My family is trying to kill me. The plot began a couple of years ago when my wife insisted I eat all the vegetables I want but then put me on what I call “the Dove Bar Diet” to keep my weight up. Last week was proof her insidious plan has spread to the children.
“Why,” I kept asking, “do we have to have so many dishes for Thanksgiving? Can’t we just keep it simple? Why must we feel compelled to stuff ourselves this one day of the year?”
“You don’t have to eat all the food everyone brings,” my wife said, knowing she spoke to a fat brick wall.
Not eat all the dishes on the Thanksgiving table? Has insanity joined her insidiousness?
I mean, I was able to limit myself to only one type of dressing because it contained sage and the other didn’t. There was berried cranberry sauce only because I alone prefer it over the jellied. Other choices were not so cut and dried.
Take the Watergate salad. My family makes two types, with pecans and without.
Then we come to the age-old question, “Ham or turkey?” I now realize it has the same answer as “Ginger or Mary Ann?” Both!
Giblet gravy? Well, of course. No one wants dry turkey and dressing.
Broccoli salad? Green is good, even when laden with all sort of unhealthful dressing.
Green bean casserole? Ditto, and duh!
Rolls? Set me up.
I could not pass up the potatoes because they were my insidious wife’s creation. Years ago, she was making fried potatoes with onions and green and red pepper but accidentally added water to the recipe. What started as separate pieces of vegetables became a sort of mashed potatoes that everyone in the family loved from the first bite.
Well, everyone but granddaughter Emily, who insisted on mashed potatoes, so there was yet another bowl on the table.
Sweet potato souffle with toasted marshmallows on top? I count that as a dessert, but everyone else piled it on the plate with the main dishes.
Chocolate pecan pie? If I must. But I have my health to think of: I’ll top it with vanilla ice cream or pumpkin ice cream – but not both.
Chocolate chip bread pudding with rum sauce? I walked out of the room and found the dish almost empty when I returned. War nearly broke out, because my daughter-in-law invented that dish with me in mind years ago after I told her I had long dreamed of chocolate bread pudding after reading about it as a kid.
Cheesecake? Maybe later, but don’t anyone touch my piece.
I gained more weight than I was supposed to, but I’m not worried. As the kids returned to their homes, our kitchen has gone back to normal. A typical supper for my wife once again will be cheese toast, and mine will be whatever leftovers the day’s lunch provides.
I hope you had just as much fun with your weight gain this Thanksgiving.