Sunday morning at 6:00 a.m. we all gathered around the table at The Mother's house eating bagels and sausage and eggs and crispy fried potatoes. I was laying on my placemat and my hair still smelled of the wonderful aroma of the prime rib dinner at The Sister's house the night before. I hadn't had my coffee yet and the week's festivities of eating had exhausted me to the point that I actually didn't even bother to change out of my pajamas before heading to The Mother's house.

We sat and reminisced about the days before and all the food we ate and all the laughs we laughed.

We talked of how it all started last Tuesday night when The Family arrived and before I could even say hello The Aunt was shoving goodie bags into my hands while hugging me and kissing my cheek.

She brought homemade caramels, homemade licorice, pumpkin bread, cranberry orange bread, butter cream cookies, baklava and so many other things I can't really remember it all.

But did I mention she made me licorice???

And Baklava???

I love her.

The next day - Wednesday - we spent the day readying ourselves for The Most Adored Food Holiday In All The Land and spent the evening laughing and talking over a dinner of tempura fish with homemade fries and crispy cabbage slaw.

Thursday was, of course, The Big Show - The Most Adored Food Holiday In All The Land. It's tradition on our house to eat the Big Meal at 1:00 p.m. so we all skipped breakfast and spent the morning prepping and setting the table and putting out place cards and sneaking tastes of The Great Grandmother's Funky Green Jello. (Delish, by the way)

By 3:30 p.m., 6 of the people succumbed to the Tryptophan'd turkey and fell face down on the floor in front of the roaring fireplace to snoring like freigh trains through Texas while the rest of us mindlessly shoved party mix and hot artichoke dip and homemade toffee in our mouths as if it was the first morsel of food we had eaten in a week.

There really is nothing more delightful than to see a housefull of people fat with gluttony yet looking for the next snack to come out of the kitchen. Each person squealed with delight as each dish was paraded around the room. "Ohhhh, are those truffels? Is that pecan pie? WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

I woke up Friday morning with a turkeyjellostuffingmashedpotatotoffeepartymixpumpkinpiehotbutteredrum hangover and yet still went to The Mother's for bagels and smoked salmon. And Friday evening was even more laughter over caesar salad and pizza margherita and baked pasta in vodka creme sauce.

Saturday was a day of frenzied shopping and snacking and movie going (Christmas With The Kranks - Don't bother) and we ended our day over stuffed mushrooms, coconut prawns, fresh mozarella and proscuitto, spinach salad, prime rib, rice pilaf and oven roasted broccoli.

We were simply on a Food Induced Euphoria and none of us wanted it to stop.

The Family is amazing. It's so wonderful to sit across the table from people who really 'get' you. And by 'get' I mean they totally don't mock you for having licorice-stained drool running down your chin because they find it so endearing. And they probably just wiped a big slab'o'drool of their own.

Saying good-bye to them was such sweet sorrow and none of us can wait until Spring when we will see them again.

That gives me just enough time to lose this second ass.

Oy, I'm full.

More later.

Happy Thanksgiving!

May you all be blessed and may your hearts and tables and tummies be full on this fabulous day. To My Friends across the globe; even though you're not celebrating this American Tradition of Thanksgiving, I bid you the same as well.

God Bless you all.

Ok so the meeting went well last night.

A lot was discussed.

Rums were hot buttered.

And we all came to the conclusion that instead of substitutions we decided to add more food to the menu. So I get The Great Grandmother's Funky Green Jello AND ambrosia. (And the spicy cranberry jelly)

I don't care so much for the ambrosia salad but The Uncle on The Sister's Husband's Side does so it will be added.

Which is fine. I say bring it on. It's like I told my friends earlier - when it comes to food, my family has about as much self-control as a cokehead in an opium den.

Oh and we're also adding another bread to the mix. The Nieces lobbied me pretty hard to make my famous herbed cheesy buttery flatbread.

Damn that 3rd hot buttered rum.

Deli Girl has a great big purple HICKEY ON HER NECK.

So as we're T-48 Hours until The Big Feast of The Most Adored Food Holiday In All The Land. The Mother, The Sister, and I are cooking a nice little sit down meal for 37 of our nearest and dearest friends and family.

