When it comes to the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday, I am stuck in my ways. No, scrap that. I am a dictator. For that reason, I have a hard time relinquishing the dinner prep to say…my mother in law or my sister in law or even Rachael Ray.
It’s with trepidation that I travel to my sister in law’s house this year. Or any year.
I love her. She’s a fabulous cook. She makes her family’s stuffing which chock full of celery, savory herbs, butter and bread crumbs. It’s delicious, but it’s not my family’s stuffing.
She is as passionate about her ancestor’s recipe as I am about mine.
So, after feasting in New York, we will drive back to Boston where I will make two pans of corn bread, dry it out and crumble it up with sausage, apples, cider and cranberries. Then I will take the 22-pound turkey that is defrosting in the fridge and I will stuff it.
Can appliances smell fear? Do they somehow know that in two days they will be expected to perform at their absolute peak? Does the pressure cause them to break down within 24-hours of showtime? I think so.
The only turkey in my kitchen is the dishwasher.
Last year, two days before Thanksgiving, my oven died. I bought a new one – a floor model – so I wouldn’t have to wait for delivery. Last night, my dishwasher groaned, emitted a noxious burning odor and gave up. The repair guy says it needs a new pump and a new engine. It’s a premature demise for a six-year old Kitchen-Aid. “Most last eight to twelve years. Are you sure that you are rinsing the dishes before you load them?” he asked.
Frankly, if you have to rinse the dishes before you put them in the dishwasher, what’s the point?