And every Thanksgiving, said domestic goddess slaps me upside the head and warns me that if I disturb her beauty sleep for something like that one more time, she'll make sure I forget how to boil an egg and how to use my silverware.
I know, she's such a bitch.
But as usual, I was feeling optimistic a few days before turkey day and I put together a thoughtful menu consisting of my family's most time-honored dishes. And by "my family" I mean, "The Food Network website."
I came across a Paula Deen stuffing recipe that looked just phenomenal. It looked like something in which I might like to bathe while lathering myself with sticks of butter and pork fat. See?
So Thursday morning, after I stuck the bird in the oven, I got to work trying to recreate this creation of She Who Got Whacked with Ham. I dried out two loaves of bread. I cooked sausage, celery and onion and mixed them with rice, Saltines and bread cubes. Just before I got it ready to go in the oven, it looked just like the picture above. I just about danced around the kitchen screaming at Betty Crocker to kiss my ass.
The last ingredient made me do a double-take. Seven - yes, seven - cups of chicken stock. Garsh, that seems like a lot, I thought. But heck, I'd come this far without screwing it up, right? I believe in you, Paula Deen! With a shrug
Oh, the stuff-manity.
The entire thing turned to oatmeal before my horrified eyes. My inner domestic goddess laughed so hard she snorted apple martini out of her nose.
"Oh, no," I whispered. "Oh nooooooooo!"
"What?" said the BassMaster from the next room.
"I think I just ruined the stuffing," I sniffled.
"I'm sure it'll taste fine," he said.
"It was so much work," I said. As if to say, what is up with that? There were all these, like, STEPS and sh*t.
"Can I do anything to help?"
"No...it's just... it was so much work!"
I baked the thing for about 45 minutes longer than normal, praying it would dry itself out and resemble something more like stuffing, less like dog barf. Still, this is what I ended up with:
I know. Dog barf.
Sigh. I should have known.
On a better note, it tasted okay despite a slightly off-putting texture, and everything else I cooked turned out decent. Hope your Thanksgivings were just as happy and food-coma-inducing.
Now, if someone could just re-learn me how to boil that egg. And what is this metal stick with the pointy things on top?