Category Archives: cooking

20 Things To Be Thankful For in 2020

I’ve been reading a lot of pretty mom blogs lately. You know, those blogs written by moms with shiny hair and actual fruit bowls on their tables? (Filled with fruit they actually eat.) The moms who have probably never told their preschooler “oh, bite me” as a rebuttal during an argument. (She won, by the way.) The moms who actually earn money from their writing? (Dirty accusing glare to all the people not reading this.) 

And right now, all the pretty mom blogs are doing a “what I’m thankful for” post. All of which have some version of this sentence: “This year, perhaps more than any other year, it’s important to focus on what matters most in life and remember that we should be thankful for these things, not just on Thanksgiving day, but every day.” 

Pfft. LAME. 

However, they’re not wrong. This has been a rough year for all of us. So maybe it couldn’t hurt to focus on what really matters, even though it goes against the very most basic core of my entire personality. 

And thus, I present, the 20 things I’m thankful for in 2020.

  1. My health. Which is good. Despite my body being composed mostly of coffee and whiskey.
  2. My husband and our two wonderful children. They mean everything to me. It’s so nice to have everyone home all the time, working and learning remotely. And I mean, all the time. All the time. ALL. THE. TIME. And even though the little one threatened to kill me the other day (it was veiled but it was definitely a death threat) we couldn’t be closer. So close. All the close. 
  3. A roof over my head. And it doesn’t even leak. And below that roof are walls and floors. Filled with mice. City mice. Who will never leave because nothing scares them and they are much, much smarter than we are. Although I haven’t ruled out making them chip in for rent.
  4. My dog, Buffy. Who at 15 is alive and healthy(-ish) and still loves to go on walks. I know you’re expecting me to say something snarky here about him but honestly, what kind of monster makes fun of a beloved elderly dog that has been a constant companion and who has farts so rancid they make rotten eggs smell appetizing. 
  5. Nature. Majestic, beautiful nature. So majestic and beautiful that I don’t even mind the mountains of Claritin I have to snort like cocaine every morning in order to step outside.
  6. Technology. For all it has done, especially during this pandemic, but mostly because it has allowed me to lock myself in the attic and have happy hour over Zoom with my friends while my children wail and bang on the door. 
  7. Speaking of which, my friends, both near and far. All of whom don’t bat an eye when my humor goes to a dark, dark place. 
  8. The sound of my children’s laughter. 
  9. The sound of my children sleeping.
  10. The sound of my husband yelling at my children because they won’t listen to me.  
  11. Wine.
  12. Did I say coffee yet?
  13. Food. Because it’s good. I don’t know. I’m losing steam. Twenty is a big number. 
  14. Oh! Peace. That’s a thing that’s always on these lists, right?
  15. Deep fried stuffing balls. They are the best thing I’ve ever created in my life (my kids coming in at a really close second though). 
  16. Alton Brown’s Thanksgiving turkey recipe. 
  17. Alton Brown.
  18. Oceans. They’re super cool. 
  19. That 2020 is slowly marching toward its death. 
  20. All y’all. The ones who read these ridiculous things week after week. And on purpose, no less. Thank you, truly, from the bottom of the pit where my heart should be. 

Kitchen confidential

Due to my position as a feral housewife who writes about her family, I am often asked by people what advice I’d give to someone who was unsure about having children.  

OK, technically no one asks me that question but it seemed like a good opener and I have been itching to use the phrase “feral housewife” ever since I encountered it on a random Internet meme. But if someone DID ask me this question, my answer would be this: 

Are you ready to make three meals a day, every day, for probably the rest of your life, only to have each of those meals verbally eviscerated by tiny personal versions of Gordon Ramsay? No? Then get you a dog and prepare to live a happy, peaceful life. 

If yes, my sincerest apologies in advance. I recommend stocking up on boxed wine and designating a drawer in your fridge as your “stress cheese” drawer now before you even get started. 

See, no one warned me and my husband that children expect to eat all the time. Nor that they also hate any and all food. Oh sure, our friends and family might have mentioned their children were “picky” eaters but we, in our sweet, innocent naivety, didn’t realize “picky” is code for “eats three things but not really even those things.” For example, my children only eat chicken nuggets, macaroni and cheese, and fish sticks (but not THAT kind of fish sticks, the other kind). Oh wait, sorry, they also say they like pizza. Except they don’t really like pizza. My first grader only eats the crusts and my preschooler makes me scrape off all the toppings and sauce so she can eat the dough underneath. Because they are monsters. 