And so far the menu reads as follows;

Oven Roasted Turkey
Slow Roasted Glazed Ham
Mashed Potatoes (my specialty, thankyouverymuch)
Gravy
Pecan, Wild Rice, and Sausage Stuffing
Candied Sweet Potatoes
Brussle Sprouts with Garlic Butter
Steamed Broccoli and Cauliflower with Cheese Sauce
Sweet Corn
Cranberry Sauce
Waldorff Salad
Cranberry Salad
Greek Salad
Stuffed Squash
The Great GrandMother's Funky Green Jello (explain later)
Relish Trays of deviled eggs, Butter pickles, Sweet Pickles, and Olive Assortments
Bran Rolls
Corn Muffins with Honey Butter
Sally's Sweet Yeast Rolls

The Dessert & Snack portion of the day will include (but not be limited to):

Party Mix
Baklava
Hummous
Hot Artichoke Dip
Crudite' and Herbed Dip
Assorted Crackers.
Carmelized Onion Dip
Almond Roca
Pecan Pie
Pumpkin Pie
Lemon Pie
Apple Crumb Pie
Pumpkin Spice Cake

We're still making the final cut. There's a pretty close race for someone's Ambrosia Salad but I refuse to give up a slot for The Great Grandmother's Funky Green Jello made with lime Jello, Whipped Cream, Shredded Cheddar Cheese, and Pineapple. I know what you're thinking - lime jello with cheese? But don't knock it until you try it. Or you will have the wrath of The Great Grandmother upon your table, God rest her soul.

There's also a pretty good chance that we could have a last minute substitution for the cranberry relish. I am lobbying pretty heavily for a spicy cranberry jelly from a jar. I don't normally do such ghastly things, but this stuff rocks. But the Mother, The Queen of all Food Snobs, is gaining ground on her cranberry relish. And The Sister is trying pretty hard to get a chutney into the mix.

We plan to discuss the final cut tonight over Hot Buttered Rums. (With my drinking stamina, I totally have this one in the bag)

Happiness Is...

Waking up to the soothing sounds of Norah Jones on the clock radio.

And driving down the highway to an entire 30 minutes of uninterrpted (read: No annoying damn commercials or stupid DJ banter) of AC/DC's greatest hits after dropping off The Free Bird at the food bank.

You shook me all night long, Baby.

So like all stores across the nation who are conspiring with one another to make us all think we're saving the big bucks by using one of their Super Duper Savings Cards, my store has been promoting the Hell out of the latest "Big Thing".

And because I am a complete sucker and lose all sense of reason in the grocery store, I fell for the Big Thing and totally got a free 20 pound turkey.

Free Bird!

I actually did a little dance right there at the meat counter as that obtuse plastic wrapped ball of goodness was dropped in my cart. It was more of a subdued hip shake dance as I didn't want to scare the nice non-english speaking lady trying to communicate with the butcher.

I walked around the store proudly like I had just won The Prettiest Shopper award, turning my head side to side and waving that parade wave. Elbow tight... only use the wrist...

And I started thinking about all the fabulous things I would be doing with that turkey. I could just smell the succulence waifting through my kitchen and...HOLY SHIT I WILL HAVE TO THRUST MY HANDS INTO THE ASS OF THIS BIRD TO RETRIVE THINGS THAT LOOK LIKE PROPS FROM THE MOVIE ALIEN!!!!!

I actually stopped in the middle of the cracker aisle and hung my head in total defeat.

I cannot describe to you how I hate prepping turkeys. I can trim excess fat off a bloody barron of beef and cut a fresh loin into tenderloin steaks, I can cut a whole chicken into fryer size pieces, but having to stick my hand up a turkey's ass gives me nightmares of monumental proportions.

I even have a special Turkey Preparation Kit that includes a HazMat suit, goggles, surgical gloves, a mask, and a very large set of tongs. You think I joke, but can asure you I take my Turkey Preparation Kit very seriously. It's packed and checked like a paratroopers chute.

