we had a really unconventional meal-
filet mignon, mashed yukon golds, broccoli in a white cheese sauce, a cheese ball (tacky, i know, but it seemed necessary), and crabmeat-stuffed mushrooms. plus garlic bread. our cheesecake is waiting.
babe is about as smooth in the kitchen as a rusty old razor.
he mashed the potatoes. i had to stop him from his vigorous mixing. 'babe, they might get gummy if you keep mixing them so much..
he made the steaks. i was in another room when i THOUGHT i smelled something a little...off...
sure enough, hysterical cries of 'fire! it's on fire! soon emerged. i went in and said, 'well, get it out of the BROILER, babe!' and dumped some baking soda on the grease fire. it went away. his concern? not that he was holding a flaming baking sheet just inches from my curtains and could thus potentially incinerate my entire home, but that i might get get soda on his steak.
then i trusted him long enough to go wash up. THAT was dumb of me. sure enough i heard '*&^#'! i burnt myself! and the garlic bread is ruined.' he informed me miserably. the bread was a little brown around the upper edges.
it was fine. so was he after a few minutes.
but we got our meal pulled together and it was delicious...
my mushrooms couldv'e used some hot sauce or some old bay... and babe said they were a little salty (just before i pummeled him with my fists and knocked him from his chair) and the potatoes were nice and fluffy. the cheeseball was, well, a cheeseball. the broccoli was good. the olives went uneaten.
so that's the story of my 1st Thanksgiving. next time, it's cornish game hens.