If I said I was worried, I’d be lying. I’m petrified.
Christmas around my Mum’s house is a feeding extravaganza.
1. Prawn Cocktail: shrimp, served on a bed of lettuce, chopped tomatoes and cucumber served with a helping of Thousand Island Dressing.
2. Homemade Lentil Soup: made with a ham hough, cooked in a pressure cooker and served with fresh crusty French bread.
3. Turkey, gravy, cranberry sauce, two veg, roast potatoes, mash potatoes, chipolata sausages wrapped in bacon and a big helping of stuffing.
5. Black Forest Gateau or a Pavlova of some sort.
6. After Eight Mints.
7. Crackers and Cheese.
8. Death by Consumption.
You could say it’s a lot like Thanksgiving here. Thanksgiving at my MIL’s is very similar: a huge Turkey dinner with all the trimmings, sides galore and more food than people. Consequently, a combined contribution between both of them could feed a small African country.
Here is my dilemma: I have never cooked Thanksgiving dinner. Ever. Thanksgiving is not a holiday that we have in the UK. We go from Hallowe’en straight to Christmas. Stores put their Christmas decorations up mid-October and Christmas jobs begin around the same time. This is my eleventh Thankgiving and the very first one we are spending as a family, but with no other family around. You may recall we returned to Utah last year to celebrate with Bryan’s family, and on the return journey, spun off the road and lived through a small nightmare. We decided against that this year (especially with the baby) and have opted to stay put this holiday season. So, with that brings the pressure of cooking a Thanksgiving dinner.
Now, I am no stranger to cooking, in fact, I am a total foodie. My cookbook collection expanded by seven books just this year alone. What scares me is the food sychronisation, timing, if you will. I’m totally intimidated by a clock.
I have one week to get my act together.