The Thanksgiving Vow

A year or two ago, I made a vow that when we finally got out of the trailer park and into a "real house" I was going to take the entire week of Thanksgiving off with the goal of cooking everything for the holiday from scratch.  Which might sound reasonable for most people.  I am not most people.  Those who know me read those last lines with disbelief and alarm because this was the first Thanksgiving that we are in our "real house."

My refrigerator waiting for the big day!

My kitchen helper

My best friend of twenty-five or so years, Lisa, likes to joke that I can burn water.  While I haven't studied physics since 1994, I am pretty sure that burning water is against the laws of nature.  I have burned hard boiled eggs, however.  In my defense, I was pregnant & quite addled for a variety of reasons.  It was incredibly confusing when I heard loud popping sounds emanating from the other side of the house.  I had so completely forgotten about the eggs that it didn't even occur to me that the sounds could even be related food.  It was quite a shock to find exploded eggs as I waddled into the kitchen.  In my defense, that is not bad cooking so much as it is forgetfulness.

That's the only kitchen mishap I have any defense for, though.  All other disasters, I have no option but to take full responsibility!  I misread tablespoons versus teaspoons, I am impatient and put the heat up to high consequently burning whatever is supposed to be gently sauteed, stuff boils over, stuff implodes, explodes, falls limp.  I still cannot make an omelet.  Lisa has seen it all after spending in two years of home ec with me and then the remaining 20 some years riding shot gun in my life.  A recent quote from Lisa regarding my cooking skills, "I remember a girl that let a pan boil dry..., and wrecked canned soup!"  How does one wreck canned soup?  I am not sure but I have done it dramatically enough to stick in someone's memory for a couple decades!

Given some other viable option, I would not have taken home ec, but I went to a small private school and you could take home ec. or shop.  Taking shop was frowned upon because it would not equip me to be a good wife.  I wasn't especially interested in being a good wife, but whatever, it wasn't algebra and I figured it couldn't be that bad.  No one was permanently injured, primarily because the tissues in the mouth regenerate rapidly.  I am sure that the home ec teacher didn't quite know what to do with my ineptitude and my 16 year old feminist grousing.  I really wasn't interested in being a good wife, especially if it involved cooking.  Or sewing, I wasn't impressed with sewing either.  Too many little pieces of thread tangling into knots and jamming up the sewing machine.

I have occasionally forayed into the cooking realm, with increasing frequency across the years, attempting such feats as boiling eggs.  This required a phone call to my step-dad because I wasn't quite sure how long they were supposed to boil and it was before I had access to the internet 24/7.  I managed to keep myself fed, but it was never skilled or graceful!

Once my food allergies kicked in post-pregnancy, I pulled it together enough to take care of the basics and figured out baking.  A few years ago I was allergic to corn, wheat and soy at the same time, and the only way to get sweets is to make it myself.  Desperation truly is the mother of invention!  An unfed sweet tooth is not to be argued with, so I figured it out! 

This context, then, is why my vow to cook from scratch so alarmed my nearest and dearest.  My husband, bless his heart, who has an insane level of confidence in my ability to do what I set my mind to, wasn't so worried.  He wavered, a bit, I think, when the water & honey mixture was boiling over onto the stove burner as I was attempting to make marshmallows.  Here's a tip:  when boiling something that contains sugar, remember that sugar expands, so use a large pot!  My cooking abilities are akin to driving on ice, you have some control of the direction of the car, but barely and disaster can strike at any moment.

A kitchen without a flower explosion!

Disaster did not strike!  Overly salty crust in the pumpkin pies struck our palate and then one pie promptly struck the dog dish while the other struck the garbage can.  That was easily remedied by making two more pies.  Those we happily ate.  We also had the honey & water mixture boiling over on the stove, but neither that nor the pies count as disasters.  My idea of a kitchen disaster is something involving smoke alarms going off or someone gagging.  I successfully served my family two pumpkin pies, cranberry sauce, apple pie, pumpkin spice cookies, brownies, sweet potato casserole with homemade marshmallows, mashed potatoes and biscuits.

My home ec teacher would be so proud!  I know Lisa and the rest of my nearest and dearest were pretty impressed!

My first attempt at pumpkin pies.