Traditions, Old and New

W and I just headed out and braved the post apocalyptic battleground that is Wegman's two days before Thanksgiving. Sheesh. Luckily, my list was small, so it wasn't too bad. Thanksgiving is at my parents' house this year so I'm not allowed to do too much for it. Even though I'm 32 with my own husband and child, I'm still my parents' baby, so I'm not allowed to do too much as far as helping. It's our job to show up and eat eat eat. I was able to convince them to let me bring an appetizer and the coleslaw. So I'm making slow progress. Anyway, to Wegman's we ventured. Since I'm only allowed to bring an appetizer, I decided to make the yummiest appetizer that I know of (and one I over indulged in a few days ago at a friend's baptism), stuffed cherry peppers. Yum! I can hear the prosciutto and provolone calling my name in the fridge. So let's wish me (and my waistline) luck that I don't eat them all before Thursday afternoon. I just subscribed to the one-for-you-one-for-me school of assembling. Now I'm stuffed full of stinky cheese and cured meat. Happiness.

And so begins my most gluttonous season. I love the holidays.  I love stuffing myself to the gills for two months, I love the smells and the family and the traditions. But what I love most about the holiday season is all of the opportunities to indulge in cranberry sauce. And not of the homemade variety. Sure, I appreciate a good, homemade cranberry sauce. I may even reserve some real estate on my plate for it these next few months. But the shiny, can shaped glob of sugary goodness is where it is at for me. I love the sound it makes when it slides onto the bowl, I love the way it melts a little when it mingles with the warm gravy <insert Homer Simpson gurgling here>. Oooh I love it.

photo credit: zipongo

And while I'm talking about traditions and food, I should mention my newest tradition. A few years ago we came home from Thanksgiving with zero (ZERO!!) leftovers. Blasphemy! Little did we know that our friends down the street were suffering the same injustice. We started talking about how rotten a Thanksgiving without leftovers is. And we got sad. And mad. How could this have happened? Why didn't our respective families understand the importance of next-day-turkey-sandwiches?? Why were we powerless in this situation? And why were we standing for it? Convention ruled that that you can only eat gastro-busting portions of turkey and fixings on the third Thursday of each November. Why only once a year? Seeing as we (my friend and I) weren't ones to necessarily follow convention, we said screw it. And so it was that Slapsgiving (named in honor of a silly episode of How I Met Your Mother) was born. Now every year, once Thanksgiving is over and the sea of leftovers has dried up, we will get together with our dear friends and drink wine and cook a traditional Thanksgiving feast all.over.again. We use pretty china and wear forgiving (read: stretchy) clothes, we listen to awesome Christmas music (Think, Pogues and Waitresses) and we enjoy a great Slapsgiving.
And there are always leftovers for everyone.

photo credit

I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving and a groovy Slapsgiving (with no actual slapping, of course). Cheers!