Adding insult to injury were all the parenting books we read (ok, the one parenting book we kind of skimmed) that insisted family mealtimes are of the utmost importance for a child’s development without ever once mentioning that the majority of those family mealtimes would be spent arguing over how the pasta smells gross and the meatloaf looks like dog poop. 

Then there’s all those pesky doctors insisting on the importance of children eating a varied diet full of different vitamins and nutrients in order to be healthy. LIES. All of it. My children are somehow still thriving and with a seemingly endless supply of energy despite not knowing the difference between a tomato and a watermelon. 

They don’t even have scurvy and I’m pretty sure they should have scurvy by now. My daughter licked an apple six months ago and it’s the only vitamin C she’s had since. I’m not saying science is wrong. I’m a big believer in science. I’m just saying that while man cannot live on bread alone, little boys apparently can because science simply cannot compete with the stubbornness of children. 

I used to enjoy cooking, you know? I found it calming and at the same time creative. I found a quiet joy in chopping and a contentment in coming up with new menu ideas. A chef transforming ingredients into life sustaining works of art for the people she loved.

But now? I am merely a sweaty, red-faced short order cook, taking the same orders in a gruff manner day after day and barking out names of dishes for my husband to whisk away to our unhappy regulars.

It’s exhausting. 

Perhaps that’s why it all came to a head a few nights ago. Maybe that’s why after enduring meal after meal greeted with that same look of disgust and disappointment on their faces, I lost it. Or possibly those selfish little picky weasels had it coming. 

Whatever it was, I snapped. Over an hour making dinner from scratch, all of which was greeted with groans and anger. ANGER. They didn’t just not like my food, they were angry I would even present it to them. 

So I did the scariest thing a mom on the edge could do. I swallowed my own rage and looked coolly at them. Then, in my calmest voice, I said…

“Fine.”

And their dinner went into the trash can. 

Dramatic, sure. But not if you view it in context. That context being my first instinct was to throw open the window and hurl the plates even more dramatically through it. 

Oh, you should have heard it. The howling, the wailing. How could I do that?! What will we eat now!? We were going to eat it, we swear! Can you make us something else?

To which I answered, easy, nothing, don’t care, nope. 

Now, I’m not naive enough to think that this little episode will change much of anything. But when it comes down to it, that’s not the point. The point is it felt really, really good and I’m smiling even now as I type this and remember the look of horror on their little faces. 

And now I can go back into the kitchen with a bit more serenity, a bit more of the old me who loved cooking. Because should they keep complaining, I still have my “dramatically throws food out the window” bit. Then, after that the roof. Eventually I could hire a crane and drop the plates from there. 

The possibilities are endless, really. 

When the future seems too cucumbersome

The other day, my 4-year-old daughter came tearing through the house, her tangled hair flying wildly all around. She slammed to a stop in front of me, her eyes wide and bright, and promptly shoved two strange green objects directly into my face. 

“MOM! We got gherkins!”

“Wow, that’s amazing, baby,” I said while internally giggling because gherkin has always sounded like a dirty word to me since it rhymes with merkin and deep down I am forever 13-years-old.

“We’re going to eat like cakes tonight!” she proudly declared.  

“Or maybe like kings,” her 6-year-old brother deadpanned. 

“EAT LIKE CAKES!” she bellowed excitedly again while running manically around in circles with the gherkins held high above her head.

The point of this adorably heartwarming story? My family has successfully gardened. Like some kind of coven of dirt wizards. We took a bunch of tiny seeds and stuffed them haphazardly into the ground and remembered to water them like three times but mostly ignored them and BEHOLD. We have grown our own food! Well, gherkins. And cucumbers, which are technically food even though they taste like water that is whispering the word “lawn.” We also successfully grew some sunflowers, so if you are ever in the mood for a pickle and cucumber salad sprinkled with sunflower seeds, come on over. But hurry. I only have enough for like three of you. Maybe two and a half. Also the lettuce never sprouted, or the tomatoes. Or the dozen other seeds we stuck into our much too small gardening box so they had to fight for survival Mad Max-style. The pumpkins thrived for awhile but then got a fungus or something according to the half-hearted Googling I did. 

Anyway, back to the point. 

There is one. 

I’m assuming. 

We’ll see.

