Issue #38 Ho Ho Hot. Not
By now, you are probably tiring of tales of kitchen woe.
Well I’m sorry.
Stuff keeps happening.
And if I can “mine” the disasters for comedic effect, I’m gonna lean right in.
In the words of the Ephron family, “everything is copy”.
When I got married, I not only gained a lovely mother-in-law, but also some of her terrific recipes - things I hadn’t tasted before.
A favorite was her “cheesy potato casserole”.
For over thirty years, my in-laws gave a big party on Christmas Eve and these potatoes were a staple of that gathering. To my knowledge, she only made them once a year and I basically only make them once a year.
Because BUTTER.
And other densely caloric ingredients.
And, honestly, to keep them special.
We have tried to uphold the same tradition of a big holiday gathering (including the potatoes) and we managed it almost every year from 1993 until 2019.
Then, well, you know.
Last Sunday we finally felt we could jump back into the deep end and risk nasty germs and fill our house with friends and family.
All was going reasonably well and I had FOUR 9 x 13 casseroles going into the oven.
(Two pans is woefully insufficient. Three pans is almost enough. Four pans just might get you leftovers. Which is, frankly, the only way I’m ever even going to get a bite of them.)
The casserole takes about an hour to bake.
At the 30 minute mark, I when I opened the door to take a peek, the inside of the oven felt only vaguely warm.
At 45 minutes it still felt frighteningly un-hot.
And my husband pointed out that it only said “pre-heat”up there on the digital display.
My heart sank.
I felt like one of those contestants on the Great British Baking Show who knows that THIS TIME, for the FIRST TIME, their special fabulous baked thing is going to be not so fabulous.
My husband’s solution was to whack the oven up over 400 degrees in an attempt to achieve browning. When that failed he resorted to the broiler.
Browning was begun.
So was the triggering of smoke alarms.
And billows of cough inducing haze.
Oh, and while this drama was unfolding, our electrical system was generally overloaded and a circuit tripped every time someone tried to use the microwave, plunging several of our guests into instant darkness. Followed by frantic calls (well, shouts, really) to my husband to make another trip to the basement to turn things back on.
Eventually, two of the casseroles looked brown enough to pull out.
Crispy cheese.
Soup underneath.
I gave up on those.
But now, the oven had at least demonstrated its ability to actually get hot, so I knocked the temp back down where it belonged and eventually wound up with two edible (but still not quite right) pans of cheesy potato-ness.
In time to be served with dessert.
We are blessed to have wonderful friends and family who were so happy to see each other I could have served cardboard and no one would have complained.
But, still.
It broke my heart to toss 64 ounces of potatoes, 2 sticks of butter and 2 quarts of half and half into the garbage.
Since the incident at the party, we have been afraid to test the oven to see if it is truly dead or merely in the process of dying.
It’s looking like it will be a stove top Christmas.
If you have a working oven, and want to try your hand at Sue’s cheesy potato casserole, click here.
Copyright© 2023 Anne Morse Hambrock All rights reserved.
But what I really wanted to say today has to do with this poem.
Whatever holidays you may be celebrating, let yourself off the hook a little.
Eat what you want.
Drink what you want.
Hug who you can.
Holiday Kitchen
Another of our annual traditions is my Belgian chocolate truffle cake.
This was clearly baked before the oven shenanigans.
Keep The Messages Coming!
A big “thank you” to all of you who have messaged me commented or hit “like” after reading my poems and commentary!
I appreciate the feedback and knowing how often I have struck a chord with your lives.
Archives
Remember, you can always hit the “archives” tab to see more or catch up on posts you may have missed.
