Guys, I went to three Thanksgiving dinners this weekend. Three. And I cooked things for all of them, and none of them completely failed. It was a Thanksgiving miracle!
You already saw my pumpkin deviled eggs. My 2-year-old niece (she of cloth diaper fame) liked them so much that she ate the yolks out of two of them and proclaimed them to be “cake,” which I guess is a good thing.
I made candied yams and cake (actual cake) for one of them, and assisted with the turkey for the other. (And brought wine.) Here’s that beautiful bird, although most credit goes to my significant other. I was just the charming assistant who helped drink all the wine. (Somebody had to do it.)
And I also tried a corn casserole, although we didn’t use the evil casserole word. I kept calling it “corn… uh… stuff.” So that works, I guess.
This recipe is originally a Paula Deen one, so there’s an entire stick of butter in it. (Must be a pre-diabeetus Paula Deen recipe.) But when you put a stick of butter in something, it’s usually pretty fucking delicious.
This was no exception. Despite my failure to mix in the cornbread properly, it turned out lovely and was a big hit. In fact, it got eaten so fast that I forgot to snap a picture before it was half-gone. So you get the authentic Thanksgiving picture of the post-meal carnage.
I briefly considered putting in a cornhole joke here, but you guys are creative– make up your own.
I actually want to conclude by saying that I’m thankful for you. Without you all, I wouldn’t be living my dream… of fucking things up and making a living at it. Ok, sort of my dream. I never actually dreamt of making a living at fucking stuff up… probably because I didn’t realize it could be done! Anyway, thank you from the bottom of my overstuffed, butter-lubricated heart. Really, I appreciate you reading this little blog of mine so very, very much.
Now, onward to Santamas.