Scary Mommy's Guide to Surviving the Holidays (4 page)

8

PUT-YOUR-FEET-UP-WHILE-THE-CROCK-POT-COOKS CRANBERRY SAUCE

by Crystal Ponti

U
sing your Crock-Pot on Thanksgiving Day frees up space on your stovetop and alleviates the pressure of having yet
another
dish to meddle over. Plus, it tastes and smells wonderful—that's a major win/win!

2 cups fresh or frozen cranberries

1 cup dried cranberries

2 large apples (diced, skin optional)

1 medium orange (enough for ½ teaspoon of zest + ¼ cup juice)

3 Tablespoons honey

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1 pinch salt

¾ cup walnuts (optional)

(If you're feeding a large crowd, double the recipe and opt for
a 5-quart or larger Crock-Pot.)

Grate the zest from orange until there is ½ teaspoon of zest, then slice and squeeze out ¼ cup of juice.

Add zest and juice, along with remaining ingredients, into a 3- to 5-quart Crock-Pot.

Cover and cook for 2 hours on high or 3–4 hours on low.

Bask in your time-saving genius.

9

TEN WAYS TO ENSURE A MEMORABLE THANKSGIVING

by Rita Templeton

A
h, Thanksgiving: a time for families and friends to gather, share a bountiful feast, and make special memories. If you're hosting the soiree, consider implementing a few of these helpful tips to make this Thanksgiving one your guests are sure to never (ever,
ever
) forget.

1.
 Let the kids help with food preparation. Explain to the guests that the pieces of eggshell are in there “for added texture.”

2.
 Try out a new recipe you saw on Pinterest, no sooner than one hour before guests are set to arrive. It should ideally involve more than twelve ingredients and a blowtorch, and be shaped like a turkey or other holiday-related icon.

3.
 Put the turkey in the oven. Realize hours later at mealtime that you forgot to turn the oven on. Serve greasy fried chicken from the warming tray down at the gas station instead.

4.
 Invite forty people. Make enough food for twelve. Watch what happens.

5.
 Announce to your hungry guests that because you care about their cholesterol, you've decided to serve Tofurky and dried kale chips in lieu of the traditional Thanksgiving foods. Swap out place cards with informational brochures titled, “Why Vegan is Veg-tacular.”

6.
 As you serve dessert, say cheerfully, “Some of you”—then drop voice ominously—“will find a little . . .
surprise
in your pumpkin pie.”

7.
 Pass out sweatpants at the door.

8.
 Greet each person with “I'll just help you get the roaster out of your car. You
did
bring the turkey, didn't you?”

9.
 Purposely forget the napkins. When someone asks for one, lick your thumb and say, “Oh, who needs those? Just come on over here—mom spit cleans
anything
.”

10.
 Sit down just as your guests are digging into the stuffing, then talk loudly about how you added “the cutest little mushrooms that you found” under a pile of poop/growing on a random stump in the woods/in a plastic baggie under your teenage son's mattress.

Who needs the Thanksgiving Day parade or a football game? With these ideas, prime entertainment is sure to follow. Bonus points if you somehow manage to throw food poisoning into the mix.

Hey, you wanted “memorable,” right?

10

REDEFINING THANKSGIVING

by Jennifer Simon

T
hanksgiving has always been a holiday defined by noise. In a house full of my dad's siblings, their children, extended family members and random friends, you had to compete to be heard. It was the one time of year that all my cousins would come home from college so our whole family could be all together, talking and eating and talking some more. Over the years, most of my cousins had kids; some stayed in town and some moved away. The cacophony ebbed and flowed, but it was always a raucous, fun holiday.

After graduating from college, it was my turn to move away from the Midwest. While I quickly embraced being a New Yorker, I still went “home” for Thanksgiving for my first decade away. But then I got married. My husband's family lived on Long Island, fairly close to our Brooklyn apartment. Suddenly, holiday travel was merely a train ride away instead of a mandatory plane ride.

On November 3, 2009, my son was born weighing four
pounds, eleven ounces, just missing the NICU by a couple ounces. We took him home to coo at, gingerly dress, and snuggle with. Although he was healthy and only three weeks premature, there was no way I was going to take my tiny baby to a gathering with dozens of people.

Thanksgiving, I declared, was canceled. I joked with my husband that we'd just order Chinese to replicate our (and every Jew's) traditional Christmas meal.

