Let there be peace

December 24, 2018

Child B, and Child ‘Cs arm, immortalized in Christmas memories.

And leftovers.

It was a fine Christmas dinner at Chez Brockwell. There was about five times more to eat than we needed or wanted, there was much joy, fun and chaos as gifts were opened. There were tons of laughs, and a tear or two.

In other words, it was just about a perfect Christmas, never mind it was a couple of days early.

I went to bed last night with the kitchen semi-clean, and with the avowed intention of doing no more than was needful to sustain life today. I have fulfilled that. I have put about six dishes into the mostly-full dishwasher, and run it (I have not emptied it, thankyouverymuch), and I have fixed potato skins for Child A, and I have eaten copious amounts of Christmas leftovers and am working on my second glass of good Scotch.

Christmas leftovers. There were a gracious plenty of same. I xx’d out the beef roast at the last minute and we did not miss it, as we made barely a dent in the turkey, the ham and the country ham. It was not a particularly good roll day; I’m not sure what I did to them, but they were kinda tough and hard-crusted. The sorghum salad was…meh. I pitched it. Everything else was pretty much a home run.

I made a bait of potato salad because potato salad is good left over, never mind I didn’t eat any of it today. There’s a bunch of mac and cheese left over, some asparagus that I see a future for in a quiche, a metric assload of ham (both kinds) and turkey (thank God I got a little one), another metric assload of mac and cheese, and a goodly amount of fruit salad.

I see a future for the fruit salad tomorrow as an accompaniment for the breakfast casserole I might put together tonight, or might wait until in the morning. It will take some of the ham, as well. More of the ham (both kinds) will go in deviled ham spread (that stuff, courtesy Garden and Gun magazine, is to die for). The leftover sweet potatoes are destined for sweet potato muffins. Cranberry salad will be munched upon for a few days as snack fare. Anything left at the end of the week will be ruthlessly thrown out. I refuse to be held hostage in 2019 by a refrigerator full of stuff old enough to vote.

That’s the one thing on my agenda this week. To, sometime, clean out that Godforsaken refrigerator. There is pickled stuff that is old enough to draw social security, let alone vote. Enough is enough. We have to purge.

In any event, there was nothing much noteworthily different about Christmas dinner that was new and different, but for the sorghum salad, which should have been better than it was (never mind I had to forego the Kalmata olives because I Did Not Have Any, and that situation must be remedied). I already ditched it. And it should have been good, but wasn’t.

One thing I may not have blogged previously is the kids’ Memomma’s fruit bowl. Simple enough. Put cut-up fruit, whatever’s in season, or whatever’s at the grocery (I used canteloupe, watermelon, pineapple, grapes, strawberries and blackberries, NONE of which are in season, and they were all good except the canteloupe) in a bowl. Make up a dip/dressing of:

  • 1 8-oz block of cream cheese, softened
  • 1 7-oz jar of marshmallow cream
  • lime juice — how much you use will depend on how tart you want this, and how thin you want it)

People. Let me tell you, that little old Southern lady knew whereof she was speaking when she made this stuff. It is, surprisingly, not as sweet as you might think, although we will not speak to the plastic properties of the marshamallow cream. But I could eat this stuff by the spoonful, and it just rocks when applied to a tart fruit like blackberries or out-of-season strawberries.

Save the marshamallow cream jar. It works like a charm to hold the leftover dip. And you will want to save it. It rocks.

I was somewhat disappointed with the turkey. I’d bought a small (8 1/2 pounds; Child A pronounced it a “kinda wormy-looking” turkey, but I didn’t want a big one) Butterball and brined it for about five hours, then stuck it on the smoker for four. It was really not very smoky-tasting, but it was certainly juicy and good. Hormones, antibiotics, farmed turkey and all. It will go, I guess, in posole and sandwiches and turkey tetrazzini and so on and such forth. I’m done turkey-ing until next Thanksgiving.

Highlight of dinner was the caramel apple pecan pound cake, which will wait until another post for details. Meanwhile, I hope you and y’mama ‘n ’em are having a most wonderful and love-filled Christmas Eve and will be enjoying same on Christmas day. Just remember:


” 14 Therefore, the Lord will give you a sign. The young woman is pregnant and is about to give birth to a son, and she will name him Immanuel.[c]15 He will eat butter and honey, and learn to reject evil and choose good. “

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