Christmas is Coming and the Goose is Getting Fat…and It’s Clogging our Sink
Today we continue our Holiday Season Extravaganza. Between now and December 25, we will share what it means to celebrate the holidays — Life in Pencil style.
Posted by Anne
As I think I’ve mentioned before, I was an imaginative kid. You might say I was a little odd. I wouldn’t blame you if you did…it’s the truth. As a kid, I had two favorite activities: 1) Cooking, and 2) Pretending. The fascination with cooking needs no explanation. I simply loved my chow. Still do. But the pretending is more of a mystery to me. Generally, it involved imagining I lived in another time—always past tense—and preferably somewhere in the UK. These fantasies were involved and detailed, and very, very real to me. I wandered our house, our street, and our backyard–acting out stories with zero awareness of who might be watching. This was my world, and I loved it. I often wonder why I was so prone to all this “pretend”, because my life was pretty sweet. I mean, it’s not like I needed an escape or something. But still, at age 11, I would have greatly preferred a childhood in Victorian England.
As I grew older, my brain remained imaginative, but the ability to lose reality and act out stories began to wane. (No doubt due to the tragedy of adolescence and an emerging sense of self-consciousness.) I needed a new avenue to live out my imagined self. So one Christmas, I decided to put my fantasies into action. I wanted to cook my way to Dickensian London. Drawing on my extensive experience with Victorian holiday meals (aka, Mickey’s Christmas Carol), I determined just what we needed in order to eat an authentic Dickensian meal. We needed a Christmas Goose. And I, in all my 11-year-old culinary wisdom, would roast that bird.
My fantasy...minus the hats.
Now, I’m sure there would be some Moms out there who would have steered me back on course—back to the safety of a well-roasted turkey. But my Mom is a history buff, an Anglophile, and a curious cook. So I’m pretty sure I didn’t need to do much to convince her of the virtues of a historically accurate Christmas feast. So with her blessing, I dashed to the living room to find my favorite picture book—A Frugal Gourmet Christmas. I turned to the two-page spread with a giant goose, whole roasted onions stuffed with breadcrumbs, and all manner of starchy rich side items. And on December 25th, we roasted my first (and last) goose.
In my world, the feast was a major success. My mother has since revealed that the meat tasted pretty greasy and fatty, but what do you expect? This is a game-bird, Mom! But despite its mediocre consistency, the bird has survived family lore for one reason…the aftermath. Like any responsible cook, I helped with the clean-up. I just wasn’t very good at it. I was used to cleaning up after brownie-baking, not a holiday meal. But not to worry, I thought. This will go so fast with our super-handy kitchen disposal. So I shoved everything down that hidden grinder—carrot peelings, potato peelings, goose drippings, and the outer layers of the onions I had so meticulously stuffed.
Yeah, I clogged the hell out of that drain. As my parents so vividly recall, we were up to our elbows in nasty water and goose fat. And nothing could get that drain unclogged. Do you want to know how much Roto-Rooter costs on Christmas Day? I couldn’t tell you. But I’m sure my Mom could. Because that’s what we had to do. And so, in the end, my triumphant Dickensian feast stumbled. (And it left me with a major phobia of putting much of anything down our disposal these days.)
God bless us, every one.
It’s funny—while I was aware of the debacle at the time, my memories of that little project are still merry and bright. We still have a picture of me with that fatty old goose. I’m wearing the striped sweater that was my favorite at the time. And I’m smiling proudly, displaying my creation. When I look at it now, I’m impressed that I was so willing to try something new. Even though it failed on some level, I shook things up, and indulged a fantasy. I wonder what would happen now, if I let myself live just a few more of my fantasies. What if I took more risks, and embraced my imagination? Some misfires, I’m sure…but just as many stories.
Any holiday disasters on your record? When have you indulged a holiday whim?
December 3rd, 2009 at 5:18 am
One of my favorite cookbooks! Thanks for the reminder and your memories.
December 3rd, 2009 at 7:45 am
This is HILARIOUS, Anne! I am laughing out loud. I’ve never had a major holiday disaster, but my mom often cooked goose for Christmas because my grandpa is old-school Canadian (which equals semi-English), and he always wanted a goose for Christmas. What I remember is that they’re hard to get right. The one holiday whim I can remember indulging is when I told my mom I wanted to have “an Italian Christmas.” So she combed through all these cookbooks and we did, indeed, have an authentically Italian Christmas dinner one year. It was delicious. But probably not as delicious as your goose
PS: Any way you could get that photo for LiP readers to view?
December 3rd, 2009 at 7:56 am
Any time, Anne, that you recall that Christmas, I marvel at why I did NOT object. And after reading today’s post, it is made clear to me again how much parents don’t know about what goes on inside the heads of their children. Not just “visions of sugar plums”, for you, but Dickensian England and favorite sweaters. (Thanks good ness we took a picture.) It’s so easy for parent not to know what’s important to their children, and to make callous mistakes–and I know I made a lot of them. I’m glad this wasn’t one.
PS The Roto-Rooter man actually came the next day (Boxing Day, Brits!) and the Christmas dinner dishes were soaking in soapy water in the bathtub. Yuk!
December 3rd, 2009 at 8:58 am
It’s the misfires that make things interesting. Things that go according to plan, while enjoyable at the time, are boring in the retelling. Not that we’re out to survive one diaster after another just for good material. But in the same way that the stories of misadventures are better, the events themselves shape us in ways that the uneventful cannot. And while I’m not exactly a beacon of this, it’s something I’d like to embrace more.
December 3rd, 2009 at 10:17 am
What a great story, Anne!! Thanks for sharing it. I would so LOVE to see that picture. It’s fun to read your mom’s thoughts on it, too (Hi, Jan!). I have been less adventurous in the cooking department and don’t have a holiday mis-fire. But, like Elizabeth, had an Italian Christmas dinner two years ago and may do the same this year.
December 3rd, 2009 at 12:05 pm
That was hilarious! One of your best! It reminds me of the time I clogged the hell out of my sink with 12 pounds of peeled potato skins. Luckily with my minimal plumbing knowledge I managed to disassemble the P-trap and unclog it myself.
My most memorable Christmas disaster though was the Year the Christmas tree fell over because my brothers and I decided to put three tubs of the ornaments in the front of the tree and non in the back, that way you could see them all (unfortunately it killed the TV).
December 4th, 2009 at 11:41 am
Man I thought using dish soap in the dishwasher when I was 13 was bad – the entire kitchen filled with bubbles.
Hilarious post! What I’d like to know now is what holiday shake up are you planning this holiday. It is your first Christmas as a LiP author after all…
December 6th, 2009 at 6:25 pm
We started a Hanukah tradition two years ago when we were trying to minimize the, ahem, material nature of the holiday. Family Cooking Night is now one of the boys favorites of the eight nights of celebration! Instead of receiving a gift that night, the boys choose sides and we cook — one team does dinner, the other dessert. This year will be a Top Chef competition (which could turn on us but we are going to try). Cooking together around the holidays is such a great way to spend time together. Good for your Mom – Im not sure we have the guts to go for the goose. Last year we did Crabby Patties — which lacked in sophistication but but made it up in fun.