hairnet.
No dash of this, pinch of that. No stirring when it calls for sauteing (can't spell it) and no dogs in the kitchen. If those onions and celery are suppose to be cooked in butter until clear, you're going to be able to read the morning paper through those babies.
If not, as my husband just warned, I'll be banished once again to dark and lonely pie hell.
Ok, the clock is ticking so I better get cooking.
My dad, stepmother, my brother, sister in law and their kids are celebrating together in Arizona. My dad is probably frying turkeys as we speak (don't forget the fire extinguisher). If you're reading this, you better not be bonding or creating lasting memories without me. I wasn't invited. Do you think it's because they don't want me to cook either? :)
I miss you and am so thankful for you!