Over the past holiday weekend, I’ve decided that the holidays need mental help. They are, in fact, bipolar and should, most likely, be medicated.
I’ve also decided this bipolarishness comes from highly set expectations that might be attainable if not for unfamiliar ovens and dry dressing and the black hole that is moving. And I mean “moving” as in you’re moving from your craptastic apartment to your awesome house and not that an actual BLACK HOLE IS MOVING since that would be fairly catastrophic.
Or so I’ve been told. By the elves. Space. Elves.
The one thing I’m proud of from Thanksgiving?
My turkey.
I love my turkey so much that I don’t care if you love it; it’s beautiful.
The main reason I’m so proud of it is that I don’t normally roast such a large bird. I normally roast chickens–quite well, might I add.
This dude/chick was big.
The picture above is me trying to slather yummy herbed butter over everything. I was just about up to my elbow. GRANTED, I DO have T-Rex arms…
When it comes to sides and the recipe says–cause recipes can talk–that it feeds 8-10, it means that it actually feeds 10-10000000 and you really don’t need to cook that many potatoes. I currently have the “small” pot of potatoes sitting on the back porch. They’re still covered in the original water. They’re still raw. I have it on good authority this is how you make vodka.
Or a science experiment.
Or ebola.
Other than the turkey, I was proud of the dry dressing which is totally messed up since that stuff was DRY! We’re talking croutons.
Once you added enough gravy it was perfect. I’m proud of it because I made the oatmeal bread and cornbread I used in the dressing and I used real sage and the onions and celery were caramelized and there was bacon and heavy cream. I think I’m proud of it because I knew what it could have been and what it might be if I add some more chicken stock.
Hi, pride! My name’s Amy! Nice to meet you.
This house thing has me all Martha Stewart nesting and stuff. Is that a bad thing?
I want the cool seasonally appropriate mantle decorations.
I want the house to smell like a movie set house looks like it would smell on Thanksgiving or Christmas or Easter or whatever.
Maybe that’s where the bipolar holiday thing/high expectation thing comes in? I just want it to be good. I want it to be pretty. I want to do it better than I’ve done it before. I want people–if we knew other people–to say how cool everything was.
I need yur approval!
But that’s not what the holidays are supposed to be about, right?
The thanks giving and the fond memories and kinsmanship. That’s the ticket, right?
Maybe I’m the bipolar one?
Oh…wait.
Heh
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