Thursday, December 29, 2011

Merry Christmhanukwanzaa

I sadly could only stay in New York, where I'm from, for a brief moment for the holidays but I greatly enjoyed the time I had there. I saw my family. We played Scrabble. We put up the tree. We exchanged presents.

Geeeeezus, we exchanged presents. I made out like a bandit this year. Tablet? Netbook? Dolce and Gabbana bag and a Lanvin wallet? Philosophy stuffs? I felt like a spoiled brat and it, I must admit, did not feel bad.

Anyways. I cooked up a storm.

And my brother felt that me not telling you the consequences of this would make me a traitor to my readers.

And I would never betray you. We've been through too much. Remember that thing that happened? Like six or fourteen or two years ago? Yeah. That was funny. Oh, and remember that thing with those people? That was crazy.

I made cranberry bread. We've been making that since I was in elementary school. The recipe was in the back of a children's book that my mom read to me at the doctor's office.



And I made, for the first time, creamed spinach and hericot verts almondine. I hate any kind of green bean but them's were the requests. And I like to oblige. And I love creamed spinach. See how that all works out?




And I made My Lasagna. Which isn't mine at all. The recipe is from The Pioneer Woman. But it's my lasagna because my friends will call me up when they're at Italian restaurants to tell me that they're eating lasagna but it isn't nearly as good as my lasagna. So there.



Oh, right, and there was ham, too.



But I hadn't made my lasagna for my family before. Between a disastrous beef stroganoff I made two nights before Christmas (darn you, Paula Deen- do you have any restraint, woman?) and some of the odd ingredients in the lasagna recipe (cottage cheese, which I normally despise greatly, instead of ricotta, and 2.5 POUNDS of beef, as examples), they were a bit skeptical and THE PRESSURE WAS ON.


But they loved it.

And it went off without a hitch.

Almost.

On my brother's second serving, right before I was about to start cleaning up, he found, well, some waxed paper.

I, uh, ran out of fresh mozzarella and used a few slices of packaged sliced. And I'd been up since 6:30 cooking and was pretty tired by 2 PM. And I guess things like, you know, removing the paper between the slices seemed a bit unnecessary at that point.

I mean, am I supposed to remember EVERYTHING? Geez.

I just left the paper in there to show him- nay, the world- that no, I'm not actually perfect. I know it must seem that way. But even I can make a mistake now and then. Less now, more then. So everyone can feel better about themselves.

You're welcome.

It's the Christmas spirit in me.