Twas The Night Before Thanksgiving
Twas the night before Thanksgiving and all through the kitchen;
I was cooking and baking and moaning' and bitchin'.
I've been here for hours, I can't stop to rest,
This place is a disaster, just look at this mess!
Tomorrow I've got thirty people to feed,
They expect all the trimmings - who cares what I need!
My feet are both blistered, I've got cramps in my legs,
The dog just knocked over a bowl full of eggs.
There's a knock at the door and the telephone's ringing;
Frosting drips on the counter as the microwave's dinging.
Two pies in the oven, dessert's almost done;
My cookbook is soiled with butter and crumbs.
I've had all I can stand, I can't take anymore;
Then walks in my husband, spilling rum on the floor.
He heaves and he wobbles, his balance unsteady;
Then grins as he chuckles "The eggnog is ready!"
He looks all around and with total regret,
Says "What's takin' so long? Aren't you through in here yet??"
As quick as a flash I reach for a knife;
He loses an earlobe; I wanted his life!
He flees from the room in terror and pain,
And screams "MY GOD WOMAN, YOU'RE GOING INSANE!!"
Now what was I doing, and what is that smell?
Oh, crap, it's the pies!! They're burned all to hell!!
I hate to admit when I make a mistake,
But I put them on BROIL instead of on BAKE.
What else can go wrong?? Is there still more ahead??
If this is good living, I'd rather be dead.
Lord, don't get me wrong, I love holidays;
They just leave me exhausted, all shaky and dazed.
But I promise you one thing, If I live 'til next year,
You won't find me pulling my hair out in here.
I'll hire a maid, a cook, and a waiter;
And if that doesn't work, I'LL HAVE IT ALL CATERED!
Via: Hey Joe!
Labels: What's cooking?
posted by doyle at 6:07 PM
5 Comments:
Twas the night before Thanksgiving
and Doyle said with dismay,
"I sure wish I'd learned to cook like PJ.
She's a master, she is,
at culinary art,
and if I knew what she knows,
Or even where to start,
I could whip up a meal
That is fit for a king
And then PJ would admire me
Instead of laugh-ing.
John's frying a turkey. I'll be fixing steamed broccoli and corn-on-the-cob. My mom's making dressing and giblet gravy and rolls. My sister's planning to smash some taters and fix a dessert - which might just be a store-bought cake, for all I know.
And we'll make my sister's husband wash the dishes so the cooks can watch football. ;)
It's just the baking part I've been asked never to do, under any circumstance, holiday or no.
I'll be cooking all the veggies (Fresh, of course.) Wednesday, and repackaging them for easy reheating Thursday. Why?
Hubby and I do NOT work well together in a kitchen and long ago it was ordained that if he wants a turkey he's the one who will be cooking it. If he doesn't, we won't.
Except for the breast, I'm not particular fond of it. At all.
If Hubby didn't insist on a whole bird, I'd just fire up the danged smoker and stick a turkey breast in there. But no. He wants a whole bird so . . .
Oh, he does do the mashed potatoes, too, but I fix the dressing . . . on Wednesday 'cause Hubby and I do NOT play well together in a kitchen.
So there! So go write another pome making fun of MY cooking, you . . . you . . . you cookbook author, you!
(Told her off, I did.)
Broccoli with lemon, cauliflower with cheese sauce, green beans, corn on the cob (Silver Queen I put in the freezer earlier this year), Brussel sprouts in butter sauce, steamed asparagus . . .
After Hubby has completely and totally destroyed the entire kitchen on Thursday fixing the turkey and we've eaten, Da Kid and I do clean up.
If it were up to me I'd be sitting in front of the television watching football, munching on a turkey BREAST sandwich (with stuffing, cranberry sauce and extra mayo) on a hard-seeded roll, washing it all down with a big glass of cold milk.
In my pajamas.
sigh
My mom has a lot of weird food allergies - among other things, no vinegar and no cheese. So we're sort of limited.
At least she doesn't have to make two pans of dressing, like she did when I was married to my ex - he hated onions, everyone else loved them. So one extra-large pan with, one small pan without.
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