Turkey and Po-Tay-Toes

Turkey Time is almost upon us all. Last night I asked my mom what the plan is for next week.

 

The dreaded response: going over to my brother's. Gaaah. My sister-in-law cannot cook. Well, she can, it's just not up to my standards. About ten minutes after being told this, I whined: ARE YOU MAKING THE STUFFING? to my mom. Her response: I don't know. Me: *desperate intonation* YEEEEEEEEEEEESSSS???

 

I can cope with whatever turkey my SIL makes - the turkey doesn't really matter to me. I don't eat too much of it. Besides which, my mom is going to be helping her make most of it anywya.

 

I may have to sneak in and do a covert mashed potatoes rescue operation. That's another thing that amazes me, my SIL makes mashed potatoes that are the separated at birth twin to Elmers Glue. Disgusting. And my brother likes them too. Mashed potatoes are supposed to be FLUFFY!

 

But then again, they also like Republicans. Republicans=Gluey Mashed Potatoes, Gluey Mashed Potatoes=Republicans. I see a depravity correlation, don't you? It's so obvious.

 

My mom, or me probably, will also be making the pies because we always do. SIL doesn't even make those at all - she usually winds up with a pie from the Jewel. Blech.

 

Yes, I am being a food snob. But it's THANKSGIVING. One of two times per American calendar year where if you're going to pig out, it should be on really good food. Embrace your inner food snob.

 

SO:

 

Stuffing must be made by the mom.

Pies: me or the mom.

Mashed taters: sneak save by moi.

Red wine: ME

Roasted parsnips and carrots (seriously so good): me

and maybe some of Giada's Green Beans: me

 

Those who bring that damned green bean casserole with the onion thingies MUST DIE.