Well, the big day is almost here -- the day after Thanksgiving, when I get to breathe easier again.
Don't get me wrong, I love the thought of Thanksgiving. I even went to Plimoth Plantations with my nearly 5-year-old son. (It was great, to be honest, in a let's-whitewash-the-history-of-Native-American-oppression way.) And as a kid it was my favorite holiday -- the smell of turkey cooking, the cream-cheese filled celery sticks (what a luxury!), the homemade pies, THE STUFFING!, my large family gathering around the TV for parades and football and then around the table for dinner. I could almost forget how dysfunctional we were, although at the time, in the '60s and '70s, we just said fucked-up.
But my problem now is, I'm a food snub.
Not in that I am a gourmet -- or thin. But I need to have faith that what I'm eating won't kill me. So if I question the sanitary conditions of my host's house or their cooking hygiene, I'm sorry but it kills my appetite. I don't want you to get the idea that I'm more than the usual freak, though. Hey, if I dropped an M&M on the floor, I'd kiss it up to God and eat it. And don't sit there all smug and judging, I know you avoid Aunt Debbie's sausage and bread crumb stuffing because you know she's probably somehow mixed in hair and nail clippings from Sparky, her pet beagle.
I'm really tired of this. Every year, I have to work my way around a cuisine minefield. The possibly undercooked turkey; the cold, not thoroughly mashed mashed potatoes; everyone's different take on salmonella-laced stuffing. I battle my way through dinner, pushing food mounds around my plate as if they were set pieces on a stage (if I put a little mash potatoes here and move the squash here, maybe it will look like I took a bite), taking bites of bread (store-bought, no one bakes anymore!) and waiting for dessert.
And the thing is my childhood home was not next to godliness. We had cats, so I'm certain I ate my share of cat hair. My parents had 13 kids, so the house was never really clean. We were the family where when you came to our house, you always found the butter on the table (and not to make it soft). While I have fond memories of my mom's cooking, well, I won' t go there. The woman was my mother for heaven's sake.
But enough is enough. I really would like to stay home and get take out from a nice, clean restaurant.
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2 comments:
Mmmm, you really make Thanksgiving dinner sound appetizing! My dinner will be catered from Boston Market this year. I'm not sure if it would pass your cleanliness test, but if you see me on the day after, you'll know all went well. If not, view it as a cautionary tale.
Hey, Esther. Strangely my food phobia does not extend to restaurants (well most of them). Although obviously this doesn't make sense, but then again I only see the final results and not the process.
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