A mother who taught me the importance of a homemade pie crust, and a father who perfected the art of applying vanilla ice cream to a piece of pie.
Streusel topping for when the top crust just doesn't come together.
A daughter who loves to bake, who's almost old enough to bake things by herself, but who still asks questions like, "This says I need three-slash-four cups of sugar...how much is three-slash-four?"
Another daughter who is finally old enough to play games that require reading, but who is still young enough to say "cimmanon" and "bekfrast."
A job to go to, even when I have to go there the day before Thanksgiving.
A house to live in, no matter how messy.
The internet, so I don't have to go shopping for reals tomorrow.
In-laws who have always welcomed me with open arms, and who gave me the job of making desserts, rather than vegetables, for Thanksgiving dinner.
Two sisters and a brother who feel close even when we're far apart.
A husband who always makes me laugh, and who tolerates me when I'm not in a laughing mood.
Happy Thanksgiving to you!
One of the things that I failed to appreciate about my mom until I left home is that she always made dinner (although I think we called it supper then), by which I mean, something hot, usually involving a vegetable. I don't remember my mom ever saying sheepishly to her hungry spouse and offspring, "I don't feel like cooking, how about a bowl of cereal?" I hate making dinner. Haaate it. It's my least favorite chore. It's not necessarily because I can't cook. I can usually manage to create something edible, although I have yet to perfect the science of getting, say, the chicken and the broccoli and the rice and the rolls all ready at the same time. (There are those among you who may be surprised that I make and serve broccoli. It's true! It's best when roasted: Toss with olive oil and salt, spread on a baking sheet, put in 400 degree oven for about 8 minutes. It's delicious! Delicious as broccoli can be, at least.) It's also not necessarily t...
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