The Mother - a woman who's hands have been in more turkey asses than I can count - is so gracious in her impatience with me. "Honey, it's not that bad. It's two holes, to bags. It takes all of 2 minutes. I will walk you through it, Sweetie... FOR GOD'S SAKE, KRIS. BE A WOMAN AND GET YOUR HAND IN THAT TURKEY'S ASS!" (I think the fact that my goggles had slipped down over my nose and had become foggy from all the warm nostril air really pushed her over the edge.)

I am totally donating this bird to charity.

So I got a call this afternoon.

It's for a trick next July.

I gave the woman cool points for being so on top of things.

But then she requested - demanded, rather - that I get her out a quote by Thanksgiving.

Cool points taken away.

Doesn't anyone respect The Most Adored Food Holiday In All The Land? I mean, this isn't just the day I give thanks in honor of The Pilgrims who landed in The Friend in Boston's back yard, this is The Big Show. The day it all happens. The day everyone - women included - secretly unbutton their pants at the dinner table for all the gluttony before them.

The day turkey asses get voilated and dishes like green bean casserole and candied yams and jello salads are all acceptable, Atkins or not.

This is the day I dream of all year long, damnit.

Anyway.

That's not the worst of it. The worst of it is that today, I became The Middle Man.

So often the dynamics of weddings are fabulous - it's about two families joining together in white toulle and champagne bliss.

But so often the dynamics of weddings are not so fabulous - it's about two competing families fighting over bragging rights of who spent more money on the gig.

In this case I believe it's going to be the latter.

You see, last week I got a phone call from The Bride's Father asking me to put him on the calendar for The Rehearsal Dinner. We would talk details in say, oh, April or May. But He just wanted to be in the books.(And for the record, this Bride's Father is loaded. Bucks up. Playing with the big boys. And he's a very, very nice man.) No problem. Date saved.

The Groom's Family is from out of town and a little tight on the cash flow. So as not to be a burden to them, The Bride's Father was planning to set up The Rehearsal Dinner himself. This is usually something The Groom's Family takes care of.

I don't question when these things happen. I am not in the business to school people on who should pay for what. As long as I get paid and you give me fodder for my blog, I am a happy camper.

So today when I received a phone call from The Groom's Mother, I did not think it was verbotten to mention I had already received a call from The Bride's Father.

Again, my assumptions were amiss.

The Groom's Mother was not at all happy and wanted me to be assured that the Groom's Family would be in charge and it would be even more fabulous than something The Bride's Family could pull off. And I, as in me, was to inform The Bride's Father that it was taken care of. And I, as in me, was to pull out all the stops for this function, no holds barred.

Well, as long as it was cheap, of course.

Great.

It really should be illegal for a person to have so much Fabulousness in one single day.

Tuesday morning We set out for a day of shopping for ourselves, for others, and to have an audience with Ina.

(We're totally on a first name basis now.)

The day started with croissant and rich dark coffee. Strong coffee. Grow hair on your chest coffee. Give you a buzz for a week coffee.

Fabulous coffee.

Then it was to one of the Pinnacles of Fabulousness, Williams-Sonoma. How can you not love a store which sells food AND fabulous cookware AND fabulous linens AND so much fabulousness?

We were greeted by The Fabulous Sample Lady handing out little portion cups of sweetness, pushing the special of the day - cranberry relish.

I totally bought 2 jars.

Along with some pumpkin butter.

And a jar of sweet chestnuts.

And some table linens.

And an apron.

And it was Fabulous.

From there it was to The Fabulous Pottery Barn, The Fabulous Restoration Hardware, The Fabulous Garden Shop, The Fabulous Godiva Store (Sinfully Fabulous), The Fabulous Nordstrom (Fabulous - FABULOUS - shoes, Roy!), and many other Fabulous places in between.

All that Fabulousness was exhausting and made us hungry.

So it was off to the Trattoria for lunch. And lunch was a crispy salad with pasta puttanesca and crusty garlicky bread - all fabulous.

And the most Fabulous part of the Fabulous lunch? I spilled nary a drop on my shirt. Beyond being fabulous, that was a freaking miracle. The last thing I wanted was to be all spotty and messy for my new friend Ina.

