For the first time in Thanksgiving history, I was a significant contributor in the preparation of the food. (Okay, so "significant" may be a bit of an overstatement.) I got up bright and early to help my aunt bake pies (AKA the greatest pastry ever invented). I'm not really accustomed to baking anything that hasn't already been halfway assembled by Betty Crocker, so I tried my best to channel my inner Meryl-Streep-as-Julia-Child and not totally screw up our Thanksgiving dessert. Fortunately, my aunt is smart and gave me the almost fool-proof task of crushing the nuts and ginger snaps for the pies' crumble topping. Unfortunately, my presence was still the cause of the downfall of the would-be-beautiful pies.
Remember my ongoing battle with technology? Current score: Technology- 73, Me- 2 (I'm still the master of my Game Boy and I can work my calculator... usually). Well, my aunt's high-tech kitchen appliances are apparently in on the conspiracy, so naturally her oven malfunctioned and set our pies just a little bit on fire. Not like "Call 9-1-1! The house is burning down!" fire, but like "No one is going to eat these blackened pies unless they're extremely drunk" fire. Soooo we tried to reset the oven, but it continued to toy with us by acting normal for three minutes, making us think it was safe to leave the kitchen, and then randomly starting to broil again, making what was left of our pies unsalvageable. My cousin tried unplugging the demon-possessed oven, but obviously the Decepticons have gotten to my aunt's appliances. Thank God we were able to seek refuge in my grandparents' kitchen.
Eight hours and two ovens later, we ended up having plenty of delicious pie for dessert. (Just a note: four pies is more than enough for ten people.) Needless to say, there were excessive leftovers. But that's just how we roll. (Speaking of which, there are in fact two bags of leftover rolls that my grandmother bought specifically for my brother, who eats nothing but rolls for Thanksgiving dinner as he does not like turkey, stuffing, potatoes*, pie, etc. His record is twelve rolls in one sitting.) That was pretty much it for our unexciting Thanksgiving dinner. Oh, and my father still won't forgive me for accidentally passing the mashed potatoes (his favorite) to the opposite end of the table before he got any. Lesson learned, Dad. It won't happen again.
*Correction: I have just been informed that as of this year, my brother does in fact eat mashed potatoes. FYI.