This is a little nugget about family get togethers over dinner. A group of my friends have been discussing our Holiday Traditions and what we do, what we eat, etc.
My family generally heads down the hill to my folks house. Every one brings a covered dish and then helps Mom out with the things that she is preparing. Sounds so ordinary doesn't it? Ah, but there is pol'ticking going on behind the scenes. Let me start out with who brings what.
My sis is an excellent cook. She can make a can of collards look and taste gourmet.
Her spread is always must have.
My DD is an aspiring Rachel Ray and is quite the little kitchen diva. She works hard and it tastes delish!
My SIL, well, let's just say, looks can be deceiving. She works hard to bring a palatable looking dish. But you see, I have my Daddy's imagination. It can be very very vivid. I have been inside my SIL's house. I KNOW what her kitchen looks like, so, I am not wont to eat what comes from there. Savvy?
Then comes me. I am a very big foodie. I make some good eats! My Daddy loves my cooking, he just doesn't know it! You see, I made the mistake of telling my Daddy years ago, and I mean years ago as in BC that while married to my first hubs, herein called The Devil, that I used to scrub the toilet with his toothbrush and occasionally feed him a mighty dog casserole, or perhaps let one of the dogs lick his plate before I served him or I am almost ashamed to admit his, give him a good spit and shine in his serving. Okay, I have fessed up.
. . . I have tried to repent. Sisters, I have tried to repent. But even after all these years if I think about it, it still feels good and justified . . . My own dear Daddy even tried to warn Luscious - who you can tell hasn't heeded his advice - Daddy would tell him -" Don't ever get her riled up, son. She has some wicked ways with food."
Okay, anyhow, I shared this with Daddy one day. He has never eaten anything I have cooked since then! Well, he HAS but he doesn't know that I cooked it. I have my sister pass it off as her own. I will then bring an extra broccoli casserole or some other dish that Daddy doesn't care for.
That way, he can say, " Baby, you know I can't eat that." and no one's feelings are hurt.
Now, this is where the fun comes in . . . at least to my warped brain. I have often sweetly asked him over dinner when he visited with bro and his wife recently. He doesn't visit much. Get it? The man who has the vivid imagination is better off NOT knowing what said SIL's kitchen looks like. I find it highly amusing watching him devour her offerings. Shame on me! Hey, I get my kicks where I can!
So this Easter holiday, I will make a few wonderful casseroles and a special coconut pie for my sister to carry in and get all the praises for. If you had ever been in my SIL's house, you would be smiling next to me.