Now, I am not the "star struck" kind of person. I mean, I once wandered onto a movie set by mistake and had the pleasure of meeting John Ritter. He was very nice and very funny and we had a great chat about movies and life in general. But I don't generally get excited over movie stars or the thought of meeting them. Although I will admit that if I were to run into Denzel Washington I might have a problenm putting a decent sentence together. And, you know, keeping my hands to myself. And I totally could not be responsible for my actions were I to meet say - Viggo Mortensen on the street. And I am pretty sure there would be personal contact violations if Mr. Mortensen just so happened to be all leathery and sweaty and dirty and wielding his sword like Arragorn.

Mmmmm... Fabulous.

But I digress.

But when it comes to famous folk of the Food variety, I do have a desire to meet and converse with these people just out of total admiration and respect. So when I found out Ina Garten was coming to Seattle for a book signing, I could not pass up the opportunity to at least say 'Hello' and perhaps share a food anecdote or two and quite possibly arrange a nice lunch at her Fabulous home in The Hamptons.

And Ina was Fabulous. She was more darling in person than she is on television and she was completely genuine and kind. We had just enough time to talk about her latest book, about catering, about restaurant life and about how Fabulous it was that I didn't spill on my shirt during lunch.

Shortly after leaving the University of Washington Bookstore I promptly dropped a partially melted Godiva truffle down the front of me which left a lovely trail of dark chocolate all over the front of my shirt.

And even so, life was still Fabulous.

Fa La La La La...La La La Laaaaaaaaaaaaaa *hic*

Ok, people.

The loft is officially decorated for Christmas.

And I did it with a little help from Bing Crosby and my new friend Evan Williams.

Let the games begin.

So The Husband came home today, took me by the shoulders and sat me on the stool.

"Enough is enough."

"We've got Project Overkill going on here and I forbid you from doing another."

As he was speaking to me I was peeking around the left side of him to make sure there weren't any drips on the wall. I had finally decided on the perfect Tuscan Orange color for my kitchen walls and I finally had a window of time to actually do the paint treatment.

"You needed this time off for your sanity. You've been pushing yourself to the limit and you need to..."

"Kris. You have Tricked, you have made the Christmas cards (Oh, yeah. Did I mention to you all that I make cards?), made cards for The Flower Shop Friend, made Cards for The Mother, cleaned out all the closets, cleaned out under the bed, washed walls, rearranged the furniture."

"Ok I promise as soon as I am done painting I will relax."

So caring, The Husband is. And I do appreciate that he's looking out for me. But do you know, that Bastard actually hid my glue gun?

I have been dealing with an internal battle all morning over this post.

Well, since last night, really.

Do I share it? Don't I share it? Does it really pertain to food?

So by telling you this story, I have to admit that I was shopping in a certain national undergarment store and I absolutely despise sharing personal information like that. You don't need to know. And God, I would hope you don't care to know. I mean, there are certain "Secrets" I like to keep, if you know what I mean.

Ok so now that we have that embarassing moment out of the way, let's move on to the story.

So I am in a certain undergarment store when I overheard a familiar voice behind me. I turn around thinking if I know this person, I have to be nice and say hello.

Only mid turn, I heard This Person say to the sales clerk, "I need slutty underwear. Something really over the top sexy. I just need them to make a statement."

I thought to myself, "Good for you, sister. Work those.... HOLY MOTHER OF GOD IT CANNOT BE!"

It was Moustached and British Speaking Deli Counter girl.

I can handle a lot of things.

I can handle the facial hair.

I can handle the random fake accents.

But I simply cannot handle those two traits combined with the knowledge that she may possibly be wearing the really slutty undies.

It's just too much.

Too much.

So I got a call from The Cousin asking me to stop by and give my opinion on a decorating project.

While walking past the kitchen, I took a peek on her stove to see what she was making for dinner.

What I found in the pan appeared to be a large pile of cat vomit.

"Sweet Merciful Jesus - what in the Hell is this??"

"Oh don't be silly."

I peeked around the corner to her husband, "So you're smoking crack now?" He laughed, shook his head no, and assured me it was his choice.

(He's clearly a total crack yacker. First clue is all the denial.)

Back in the kitchen I peeked in the pot again. "Well what the heck kind of 'meat' is that? Isn't SOS made with chipped beef, or something nasty like that?"

