Aunt Chrissy and I have concluded the Spinster Stitcher Sisters Official Thanksgiving Extravaganza of 2010 with a few delicate burps (followed by a patting of the chest area and an "Oh, excuse me! I beg your very pardon!"), a two-litre bottle of Mylanta, and splitting barometric pressure headaches that sent us both to bed at 7:30 last night. (Note to area weathermen...when you say it's going to snow, please get on with it and stop monkeying around with the damn barometer. Some of us prefer a nice steady high pressure, thank you very much.)
We did have a lovely meal, but after all of the fuss was over and we were seated at the dining room table wondering when the crew of elves would arrive to clean up the mess, we both looked at each other and said "You know. I really don't like turkey very much at all. As a matter of fact I think I hate turkey and I would be happy to never see, smell, touch, or taste another turkey again." (I personally think it tastes like a wet dog smells, but that's just me.)
We did, however, both agree that we simply love us some stuffing, and Ina's Sagaponack Corn Pudding is one for the record books. THAT one will stay on the menu into perpetuity. The turkey though? Not so much.
I would also like to call my girl Martha and tell her that the pumpkin cream pie on a gingerbread crust was simply divine, but that she probably should have poked me with a wooden spoon and told me to cook the filling longer. It was...um....shall we say...rather unsettled.
(Stewey, bless his little heart, thought it was perfect and reminded me that anything with the word PUMPKIN (!) in it was just fine with him.)
So there you have it kids. A full report on the comings and goings and eatings of this particular portly stitchin' spinster and her fabulous little sister (who is not, by the way, the least bit portly and who looks smashing in her new l.l. bean fancypants jeans).
The boys somewhat behaved themselves, the fireplace lent a warm and festive atmosphere, and thanks to some Wednesday afternoon cleaning, the fridge was up to the task of housing all of the leftovers.
Next year, though, we're having ham.