Quorn Cocktail Sausages on a Stick Recipe Cocktail ...

I'm taking a break from the main story right now to talk about what transpired last Thanksgiving. Inspired by lucialg's recent post When you started dating you SO, were there any early signs that your MiL was a NOMiL?. I have two words for you; pumpkin pie.
I love to bake and cook large meals for my friends and family. I'm pescetarian and SO is a vegetarian, and has been since he was 17. It's a big part of his life, and I enjoy finding ways to make traditional meals vegetarian friendly. For example, I make some mean vegetarian "bangers and mash" (sausages and mashed potatoes. We're American but "sausages and mashed potatoes" doesn't really have the same ring to it).
So, SO will have been together for three years in two weeks. Since the dawn of our relationship, I've made enough pumpkin pies every Thanksgiving to feed a very small army. I use this recipe, and please believe me when I say it is the very best pumpkin pie recipe out there. Depending on how I feel, I may actually procure a sugar pumpkin and make it that way, or I'll go to Earth Fare or some shit and buy the fresh puree if I'm feeling lazy. Sometimes I add a teaspoon of Black Seal rum. I make whipped cream from scratch. You bet your sweet ass it's delicious.
I don't make my own crust though, because I just can't get the hang of that cute crimped crust and I don't like ugly pies. It's Thanksgiving. No ugly pies.
So, if you can believe it, the first two years of mine and Cebolla's relationship were perfectly fine. I had no reason to believe she disliked me, and in fact, she always asked about me sweetly, always sent me gifts, and after that first Thanksgiving, always asked for my homemade pumpkin pie.
Last year during Thanksgiving, I had just moved into her and SFIL's home. We had misplaced our mixer in the movie, and Cebolla offered up her mixer wand for me to use. It had dust on it. This thing really was not ideal for mixing anything other than like, tomatoes, if you wanted to make tomato soup from scratch. Maybe dashed hopes and dreams with a pinch of cayenne. Anyway, it wasn't ideal. Now, Cebolla is a very persnickety and odd woman. She rails on about "Frankenfood" and "healthy eats" and "all organic", but... she doesn't cook. Like, at all. Guys, she legit bought some fresh salmon from Kroger one day, and threw it in the MICROWAVE WITH SOME LEMON AND BUTTER AND ATE IT THAT WAY. I have never heard of anything so vile and criminal. What a glorious waste of that delicious salmon!
I have to admit, though, at least she as eating that instead of the pre-sealed salmon bits (like tuna in a can) that she eats right out of the bag with her salad. All the while, she crowed and crooned about how healthy and delicious it was. And this woman never deviates from anything. Every day for dinner, a salad with an avocado, a few slices of swiss, and a martini. Maybe a boiled egg if she's feeling adventurous. Sorry, did I say martini? I mean a tumbler full of vodka with some lemon slices in it. Maybe three or four glasses per dinner. Listen, I like a good cocktail, and I enjoy getting lit from time to time, but damn.
For breakfast, she has a protein shake with coffee added to it. Lunch is, if she's not dining out somewhere eating salad and drinking a few glasses of wine, leftovers from the previous day. And anything "out of place" makes her go nuts. She actually told SO that chairs that were not properly tucked in (and mind you, they were tucked in... just not "good enough" or "close enough" to the table. These chairs were so tucked in by the time she was done with them that they were leaning slightly backward) were a disruption to her environment that made it so she could not properly "work" in her study. The living room. With the TV either on Dr. Oz or Fox News. So I knew that baking pies, to her, sounded good in theory, but would be a proverbial Grenada in practice.
So, you'd think during the holidays, she would cook. She does not. Cooking stresses her out, apparently. She has a beautiful medium sized kitchen that she never uses, and cupboards full of cooking paraphernalia that hasn't been touched since it was pulled from its box. So, because she dislikes cooking and everything related to it, you can't enjoy that activity either. Because of this, I tried to take as many shortcuts as I could with the pie. Pumpkin puree from the store, a small carton of eggs, the tiny pints of whole milk, the works. She didn't have proper mixing bowls, and the MEASURING SPOONS HAD RUST IN THEM. It got messy in spite of myself, because the bowl I did find was so shallow that of COURSE things are going to splatter. But, I did do this while she was out "working" (read: grocery shopping and drinking wine at the local diner when she was done to congratulate herself), and even SFIL commented that that was a pretty slick idea.
The wand mixer does an okay job with the pie ingredients, but the damn thing dies when I'm stupidly trying to make whipped cream. Like, this thing was new in the 70s, I'm sure. It just stopped working. Poor thing just tuckered out. Anyway, I was a little frantic - she'd already had a meltdown of epic proportions on SO over the chairs not being properly tucked in. I call him up and have him buy an ACTUAL mixer that has a wand attachment to it as a replacement, and end up buying premade whipped cream from the store later. Because I was cranky at that point.
Did I mention that Cebolla dearest had specifically asked me if I was making pumpkin pies this year? In the previous year, she had raved about my pumpkin pie, and everyone lived it. All her friends, her MOTHER who told me it reminded me of her grandmother's pie, everyone. She kept saying, "I can't believe that it's being made in my kitchen this year! This is so exciting!". And Cebolla specifically asked me if I would be willing to add fresh lemon zest to one of my pumpkin pies this year (I usually make two), just like her grandmother used to make. Well, sure! Why not?! It's the holidays! So I specifically made fresh lemon zest for one of the fucking pies. Per. Her. Request.