After all, Thanksgiving just wouldn't be Thanksgiving without shouting and roughhousing, without hearing gossip about someone's aunt's daughter, without my aunt Susie's pies and my dad's smoked turkey, and, of course, without my grandmother holding my hand while telling me a story I'd only heard a dozen times before. With my husband, Matt's family, Thanksgiving would be a different version of mine, so it would seem close enough, but a Thanksgiving with just my husband and newborn? That's not a holiday, I reasoned.

About a week before Thanksgiving, Matt decided that regardless of my expectations, we would still celebrate Thanksgiving. We would just do it a new way. Our way.

Instead of cooking a whole turkey, he made us individual guinea hens. He found the best recipe for corn bread just so he could turn it into stuffing. He even made fancy greens beans (on the stove with a recipe instead of my usual way—ahem, in the microwave). And for dessert, he made us the most delicious individual fruit crumbles.

It was a beautiful plate of food and a great way to rethink the holiday.

For Thanksgiving, we sat down as a new family, making our
own new tradition. Matt and I sat at the table, while our baby, so small he fit into a blanket-lined box, was
on
the table, literally a conversation piece.

The meal, without the distractions, allowed me to savor the true meaning of the holiday. I gave thanks for my husband, who worked the entire afternoon to make me a holiday meal. I gave thanks for my sweet, precious, tiny baby, who was happily sleeping through his first holiday.

And I gave thanks for the quiet that blanketed our apartment in calm and love.

We were a new family, starting our own new traditions. And that was better than anything else I was used to.

11

A PECAN PIE RECIPE THAT WILL MAKE FAMILY AND FRIENDS WANT TO TONGUE YOU

By Lola Lolita

I
'm not much of a culinary artist, and I'm certainly not much of one for recipes, but I
do
have one or two tricks up my sleeve. One of these tricks involves baking a pecan pie. And for someone who's not too keen on cooking, this is totally a big deal.

I've kept this recipe a secret for several years, but now that the holiday season is upon us, I'm feeling less selfish than usual. One might even say I'm feeling generous. In the spirit of that feeling, I've decided to break out my grandmammy's supersecret pecan pie recipe and share it with all of you. (Don't worry. No murderous threats attached.)

1 cup sugar

2
⁄
3
cup dark corn syrup

3 eggs

¼ teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon vanilla

1 cup pecans (For a thicker filling, you can add ½ cup more pecans.)

½ stick butter

1 Tablespoon flour

Combine sugar, butter, and syrup until it's a smooth blend.

Add flour, salt, and eggs together, and beat slightly.

Add vanilla and pecans.

Bake in an unbaked pie shell for 1 hour at 350 degrees.

Halfway through baking, you may want to gently place a large piece of tinfoil over the top. This'll keep the top of your whole beautiful biznass from charring up.

And there it is. Get out the small-scale weaponry and the Tasers, cuz I swear, you're gonna have to beat these adorers off with a stick.

12

THE PROS AND CONS OF HAVING A BABY RIGHT BEFORE THANKSGIVING

by Alice Gomstyn

W
hen my second child was born just before Thanksgiving, I had a whole lot to be grateful for—especially the heavy-duty pain-killers the hospital sent me home with. Take it from me, if your bun in the oven is due just before the day the turkey is supposed to go in the oven, you have a few pros and cons to consider . . .

PRO:
 Lots of family members will be around to help you care for your newborn.

CON:
 Lots of family members will be around to breathe on, sneeze on, and leave ugly fuchsia lipstick marks on your newborn. (No one likes that shade on you, Aunt Gladys. NO ONE.)

PRO:
 Engorged postpartum boobs will create cleavage that makes your husband extragrateful this year.

CON:
 Engorged postpartum boobs will create enough milk to leak through your shirt and scandalize your father-in-law.

PRO:
 The extra calorie intake necessary for lactating will give you an excuse to eat all you want.

CON:
 You're so hungry that you devour your dinner with the ferocity of a jungle creature and certain family members raise concerns that you will actually eat your baby next.

PRO:
 Since you're still recovering from labor, you get to sit on a comfy egg-crate cushion during the meal.

CON:
 Having to explain to younger family members exactly
why
you're sitting on an egg crate: “Yes, I do have stitches down there. No, I will not show you.”

PRO:
 You'll easily be able to regale family members at dinner when you tell the amusing story of the baby's birth.

CON:
 In your postpartum haze, you may forget to omit the part where you pooped on the delivery table. Bon appétit, everyone!

PRO:
 No one expects you to cook a thing.

CON:
 To get out of cooking again next year, you'll have to have another baby.