Anyway, all in all, it weren’t too shabby for our first time gardening, if I do say so myself. (You can read about how it all began here). In fact, all this successful mastery over the land makes me wonder what else I could learn to do for myself. You know, if civilization eventually collapses or something (not that it will *hysterical laughter hysterical laughter hysterical laughter tiny sob*). I mean, I read “Little House on the Prairie” as a kid. And “Hatchet.” And spent an entire summer obsessed with “The Island of Blue Dolphins.” AND I’ve seen the 1985 Canadian made-for-TV-movie “Anne of Green Gables” starring the inimitable Megan Follows no less than 140 times. I’m practically a pioneer woman already.

All you really need are the basics. And there’s, what, like only four or five of them, right? 

For instance, food. BOOM. Done. Pretty much mastered. 

Oxygen? Already know how to use it. Next. 

Shelter? This one does seem a bit more involved. And possibly out of my league. Mostly because of the paperwork involved. I can likely figure out four walls and a roof and a massive walk-in closet. But I’ll probably have to get a permit or something. Something will likely have to be notarized. Which sounds like a whole thing. Also I don’t have money. Maybe I’ll just keep renting for the moment.  

Now clothes on the other hand, that I know I can handle. I’m old enough that I was forced to learn to sew by public educators. Of course, I only learned how to sew one thing so my family will all be wearing ill-fitting shorts that fall unflattering just below the knee. But they WILL be clothed. Partially. 

And, perhaps most importantly of all, alcohol. Because if the apocalypse does come, and I somehow manage to survive, I cannot make small talk with a bunch of smug doomsday preppers while sober. So, let’s see, I’d need grapes for wine, potatoes for vodka, hops and barley(?) and wheat(?) and organic carbonization(?) for some craft beer. All of which I assume you just mash up together and wait a hot minute and it magically turns into quality libations. 

So, see? We’re all going to be fine. FINE. Just fine. If my family can make it, so can yours. 

But, just as a back-up plan, please vote this November.  

Breakfast for Dinner: Recipe for Disaster

SCENE: A messy living room, littered with the dead bodies of an epic battle between the Naked Barbies Battalion and the Funko Pop Regiment. Two young children, a boy and a girl, ages 6 and 4 respectively, are dramatically lying on the floor among the ruins.  

A Mother, late 30’s, comically full wine glass in hand and giving off strong swamp witch vibes, enters the room. 

Mother: Hey guys! What’s going on? 

Son: We’re BORED.

Daughter: SO BORED.

Mother: Ah, well, don’t let me interrupt. Just wanted to let you know I was going to do something different for tonight. What do you guys think about breakfast for dinner?

Son: What’s breakfast for dinner?

Mother: It’s, you know, when you have breakfast for dinner. 

Son: I don’t understand.

Mother: Breakfast. For dinner. I’ll make eggs. Sausage. Oh! Homefries! 

Daughter: But we already ate breakfast. 

Mother: Yeah. I know. But this is breakfast for dinner. 

*sound of crickets*

Mother: It’s fun. 

Son: Why?

Mother: Why is it fun?

Son: Yeah.

Daughter: Yeah. 

Mother: Because…it’s different. It’s, I don’t know. Breaking the rules. Eating breakfast food at night. We’re culinary rebels. Also, bacon. 

Daughter: Can we have chocolate for dinner instead?

Mother: No. 

Daughter: But chocolate is fun. 

Son: But you always say we can’t have macaroni and cheese for breakfast.

Mother: Yeah. And?

Son: And you said we couldn’t have macaroni and cheese for breakfast because it’s not a breakfast food but now you’re saying we can eat breakfast food for dinner. Were you lying?

Mother: No. Look, it’s just something fun.

Son: Macaroni and cheese is fun. 

Mother: We’re not talking about macaroni and cheese. We’re talking about dinner tonight. 

Son: OK. But can we have macaroni and cheese for breakfast tomorrow?

Mother: No.  

Son: Can we have macaroni and cheese as breakfast for dinner tonight?

Mother: No! Look, you guys aren’t getting the whole spirit of this thing. 

Daughter: There is always chocolate. Everyone likes chocolate. 

Son: I don’t understand. What are the rules!? 

Mother: It only goes one way. You can have breakfast for dinner but not dinner for breakfast.

Son: Why?

Mother: Because a society has to have rules or it falls apart. 

Son: Society is dumb.

Mother: Yes, it is. 

Son: So we can have macaroni and cheese?