When she gets home from "work", I inform her of her mixer wand's demise. Funerary arrangements are discussed, a quick prayer of thanks for his selfless service is uttered, and he is ceremoniously chunked. There was no mess in the kitchen, everything was cleaned (especially the rusty measuring spoons..), her new mixer (with a mixer wand attached) was placed in the cupboard. Cebolla insists it isn't a big deal, she only used that thing when she made spanakopita for SFIL. It was old anyway, don't you worry your pretty little head, Incarnata! All was well.
Or so I thought.
Remember how I said that Cebolla doesn't cook? That is apparently a recent development. SO frequently comments that during all the time he knew her, she always cooked. She was big on it. She was also working class. Then she marries SFIL who made six figures, and suddenly, such things are far beneath her. Now she has the money to buy healthy food that is premade, or not cook at all. As previously mentioned, the holidays do not provide even a slight deviation from the norm. No exceptions. She wants to go to the Country Club. We did that nonsense for two years in a row, guys. SO stated that he thinks she just likes being waited on (a complete and utter IRONY if you've been reading my posts), and that it makes her feel fancy and high society.
This is a southern Country Club. Which means that "vegetarian" or "pescetarian" translates into "what d'ya mean ya don't eat meat? Vegetarian? Izzit sum kinna shorthand for a sleeper cell organization?" in southern peach dialect. The green beans have sausage in them, the potatoes have bacon in them (I do like vegetarian bacon and cheese in some mashed potatoes, though), etc. She knows SO is a vegetarian. He has been one since he was 17. Years. YEARS. She is well aware. She insists that we're going to the Country Club, and we'll come home for coffee and pie later.
Knowing this, SO and I planned ahead. We usually go with a Quorn roast, but last year, I found a fucking vegetarian "turkey". Like, they legit made a turkey mold and made a "turk'y".. This thing is a novelty, and it's overpriced. But it's fun! And it's Thanksgiving! You can't quash my holiday spirit! We order it and have it delivered, and Cebolla intercepts the package. The first thing out of her mouth is, "Did she have to get something so big? They have food at the Country Club anyway". Mind you, Cebolla only eats prepackaged anything, so the idea of something bigger than an avocado or a prepackaged salad is a hassle to her. We made our little fake turk'y (spoiler: it wasn't amazing. We're sticking to what we know this year), some vegetarian gravy (SFIL called the Country Club to request bacon free potatoes!), and we head out to the Country Club.
We're sitting at dinner. Cebolla is three glasses of wine in, cavorting with her friends and talking about how this is her favorite Thanksgiving tradition. Isn't this just wonderful? No mess, no fuss. Thanksgiving in a safe environment, too! They don't have to compete with anyone for a table or parking in this place (read: only well to do white people and their families, no working class people in questionable neighborhoods [readread: neighborhoods where there might be someone other than an ambiguous shade of beige living there]). SO and myself have found food we can eat, and we're enjoying our little meal. Suddenly, Cebolla begins to tell everyone about my pumpkin pie ordeal.
Being that she's a few drinks in, she's going on and on about the drama, the fact that I made poor SO go to the store after working all day so close to the holiday to buy another one when I was the one who broke her mixer! And she'd had that thing for so long, too! They just don't make electronics like they used to, but she'll have to make do with the new one she has. Oh well, she quips, taking another gulp of wine, acrylic nails tapping against her glass. Next year, we'll just buy a pie from the store.
I sit there in shock. I must have looked like a deer in headlights. SO puts his hand on my thigh, and gives me a gentle, reassuring squeeze. When I don't respond, and instead put down my napkin and finish my wine, he leans in after a moment to ask, "You wanna get out of here, kitten?" to which I nod quietly. SO informs the table that we are heading home, and that we'll catch them later. We collect our items, and whisk out the door with Cebolla proclaiming that this is awfully sudden, where are we even going? It's Thanksgiving, kids, this holiday is about family!
As SO drives us home, I'm sitting in the car dumbfounded and crying, asking him what the hell her problem is, and why the fuck would she do that? She assured me that it wasn't a problem! I went out of my way to make one of my pies to her requests! She was deliberately shaming me in front of her friends for reasons best known to herself. When we got home, I was ready to go to bed. But SO told me to put on something cute, because we were going to the local pub. We rang up a friend of ours and met there, drinking beer and lamenting that the holidays are often just an excuse for "family" to treat you like excrement underfoot so long as the day looked Hallmark perfect.
Months later, when SO confronted her on this little episode, she burst into tears, asking why on earth he was being so thoughtlessly cruel to her! She, of course, only meant that next year should be worry free! That's why they make premade pies! Well, I hope they'll add lemon zest to your fucking pies from Whole Foods, Cebolla, because not only are you not getting a pie from me this year, but you also won't be seeing us at all. And even if, for some reason, we all make up - you're still gonna have to buy a pie from the fucking store, you pickled old prune.
I ate basically all of the lemony pumpkin pie, not telling her which was which.
Edit: I specifically remember telling SO in the car that I had been so excited at the prospect of having an actual, normal family dynamic with them. No screaming matches during the holidays. None of mom's passive aggressive shit stirring for hours. No "be here by 4pm, dinner will be ready then" only to get there and dinner isn't started yet (she'd tell me that so that I would get there on her schedule so I could "spend time with her". I ended up telling her I'd come in about two hours after whatever time she gave me, and it'd often be so late that she'd have to start cooking on time). No shitty comments and clever barbs. But, I told him, as it turns out, there's just another nasty old bitch here too, so I guess I'll never know what it's like to have a family dynamic that could be construed as happy. I'm no longer upset about this... like I said in a previous installment, SO is more than enough family for me.