Lesson Learned.
I decided on Wednesday that I would cook for Thanksgiving. My mom was obviously cooking as she was hosting the damned event, but my family's turkey day cooking has always been a bit blasé at best and downright awful at worst.
It's the standard holiday fare: turkey, mashed potatoes, some overly-cooked green vegetable that's limp and devoid of any and all flavour, and a few dozen baskets of Pillsbury dinner rolls, the latter being absolutely necessary given the fact that my cousins refuse to eat anything else on the table, including turkey. If it's not white bread covered in butter, they won't touch it, so rather than letting the little bastards starve, my mother goes out of her way to bake no less than 8 cans of those accursed, chemical-laden crescent rolls.
It was with this in mind that I decided I'd have a go at it. I simply did not want to tolerate another gathering with my family and not even have food as a possible source of enjoyment. It's not as though I attend the event for the riveting conversation, mainly consisting of my extended family making racist comments about whatever they see on television.
So, here is the list of what I made for dinner, to accompany the turkey:
I brought everything out to the table, and told everyone what I made. I sat down at the table, my cousins said their grade school version of grace while I rolled my eyes, and then dinner began.
For the next 45 minutes, I watched as my family had helping after helping of food...and skipped over everything that I cooked.
"What are these, Mike?"
"Peruvian fingerling potatoes."
"Why are they purple?"
"That's just how they come out of the ground! They're from the Andes mountains in Peru."
"Oh."
And then they'd pass the dish to the left.
"Mike, what is this again?"
"Puréed turnips in heavy cream, it goes really well with the meat."
"Oh, okay, I don't want any, I just wanted to know what it was."
The only thing that my family ate was the pumpkin pie, and that's it. I literally came home with everything I cooked except that. I was completely and utterly defeated by my family, and I should have known better. These are the same family members who won't use Comcast because they're run by "Jew bastards". I should have known that they wouldn't appreciate anything I made. I probably would have been better off bringing over some goddamned Burger King. Now I'm not saying that they have to be gourmets, but would it kill them to at least try the stuff?
It's the standard holiday fare: turkey, mashed potatoes, some overly-cooked green vegetable that's limp and devoid of any and all flavour, and a few dozen baskets of Pillsbury dinner rolls, the latter being absolutely necessary given the fact that my cousins refuse to eat anything else on the table, including turkey. If it's not white bread covered in butter, they won't touch it, so rather than letting the little bastards starve, my mother goes out of her way to bake no less than 8 cans of those accursed, chemical-laden crescent rolls.
It was with this in mind that I decided I'd have a go at it. I simply did not want to tolerate another gathering with my family and not even have food as a possible source of enjoyment. It's not as though I attend the event for the riveting conversation, mainly consisting of my extended family making racist comments about whatever they see on television.
So, here is the list of what I made for dinner, to accompany the turkey:
- Roasted butternut squash covered in mozzarella and fried sage leaves, topped with arugula and a bit of olive oil.
- Puréed turnips in heavy cream with fresh rosemary.
- Blanched brussel sprouts sautéed with bacon and balsamic vinegar.
- Italian sausage stuffing with fresh cranberries, thyme, and a base of French bread and turkey broth.
- Sliced Peruvian purple fingerling potatoes with pancetta and fresh rosemary.
- And for dessert, a pumpkin pie with fresh heavy whipped cream.
I brought everything out to the table, and told everyone what I made. I sat down at the table, my cousins said their grade school version of grace while I rolled my eyes, and then dinner began.
For the next 45 minutes, I watched as my family had helping after helping of food...and skipped over everything that I cooked.
"What are these, Mike?"
"Peruvian fingerling potatoes."
"Why are they purple?"
"That's just how they come out of the ground! They're from the Andes mountains in Peru."
"Oh."
And then they'd pass the dish to the left.
"Mike, what is this again?"
"Puréed turnips in heavy cream, it goes really well with the meat."
"Oh, okay, I don't want any, I just wanted to know what it was."
The only thing that my family ate was the pumpkin pie, and that's it. I literally came home with everything I cooked except that. I was completely and utterly defeated by my family, and I should have known better. These are the same family members who won't use Comcast because they're run by "Jew bastards". I should have known that they wouldn't appreciate anything I made. I probably would have been better off bringing over some goddamned Burger King. Now I'm not saying that they have to be gourmets, but would it kill them to at least try the stuff?