"Yeah. And I mixed it with a can of Campbells's cream of mushroom soup and some milk. Oh, and I added Velveeta..."

At that point I shoved my fingers in my ears and shouted, "La la la la la la la la la".

When her lips stopped moving, I removed my fingers, sighed heavily and said, "We must never speak of this again."

"So I guess that means you're not staying for dinner?"

So I ran to the grocery store this afternoon for a few supplies.

As I was checking out, The Very Old Man pulled up behind me in line. He was arguing - loudly - with His Wife (a cute little button of a woman).

I felt bad for His Wife because it soon became apparent he was an angry little troll.

And as Trolls go, he was clearly not up on allowing others personal space.

I had barely retrieved my wallet from my purse when he was THIS close to me. And when I say THIS close I mean THIS close because I turned and caught a THIS close glimpse of his hairy ear.

He turned to me, unstartled by our proximity and sighed a heavy sigh - which I could feel on my face. And then he just stood there, staring, as if to say, "Yeah the ears are hairy. Just hurry the Hell up."

If he were younger, I may have been inclined to say, "Would you mind stepping back, please?" or even perhaps just stared in a very determined and somewhat bitchy fashion.

But he was old.

And he was hairy.

While I am a lot of things, disrespectful to my elders is not one of them. And I kept hearing The Friend in Baltimore saying, "He's old. Be kind and respectful."

Though I can't help but feel that had she been THIS close to his hairy ears, she may have felt differently.

Ok I just spilled an entire cup of coffee on my pants.

I either need to get some medication for this Phase of Self Destruction that I am in.

Or perhaps I should just stop wearing pants.

So it's become pretty clear to me that when I have down time it's an accident waiting to happen. While I do love my weekends off, I really think it's best that I only have one every 6 months or so. This repetative free weekend thing has me climbing the walls. And I am not such a good climber.

I decided last night - after sitting still for 20 whole minutes (which in Food Whore time is like 1.2 years) - that I needed to organize that kitchen junk drawer. Everyone has a junk drawer, right? I bet even Martha and Ina have junk drawers. Though I am guessing that in Martha's junk drawer each item is labeled and organized with the Dewey Decimal System.

Poor Martha.

So I opened the drawer and got started while The Husband was busy entertaining His Jamaican Friend with a game of Who's Smarter About The Dynamics of Jerk Chicken. I am not really sure what the Husband was thinking by picking that battle but it's pretty clear that my down time has had an adverse effect on him, too.

I decided to play a game and emptied the drawer by not looking at what I was grabbing so I could be surpised and excited like I was picking prizes out of a gift bag. Johnny, what has she won today? Surprise! It's a minty toothpick taken from a truck stop diner! Ohhhh... ahhh...

I found some pretty funky stuff. There were cork screws, kitchen twine, match books, pens, old menus, about $10 in change, my old driver's license, a bottle of lotion, a plastic pink flamingo cocktail stick, a crusty tube of Chapstick, some dead batteries... you get the idea.

So I'm into the back recesses of the drawer when OUCH! I jerked my hand back and there implanted in the end of my thumb was a trussing needle. Surprise! And it wasn't just implanted, it was through the tip of my thumb. I ripped the needle out and grabbed my thumb and when I grabbed it, a thin stream of blood shot out the exit hole and on to my shirt.

"Well that can't be good."

So I ran to the sink to grab a towel and did what I learned in Kitchen First Aid and applied pressure. When I removed the towel and squeezed my thumb (why I squeezed, I don't know) I had another shot of blood all over the sink. It was like a freaking horror movie. So I ran it under hot water (hot water fixes everything) and called to The Husband to get me the peroxide.

"The peroxide? What happened?"

"Helloooo...Bleeding here. Hurry please. And there's no need to bring God into this..."

So The Husband brings me the peroxide and takes a gander at the crime scene. And while very helpful and supportive, I know deep in the hollow of his mind he was thinking, "I don't know how this earns a living as someone who uses sharp things." Because I was thinking the same thing myself.

