My Most Memorable Christmas
A Christmas Story
By Merida Deverman
I was looking through my computer files for Christmas cookie recipes, and found the following story. The Rapid City Journal had a "Worst Holiday Cooking Disaster" contest last year. I wrote the story to enter in the contest - but didn't send it in. But it still makes me laugh and I thought I'd share it with all of you.
|
|
Many of us have had our own holiday dinner disaster. One of mine involved a chocolate praline cake with whipped cream and chocolate shavings. I had to transport my aunt, who was in her late 80’s, and the cake to my sister’s house. On my way to my aunt’s apartment, the cake “slid”. I’ll never forget my aunt’s giggle when she got in my car and looked at the cake shoved into the air vents. This isn’t s story about my holiday disasters, nor is it about my husband John’s green bean casserole he made at Thanksgiving a few years back that tasted exactly like - well - vomit. This is a story about my sister Barb Kenton. And no, this isn’t about the time she and my sister Wendy decided to surprise me on my birthday by coming to my house and broiling my birthday cake while they went shopping (I was greeted by thick “Happy Birthday Smoke” when I walked in the door). This is a story about the perfect Christmas Eve meal. Barb was determined to create the most perfect, beautiful holiday meal. She ended up creating the most memorable meal ever instead. |
Barb had spent days, probably weeks, planning the perfect Christmas Eve meal. She was going to have the best fondue supper ever. She planned her table, found the best fondue recipes, borrowed and bought the perfect decorations and food. With all of this planning, could anything go wrong?
Well, yes. It started with when she was heating up oil for one of the fondues. When she placed a thermometer in the oil to check the temperature, the thermometer broke. So, she poured the oil in a can sitting in her sink, cleaned the pan, and started again.
|
|
As she closely monitored this new batch of oil and prepared her cheese fondue, she asked her son Sam to light the burners on the fondue sets. Somehow he ended up lighting the tablecloth on fire instead. With a mad scramble of his mom and aunts, the fire was extinguished and the table was cleaned and reset (Barb – in her premeal preparations – had set the table with two table cloths. Turned out the bottom cloth was fire resistant). Barb was back at the stove, testing the temperature of the oil with one of our mom’s old tricks of toasting bread, stirring her cheese fondue sauce so it would be smooth, and getting all of the items to cook and dip ready for supper. Finally, things were starting to come together and it was time to |
move everything to the table. The cheese fondue was transferred to a ceramic fondue pot. The cheese sauce begged for testing, so as Barb was still getting things ready, a few of us had to test the cheese sauce ~ and it was great. Well, before long, the ceramic pot full of cheese sauce shattered on the flame. Cheese sauce began to run everywhere. At this point, Barb was frantic. Chaos ensued and the only thing I really remember about this time is her son Sam exclaiming “But its good” and taking pieces of bread and soaking it in the cheese sauce on the table while the rest of us were trying to clean up the cheese sauce and ceramic shard goo that was making its way into every nook and cranny available. Barb, well, was just about at her boiling point.
But Barb wasn’t the only thing at its boiling point that night. Remember the first pot of oil? Well, the can had been positioned perfectly over the drain in the sink. This created a vacuum that, combined with the heat of the oil, managed to actually make the oil in the can even hotter. So, the oil began boiling rapidly, no – violently, in the can in the sink. And there everyone stood, wondering what to do before the oil exploded (it took a simple shove off of the drain). Well, poor Barb. Maybe it was the hope for the perfect, most beautiful Christmas eve meal ever. Maybe it was the stress of the holidays. Maybe it was her insensitive sisters making comments like “this is the most memorable Christmas meal ever” as they laughed, but Barb broke down. Her beautiful table, her wonderful meal, all ruined. As she tried to regain her composure out in the garage, her husband Mike took over. He threw the meat on the grill and he and his son Joe cleaned the kitchen and washed dishes (as Wendy put it, “a Christmas miracle”). My son Ben went out to the garage to Barb and gave her a hug. This was enough to get her to come back inside and join her family again.
Barb was still upset but better. Supper was still good. And to this day this is the most memorable Christmas meal ever. And even Barb is able to laugh about it when we all think about it. Which we do quite often.
