Mmmm...post-Thanksgiving euphoria induced by my mother’s gastroculinary delights keeps me from caring that I’m probably ten pounds heavier. She roasted a turkey, of course, and made a huge pan of her fantastic homemade cornbread dressing. To go along with that, she made corn, rice, brown gravy, giblet gravy (referred to in my family as ‘guts gravy’, which I love drizzled over the dressing), deviled eggs, green bean casserole, brown field peas, yeast rolls, an olive-and-pickle tray and some sort of cranberry-orange relish gel, of which I didn’t partake as I generally eschew cranberries. I’m trying to remember if she made some sort of horrible sweet potato thing; she usually does because my dad likes sweet potatoes but I find them quite vile, so I wouldn’t have gone near it. I can’t remember - but if there was a horrible sweet potato thing, it doubtless involved miniature marshmallows.

For reasons which could not be ascertained prior to press time, my dad refused to answer repeated summonses to carve the turkey so my brother was allowed to carve. And by “carve” I mean “shred entire carcass into tiny shredlets” which actually worked out quite well, because we were able to shovel it right in instead of wasting valuable gorging time doing something stupid like cutting our slices. Gluttony is a favorite vice in my family.

For dessert, there was banana pudding and my mom’s pecan pie. I dislike pecan pie, although others tell me hers is quite fabuloso. To be precise, it’s not pecan pie in particular that I dislike; rather, its existence violates Helly’s Food Law #2, which dictates that sweet things shall not be mixed with salty things. I don't want sugary dressing on my salad, I don't want pineapple on my pizza, I don't want honey in my mustard or (shudder) on my carrots, I don't want raspberries and mangos on my grilled swordfish. Nuts are a salty thing, dessert is a sweet thing, so pecan pie = bad.

Now, about that banana pudding...Alan made it (he wasn’t there - he was eating with his family). My grandmother made fantastic banana pudding which she always brought to Thanksgiving dinner, as well as other family gatherings. Provided that we were able to get to her banana pudding before my brother, the rest of us would get to taste it. Sometimes. I think Bo would have been content without the turkey and all the vegetables, so long as he had Mom’s deviled eggs and Gram’s banana pudding. But my grandmother died in April of 2002 so recent Thanksgivings have been pudding-less. Obviously I miss my grandmother more than dessert, but the noticeable omission has served as a tangible reminder of our loss. Alan made us a dessert, but more importantly, he saved our holiday from sinking into a morose, maudlin gloom-fest. Bo even shared with the rest of us, but that was because he didn’t realize how great Alan’s banana pudding would be, not because he was overcome by holiday sentiment. That, or he didn’t want Sarah to know what a monstrous pudding-pig she married - but he won’t be able to hide it forever, especially now that I got the banana pudding hook-up. Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!

MONTOYA DELENDA EST!