The bleeding had pretty much stopped after a short time but because I am all about overkill I wrapped my thumb in gauze to the point it looked like I had an ice cream cone attached to my hand. (How cool would that be? Work a little, lick a little, work a little...) And I walked around with my thumb elevated above my heart because that's what they do on ER and it gave me the chance to pretend I was Miss Liberty. I mean, what seriously insane self-schedule time off Caterer doesn't like to pretend they are Miss Liberty?

Anyway I did get the drawer finished. Pretty much everything I took out went back in (you never know when you might need dead batteries and cork screws), but now it's in an orderly fashion. And I was happy.

Although I was not happy with The Jamaican friend. The bastard spilled Jerk sauce on my couch.

You have GOT to see The Incredibles

My new favorite character is Edna Mode.

And my new favorite saying, "NO CAPES!!"

Ok so you see that pretty marzipan pumpkin up at the top of the page?

And you see that pretty green marzipan stem on that pretty marzipan pumpkin?

Yeah, well, ok.

I am pretty sure that's what that little nub is growing atop my head.

I have done nothing but eat pumpkin for the last 24 hours. Pumpkin muffins. Pumpkin bars. Pumpkin pie. Pumpkin soup. Pumpkin bread.

And I just caught a glimpse of my ass in the mirror.

It's wider.

And it's orange.

I learned that since Winter is settling in we are using much less ice from the ice maker.

And when you use less ice from the ice maker, the ice maker tends to multiply ice like mating rabbits.

And when the ice maker multiplies the ice like mating rabbits, chances are pretty good when you open your freezer door at 6:00 a.m. to take out that flank steak, you will succum to a monstrous floe of ice cascading around your slipper-laden feet.

And the ice will melt ever so slightly and it will stick to the sticky-out fuzzy parts of your slipper and make a "clacking" sound when you walk across the floor.

I also learned that holding a freshly brewed - and very hot - cappucino between your legs while driving and balancing a boquet of fresh flowers is a very very very bad idea.

I also learned that when you're a The Mother's Restaurant and they are busy and you take a minute to help stock the prep line with fresh romaine that you have to be careful of the ladle sitting in the fresh bleu cheese dressing in the container right next to where you're stacking the romaine because you will likely clip the edge of the ladle handle and flip bleu cheese dressing all over the romaine - and your sleeve.

I also learned that sometimes it's better to make 2 trips than to try and balance 4 large boxes of Christmas decorations while going up the stairs.

Some days it's a wonder why I even bother getting out of bed.

So as I am sure the entire world knows, yesterday was Election Day in America.

I got home last night determined to leave the TV on Food Network in all avoidance of the current events.

But I am not going to talk about politcs.

I am going to talk about the snack I made to avoid thinking about politics.

It's a simple dish, one I am sure every one of you has either made or eaten at a function. It combines elements of all the things I love - cheese, artichoke hearts, jalapenos, and more cheese.

Oh, and white corn tortilla chips.

It's all about the tortilla chips.

So I threw 8 oz. brick of creme cheese in my beloved Kitchen-Aid, followed by a jar of marinated artichoke hearts that I didn't bother to drain because quite frankly - I love the juice, a big "dollop" of mayo, a chopped jalapeno, a couple smashed cloves of garlic, a little fresh cracked pepper, some Kosher salt, about 3 handfulls of grated sharp cheddar cheese and a little Old Bay Seasoning for good measure.

Why the Old Bay? Oh, Hell. I don't know. Why does anyone do anything?

So I whirled this in the mixing bowl and placed in a greased baking dish and slid that bad boy in a 350 degree oven until it was bubbly and slightly browned on the top. I can't remember how long it took, I only know it was long enough for me to take the garbage to the dumpster (The Husband is so totally busted for not doing this task), unload the dishwasher, switch loads of laundry and throw out the junk mail.

I took the dip out, served myself up a nice portion, and dipped those crispy chips right in there and savored every bite.

And it was delish.

So I won't tell you who I voted for.

And I won't discuss politics here.

But I will tell you that I had a damn good snack.

And good snacks, in my opinion, could solve a lot of the world's problems.

So my phone rang the other night.

It was The Sister.

Ring Ring... "Hello!"

"Oh damn." (We don't believe in coupons, for the record.)

"Yeah."

"Oh I am joking. I am sure it was fine."

I was totally not joking.