Thanksgiving is the most delicious holiday of the year. No one can deny that.
Every Thanksgiving Eve my parents load up a trailer, (yes, a trailer, like one people use to move out of their homes – expect slightly smaller) and make the three hour journey to our home upstate. The house up there is gorgeous. Its a 5 bedroom ranch that sits on a nice chunk of land (which is my way of saying its a good size but I have no idea how big.) But we don’t go up very often so all of Wednesday night is spent cleaning, starting a fire in the fire place, and trying to get the TV and heat to work – neither of which are very reliable when we first arrive.
Thursday morning we make breakfast, then the men and kids go outside and play. There are quads and sleds and a lot of woods. The women usually stay in and cook and prepare for Thanksgiving.
Apparently, this year, I cross over from being a child to being an adult. Last weekend my father bet me that I wouldn’t make the sweet potato casserole that I had been raving about. So I’ve spent the last few days looking up recipes to prove him wrong.
Don’t let anything I’ve ever said before fool you. I’m a terrible cook. I have no idea what I’m doing. My junior year of college I had an apartment with a kitchen and set the fire alarm off at least three times the first semester. Then I decided to stick with pasta for the rest of the school year. It was safer for everyone.
I have no printed out four different recipes for sweet potato casserole and one for mashed sweet potatoes, just in case the casserole goes south.
I’m freaking out and don’t know if I can handle this pressure. But he bet me I wouldn’t so this is my dad’s fault. If I set the house on fire I cannot be held accountable. And that’s what I’m sticking with.