Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Food, football and gratitude. It appeals to the part of me that likes to eat, watch sports and feel grateful. Also, no presents, which appeals to the part of me that hates to shop and spend money. Win win win. Win win. Even better, I get to cook. It’s my day to shine. I make *my* dishes. You know, as in “Oh won’t you please make *your* green bean casserole?” Or “I tried to make *your* cranberry sauce but I just couldn’t get it right.” All about me. For a change.
|Rockin' the turkey back in the day|
With shallots? Seriously?
Traced-hand paper turkeys. Dried corncobs tied to the door. Cranberry
sauce with the ridges still there from the can it slithered out of.
Everything we like, just the way we like it. And then, the food snobs set
upon us. It starts innocently enough. A magazine in the check-out
line suggests water chestnuts in the stuffing as one of the “Ten Quick
Jump-Starts to Your Sleepy Holiday Table.” Then our local newspaper
(yes, the print version, yes, we are going to hell) reviews all the different
ways to cook a turkey and recommends “brining.” As if. But the cornerstone.
The death knell. The watershed. The Waterloo. |
The Thanksgiving Facebook Food Status Update.
Oh, so we're eating flowers now? Fantastic.
So, in an attempt to heal, I call upon you food snobs around the globe to set down your seafood forks and admit once and for all that on occasion you have driven miles out of your way to a McDonald's in a neighboring county and eaten a Big Mac. Furtively and greedily. In the car with the windows rolled down. And let’s face it, bitches: You banged the hell out of that burger. So don’t even with me right now. The end.