Mother: *let’s out primal scream*

Daughter: Gummi bears are also fun. 

The Father enters the room, oblivious. 

Father: Hey gang, what are we thinking for dinner? 

The Mother drains her wine glass. She lets out an impressive burp. 

Mother: Pizza. 

Son: Yay!

Daughter: Yay! 

Father: Again? 

Daughter: Can we get chocolate pizza?

Mother: I’m going to get more wine.

END SCENE 

Honey, I screwed up the kids

We are living through historic times. Unprecedented times. And with any luck my family and I will make it out of these times and, many years from now, my great grandkids will gather around and ask to hear all about the time Gam Gam lived through the Great Coronavirus of 2020. And I will tell them, my voice dripping in rich sepia tones, tales of staying up late into the night writing novels to stave off the insanity, the feasts I cooked to stave off the boredom, the endless books the children and I read to stave off the despair. And how we all hugged each other a little tighter each day to remember why isolation, as hard as it was, was important. 

I will tell them all these things and many more because I am going to lie. Lie so hard. All the lies. 

Because here’s the thing. Saying I ate my weight in delivery pizza and wine while battling depression and insomnia just doesn’t have quite the same ring to it. 

“And late one night, children, Gam Gam had so much to drink that she went on Amazon and bought roller skates for herself, completely forgetting she was 38-years-old and this activity would likely kill her. Oh no, I wasn’t a hero. Just a proud patriot doing her duty.”

This is all assuming, of course, that I eventually have great grandchildren. That I don’t screw up my children so thoroughly during this isolation period that they are able to eventually turn into semi-functioning adults who have families of their own. 

It ain’t looking too good so far. My kids are looking to me for structure, for guidance, for how to handle all the Very Big Feelings they are going through. And I, in my raggedy pajamas and roller skates, am looking back at them while eating an entire wheel of cheese and crying a little bit. 

There’s a reason why they say it takes a village to raise a child. It’s so that a child has multiple people to model for them how to survive in this world. People who don’t have a special Math Homework Cocktail she invented. 

It also doesn’t help that we can no longer do the things all those “parenting experts” hammered into our heads that we absolutely had to do in order to raise happy, healthy children.

Get your kids out in nature as much as possible!

Our yard is the size of a postage stamp and the parks are overrun with everyone else whose backyards are the size of postage stamps. 

Kids need unsupervised and unstructured play time!

Fantastic. Will you tell them that? Because they won’t leave me alone and I have nowhere to hide.

Be the calm in their storm! 

I respond to tantrums in only one of two ways anymore, depending on how little sleep I’ve gotten. It’s either dramatically screaming back or responding calmly that I will set their tablets on fire if they don’t knock it off. 

Limit screen time!

My son spends roughly three hours on screens doing school work, which means his younger sister is also in front of a screen for three hours unless I want to deal with a three hour long tantrum. And then when my son is done with school he wants more screen time because his screen time was school screen time, not fun screen time like his sister, so he gets fun screen time, which means his sister gets more screen time because I don’t know what I’m doing and can never seem to win these arguments. 

All of this, of course, with no end in sight.

Then, one morning after another sleepless night spent pointlessly worrying, I was helping my son with his reading assignment online. Every time he completed a task, a small snippet of a song would play. Just maybe ten seconds or so long. I happened to look over at him at that moment and saw that he was crying. 

“What’s wrong, baby!?” I asked, immediately assuming it was the stress from the schoolwork and ready to set the laptop on fire if so (I might have a problem). 

“It’s just so beautiful.”

“What is?”

“The song. It’s just a really beautiful song.” And a few more crocodile tears squeezed out. 

It wasn’t a beautiful song. In fact, I’m pretty sure it included bagpipes. But I started crying too. Because as I looked at him, I remembered that my kids have complicated emotions and deep intelligence and vast interior lives that I’m not privy to (even though on certain days it feels like they do, in fact, tell me every single thought in their heads). That they are strong and resilient and adaptable. That they are fantastic creatures that can be moved to tears by the beauty of music. 

And I realized it’s going to take a lot more than this to ruin them. All of them. The kids will be alright after all.  

 

St. Momma’s Academy for Wayward Children

Greetings and salutations new students! I am pleased to welcome you as the inaugural class of St. Momma’s Academy For Wayward Children. I’m looking forward to a most maddening semester with all of your beautiful, perfect faces.  

