you know those heart-rending way of the cross season, from house to house, from table to table, carried out with resignation to accommodate both families and spend time with everyone (but everyone) relatives? You know the feeling of despair and nausea before the fifth day in the open panettone, with the prospect of having to swallow at least three more before they finally set foot at home, to finally put a pair of pajamas and watching a "Trading Places" in TV phones with bells and disconnected?
Well, this year I had a brilliant idea to prevent this, and take notes because for now it worked: I played in advance and last night I added a lot of places at the table for dinner and I invited all the relatives and those that those of my boyfriend. Thus neither of the two families would feel neglected, for both mothers would be devoted the same attention and none of the two families would have then forced to go for a coffee, a slice of cake. Not even a measly sorbet. The plan was to split the back in a single evening and then disconnect and bell phones for two days.
We did it.
Last night was terrible. There were nine in a home, despite being rather older, the limit contained all there at the same table. I pulled out the good service and white damask tablecloth. I do not know how I managed to recover even the cloth napkins with the wish for a Merry Christmas in all languages. The mothers had offers from time to prepare something and to facilitate in the kitchen, to my great joy. I like to cook, but cooking to feed the stomach and senses of ten people is not a pleasure to be savored, but rather a marathon.
Relatives arrived punctually at eight o'clock, as agreed, laden with parcels that have been put under the tree and ... stuff to cook! The plan has been completely misunderstood. The idea was that of not having to cook everything here, but things have only to be heated. The result is that the fish arrived at eight still raw, to put in the oven in a pan and cook thoroughly. Shit.
So like crazy, I started up the oven and put on the fire that was cooked, counting on a long drink to entertain ten hungry stomachs.
I have not even noticed how everything has become a delusion in which I was tempted to burst into a double matricide. I must have just a goofy face in the kitchen or really wanted to help the mothers, the fact is that the kitchen was not big enough for all three. They began at first to advise me such as "I think we need a larger pot, then unleashed a series of orders / critical unbearable," if you put the oil in this way all runny and there are none left on mussels "and finally as octopuses were hands everywhere, opened the oven to monitor cooking, put the salt in a pot, opened the door to find no one knows what. All this, besides me feel like a total inept, it was really annoying. