I hate Thanksgiving. Men love the holiday: wake up, sit on couch, swill booze, watch football, stuff gaping piehole, retreat to couch.T-day is dandy by them.
Females? Not so much. Especially if, like me, you are a foodie female. I mean, Thanksgiving is all about food. Fuck family and fuck togetherness; it’s about food, man!
But there’s one leeetle problem. Thanksgiving food sucks.
Thanksgiving dinner is a decidedly beige meal, ne ces’ pas?
I’d slave all day in the kitchen for a feast of shrimp dumplings and Dan-Dan noodles and Szchewan pepper shrimp, but beige food? No.
The kicker? I can’t get out of making beige dinner every year because my Daddy-o, bless his rigid German heart, has to have beige Thanksgiving dinner or he cries in his Leiderhosen.
So again, year 2013 we are eating the same beige dinner that’s been served since I was crawled on North Dakota linoleum:
- Turkey: is it just me, or even if you injected Tom Turkey with a Jaegermeister and Crisco infusion, he’d still taste like…nothing? Turkey is a vehicle for gravy. Period.
- Cranberry Relish: homemade or canned, it’s still freaking inedible. Cranberries suck. We even spike our cranberry relish with Grand Marnier, because booze improves everything!, but nope. Still gross.
- Stuffing: WTF is up with people eating soggy bread? Admit it, people! Stuffing=soggy bread. And can I tell you a secret? That soggy bread comes out of a butt. It’s Buttbread!
- Waldorf Salad: Mayonnaise on fruit. Seven kinds of wrong.
- Creamed Pearl Onions: a Yankee tradition, gratis of my grandfather. He insisted on these foul little bulbs, bathed in cream and cheese, every year. And now my father loves them. They slip and slide all over the plate, taunting your fork, and later, after consumption, turn your intestines into Chernobyl. Two hours after creamed onion consumption, you are hazardous waste.
- Mashed Potatoes and Gravy: the ONLY edible part of the meal. Gimme a plate of just that, and I’m gee-dokey.
- Buttered rolls: Gee, not enough carbs on the table? Apply directly to the things, why don’t
- Pie: Only suitable for breakfast. The next day. Who wants pie after that ass-busting meal? Jesus. Plus, crust is nasty. Lardbread!
Sorry. I’m a crank and a killjoy, so I’ll shut up now. I’m sucking it up and cooking this slop for yet another year…gimme a few glasses of wine and I’ll be fine. And when it’s all said and done, I’ll be the first one to express my gratitude. That it’s over. For 364 blessed days.
by Dana Talusani (aka the kitchwitch)