Just a few details and tidbits to go over before I hand out the MAE, I SAID STOP LICKING YOUR BROTHER syllabus. Firstly, we have a unique schedule here at the academy. Classes start promptly at Whenever Momma Has The Energy and ends exactly at Momma Is About To Use The Big Curse Words. 

Breakfast, lunch and dinner will all be served whenever I get around to it and the menu will always be macaroni and cheese because I have given up already and so help me if you keep rolling your eyes at me, Riker, I will make you write a 1,000 word essay on how pretty I am. Now, at St. Momma’s Academy, you are allowed to go to the bathroom whenever you need, however, this does include the caveat that you cannot go at exactly the same time as Momma. 

Alright, well, once I pass out these syllabuses (syllabi?) I feel we have put in a good day’s work for today already and I’ll see you all tomorrow. Now take this packet and go away. Farther. No, farther. FARTHER. 

Music 

Introduction to the Quiet Game

This semester we will explore why silence is sometimes just as important as musical instruments. 

Art 

Stick Figure Technique and Design

I can only teach what I know, tiny scholars. 

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Science

ARE WE ALL GOING TO DIE!?: An Exploration of Modern Pandemics

This course will explain all the scary things you are hearing on the news and will mostly consist of reassurances that mommy and daddy and your grandparents and everyone you know and love will most likely not die any time soon. 

Math 

Fantastic Fractions

We’re just making a crap ton of cookies and I’ll let you guys hold the measuring cups and hope you learn fractions via osmosis. 

Physical Education

The FUNdamentals of Squirrel Chasing

First kid to catch one wins $20 and a cookie. GO! 

Reading

Accio Phonics!

We will be reading all the Harry Potter books together. No! Stop whining. I said, WE WILL BE READING ALL THE HARRY POTTER BOOKS TOGETHER. 

Home Economics

Advanced Beverage Science

The morning class will focus on how to operate the coffee maker while the afternoon class will learn basic cocktail recipes. Lab work will be evaluated daily. 

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Writing Economics

Exposure Don’t Pay The Bills

This intensive course will explore why Momma makes little to no money as a writer. Extra credit given to any student who offers hugs when the professor inevitably breaks down in tears of rage. 

History 

The ‘90’s Were A Hell Of A Time, Kids. 

We’re just going to look through Momma’s old photo albums while I drink whiskey and you guys drink apple juice in fancy glasses. 

Media Studies

History of 1980’s Cinema

This mandatory elective will be M-F afternoons until possibly bedtime. Homework assignments include multiple viewings of “The Goonies,” “The Princess Bride,” “Labyrinth,” “The Dark Crystal” and “Willow,” among others. Any complaining results in automatic failure.  

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The best mom in the galaxy

My eyes pop open like blinds that have been pulled too hard. I heard one of the kids cry, I’m certain of it. I strain my ears over the snoring duet of the dog and the husband. Nothing. Whoever it was must have fallen back asleep. 

As I lay in bed, wide awake since parental panic is the most effective alarm clock on the market, I think about the day to come. It’s going to be a good day, I tell myself. Because today I’m going to be a good mom. A great mom. The best mom in the world.  

Mary. Friggin.’ Poppins. 

(wavy fantasy lines, wavy fantasy lines, wavy fantasy lines)

Today I will get up, refreshed, and gently wake my children, both of them sleepily smiling at me as I sing “good morning!” to them. We will do our morning routine like an adorable montage from a romantic comedy, complete with a fashion show by my 5-year-old as he gets ready. As we walk to school, we’ll joke and laugh and enjoy the late autumn weather. 

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Then the 3-year-old and I will head to the library for storytime and after I will surprise her with a trip to her favorite pizza place for lunch, where we make up silly songs and she tells me about her favorite animals. She then takes a nap and I’m able to actually write my newspaper column by deadline. 

We pick up her brother and I let them play on the playground while I successfully have a 20 minute! conversation with another adult. We head home for a snack and an impromptu dance party (all of us, of course, agreeing on the music we listen to). 

Then they help me make dinner, the two of them adorably drowning in aprons. Daddy comes home and we all sit down at the table, talking about our day and discussing our highs and lows. 

As the day winds down, we read five books and they obediently clean their rooms and brush their teeth. As I tuck them into bed, my son looks at me and says “you’re the best mom in the world.” And my daughter says “no, she’s the best mom in the galaxy.”

And I walk away with a huge smile, telling myself just how lucky I am that I get to do this every day.

