Love is all around

Thanksgiving is my most favorite holiday.  I like to cook.  I like to entertain.  And unlike most women, Thanksgiving is NOT a hassle for me.  I like it.

Why do I do it?  I guess it’s the attention whore in me.  I like getting accolades.  I like turning people on.  I like seeing their eyes get big.  For my male readers, it’s similar to why you like bringing her to orgasm.  It’s not for her.  it’s for YOU.

When someone messes with my joy here, I get upset.  I didn’t have a way to solve it last time and it’s rearing its ugly head again.

When I first got married, I needed a recipe to boil water.  I self taught because I wanted to.  I didn’t work in a kitchen or restaurant, I had a mom who was a worse cook than I, and I didn’t have a Gordon Ramsey mentor at my beck and call.  I just read recipes and tried them out.  I would like certain parts of a specific recipe and would cut and paste it into another recipe because I thought it would enhance the process or the flavor.

Then along came my ex-mother-in-law.  All her life, she was told what a fabulous cook she was.  On day one, I was no match for her.  I could barely boil water, remember?  Why on earth would she worry?  Well, worry she did.  And about a year later, I was Martha Junior.  From the get-go, she let me know who’s boss and I would NOT be taking over any kitchen duty.

I told her it was no trouble at all.  As a new bride, I actually wanted to have Thanksgiving.  Then the excuses started rolling in.  she couldn’t do that because she usually invites the Smiths and the Joneses to dinner.  I said “fine, give them my address.  Invite them all.”  (we actually did this one year and after she saw that I didn’t skip a beat, she was sweating it.)

So, in her first glimpse of being a Turkey Saboteur, she proceeded to feed all the guests like pigs before they showed up at my house.  They were so stuffed from her they could barely make it to the dinner table.  Isn’t being a mettling woman grand???

The following year, the moment that was the deal breaker was when she got news that I was making sweet potatoes.  “oh honey.  Don’t even bother.  My husband and son hate them.  I have tried over the years and they never go anywhere near them.  Don’t spend your time on them.”  I said, “well, I’m making them.  They can have one bite.  If they hate it, it won’t offend me in the least.”

That night, my ex took one bite and said “this is not sweet potatoes!!!  This is apple pie that just happens to have a few sweet potatoes in the dish!!!”  he and the dad devoured the entire casserole.  (it was all the same ingredients as making apple pie with some yams thrown in.)

The war was on.  From that moment, she would not let me have Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s, Easter, or any other holiday or non-holiday for that matter.  I asked her if we could trade.  One year she would take Thanksgiving, one year, I would take Christmas, and we could trade.  She said “no”.

So the following year, I let her make the entire Thanksgiving dinner.  I figured, I’d bring the pies.  She said “ok” (dumb mistake on her part as she assumed I was bringing store bought pies).  I made a pecan and a pumpkin pie.  They were all ready to go and pop into the oven when the turkey came out.  She said “no.  there wasn’t room for a pie in the oven.”  I told her that the turkey needed to come out and while we eat dinner, the pies could be cooking.”

The turkey came out.  The pies went in.  no problem, right?  Well, she found a way to go back in the kitchen to get something and turned the oven up to 500 degrees!  Stupid, insecure women, I tell ya.  This was one of the highlights of her sabotaging career.  Of course, the crusts were burnt to a crisp.  The good news is a pie is still a pie and it didn’t affect the pie.  So, the dad and the son proceeded to eat the innards heartily and gleefully.  This pissed her off to no end as her plan failed.

She then came up with more rules.  That I shouldn’t be allowed to cook or bring anything nor have dinners at my house.  We had to go to her house for Sunday family dinners with the punctuality of a felon checking in with his parole officer.  Every Sunday, rain or shine, sick or well, for 10 bloody years. 

I never did find a way to tell her off or find a way to back down.  Sure, you read the Dear Abby articles and it always says that the son/man is the one who has to do it.

