A home cooked meal of ham and scalloped potatoes had this house smelling like a home yesterday afternoon.
The house was lightly decorated for Christmas and gave off the aura that someone who loves Christmas lives here.
A candle was lit, music played softly in the background (though it was not Christmas carols) and mocktails were offered with supper.
It was My Oldest's last Sunday Supper before he leaves on a five-week vacation. It was a nice send-off. It wasn't a pre-Christmas. It was just a regular Sunday Supper with a calming backdrop of the season, tasty food aromas and a lightness of heart.
Conversation was easy, the food was good and the clean-up was next to none.
Why is it that a turkey meal (and all the fuss, mess and bother) is synonymous with Christmas, when a simple ham and scalloped potatoes meal leaves the cook free to visit before, during and after the meal??
I believe the last turkey I will ever cook is sitting in the deep freeze at the moment. It has lived there for the better part of a year. It has been frozen the entire time. He makes me grumpy every time I see him. I wish he was a skinless, boneless, fat-less hunk of meat that didn't need to be cleaned/stuffed/baked long enough to cook him (yet not so long that he is all dried out) ... then carved and cleaned up after the meal, with the potential of adding further stress to an already maxed out day by turning the turkey bones and scraps into soup.
Blech. Turkeys! Now that I've had my turkey-rant, it feels a lot like Christmas!