(wavy fantasy lines, wavy fantasy lines, wavy fantasy lines)

In reality I groan as I get out of bed (because that just happens involuntarily now) and I make coffee, menacingly standing over the coffeemaker, threatening it to hurry up or else. The kids procrastinate getting ready until the last minute despite me reminding them every five minutes that we are leaving soon. He calls me stupid and mean for making him brush his teeth and she throws a tantrum because she can’t find her favorite kitty cat stuffie (you’d think the fact I found eight other kitty cat stuffies she can take would help but no, no it doesn’t). Finally I explode.

“If you guys aren’t ready to go and by the door in the next 30 seconds, I will set all your toys on fire, so help me,” I loudly growl, my inner Darth Vader holding my inner Julie Andrews hostage in a chokehold. 

The entire walk to school they complain. It’s too cold. They’re so tired. Carry me, Momma!

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A little while later, me and the toddler are leaving the library in disgrace because she started screaming at the top of her lungs for some reason that she refuses to divulge. Trying to turn the day around, I take her to her favorite pizza place, where she runs around the entire place singing songs about poop. She then refuses to take a nap, even though she needs one, and refuses to get off my lap, leaving me to try to type 800 words of my newspaper column one-handed. 

Later we pick up her brother and the three of us end up leaving the playground in disgrace, one of them tucked under my arm like luggage and the other being dragged behind me by the hood of his coat, all of us raving at each other like lunatics. 

As soon as we get home, they both immediately ask to watch TV. When I say no, they both end up in the corner because we do not hit mommy no matter how mad we are. I tell them to go play in their rooms, which lasts for almost 10 minutes before I have to pull them apart because they’re fighting like feral weasels. Let’s read a book! I suggest, hoping to distract them. They then end up back in the corner for beating each other up again because they can’t agree on which book we should read. 

They then make a giant mess in the kitchen under the guise of “helping me cook” and I age ten years in ten minutes trying to bite my tongue so I don’t scream out of frustration. I get a text that Daddy is running late again. 

The three of us sit down to dinner, which is gross and smells like vomit apparently. Before I even manage to take my first bite, I have to yell at them to sit down in their chairs and stop sniffing each other’s butts. 

Bedtime is an hour of complaining (on their part) and threats about setting everything on fire again (on my part). 

And as I sigh and tuck them into bed, exhausted, my son looks at me and says “you’re the best mom in the world.” And my daughter says “no, she’s the best mom in the galaxy.”

And I walk away with a huge smile, telling myself just how lucky I am that I get to do this every day.

 

My Thanksgiving Google List

How big of a turkey do I need?

Idiot proof recipes for Thanksgiving turkey

What is a brine?

Is a brine necessary?

Things I can brine a turkey in besides a bucket

Is Alton Brown single?

Pictures of Alton Brown

Alton Brown’s wife

Did Guy Fieri die?

People you’d be surprised are still alive

When are grocery stores the least crowded?

How late is Trader Joe’s open?

Why are there so many people in the world?

How expensive is it to have Thanksgiving catered?

Should I buy a backup turkey?

Videos of how to remove turkey guts

Do gutless turkeys exist?

Thanksgiving cocktails

Thanksgiving cocktails you can make with simple ingredients

Thanksgiving cocktails with three or less ingredients

Wine with the highest alcohol content

That funny Thanksgiving song, not the Adam Sandler one

That funny Thanksgiving song about jail

Thanksgiving playlist ideas

Thanksgiving sweaters for dogs

Thanksgiving sweaters for women

Thanksgiving sweater sets for families

How to make sweet potatoes not suck

Why do people put marshmallows on sweet potatoes?

Recipes for normal potatoes

What is the point of parsley?

Why aren’t there more Thanksgiving movies?

Forgot to thaw turkey

Are turkeys microwave safe?

Can you blow dry a turkey?

Recipe for cheesy vegetable dish, possibly included cauliflower?

How to trick children into eating Thanksgiving dinner

Good responses to ‘I don’t want to eat this’

How to make vegetables taste like not vegetables

Thanksgiving sides you can deep fry

Recipe for deep fried stuffing balls

Recipe for deep fried stuffing balls not on a food blog site featuring long stories

How can you tell when a turkey is done?

First aid for minor burns

My discount meat thermometer melted?

Difference between oven safe thermometers and not oven safe

Can I still eat a turkey if a thermometer melted on it?

Pizza places open on Thanksgiving