—-

So, now we fast forward 15 years…

My bf has a party every 3 months.  His best friend, who cooks the meat, usually mans the grill during the party.  The party is pot luck.  The best friend has a gf (whom he won’t marry and she keeps trying to find ways to get into his lair…literally.  One day while he was at work, she literally moved in all her stuff to his apartment…without asking him. Of course, he wasn’t amused, but he didn’t have the balls to toss her out.  It’s yet another reason why he won’t commit to her long term.)

Ive seen Lizzie in action in the kitchen a few times, and I have told her what a fabulous cook she is.  Ive told her, I have told her bf in front of her, and I have told my bf in front of her.  I am not the sort of person who dishes out compliments for no reason.  I never deemed my ex mother-in-law a great cook, even though the rest of the world did, but Lizzie?  Ya, she was a damn good cook.  She had the ability to make something out of nothing.  She would just go into my bf’s cupboards and whip something up for 10 people.  Now, THAT’S a good cook.  Even I can’t do that.  I’m a good cook if I know what I’m cooking, but I haven’t yet got at the point where I can produce something out of thin air.

The first party we got together, I wanted to make something in honor of his best friend, who is Peruvian.  I figured, where do you get good Peruvian food?  It’s not so common.  So, I made Ceviche (from scratch) which is a classic Peruvian dish.  It’s sort of like a fish stew that you marinate overnight.  I hadn’t made it in 6-7 years.  It was a huge hit.

The second party, I was two hours late because I had a previous engagement.  I showed up with chili.  Well, it turns out that Lizzie had also made chili (and she showed up on time).  we each had no idea what the other was bringing.  Had I known she was bringing chili, I would have brought something else.  Supposedly, her chili is famous, I mean really famous, like she has entered it into the County Fair a few times and won.  When I arrived, I was a little sad that chili was already served, but you just roll with it.  I figured no one is gonna have another serving of chili especially when they just had some.  Well, have they did.  And they sneeked around to come tell me that that they liked my chili better.  I wasn’t asking, they just told me.  I don’t know if she got wind of these comments, but she then went into Turkey Saboteur mode.

For this last party, to relief his best friend from cooking (the grill), I offered to make a turkey.  I was at a party a number of years ago and they served this as the main entrée to make turkey sandwiches.  It was such a hit so I figured I’d try it.  Plus, it served to fill my need to fill my Thanksgiving Day void.  This time, everyone knew what the others were bringing, so I told them to bring the side dishes.  Lizzie proceeded to go out, prior to the party at 2pm, and stuffed, gorged, and busted at the seems, her bf and their posse of 6 people.  Ya, I understand you’re gonna get hungry before 2pm, so, had they eaten breakfast, or even a reasonable lunch, like a sandwich or hamburger, they would have been fine.  No…that wasn’t effective enough.  She proceeded to take them to eat tamales.  Tamales!!!!  We’re talking you can’t move.  We’re talking they all had to loosen their belts when they arrived at the party.  Lizzie was gonna make damn sure no one in her posse ate any of my food.  And…they didn’t…until several hours later.

Memories of my ex mother-in-law filled my head where she too stuffed the party guests prior to coming over.  So petty.  So insecure.  So…female!

I never did solve the issue with my ex mother-in-law.  I just had to concede.  My ex never stood up for me.  It seems to me that their has to be a way to nip this in the bud.  Any ideas?

Why would Lizzie do this?  Usually women do such things because:

1. she fears I’m gonna steal her man.  (I’m not.  I love him dearly, but hes not my type.  Plus, I already have a bf whom I love very much.)

2. she fears shes not a good cook.  Now, why on earth would she think that?  I have told her many times what an exceptional cook she is, and heck, even better than me because I can’t make something out of nothing.

What would I like out of the deal?  My other two gfs have parties every few months as well.  There is no sabotaging.  They are also pot luck.  If someone has a winning dish, so be it.  It’s friendly.  There is no eye scratching happening.

What can I do/say to make Lizzie stop sabotaging and being a bitch?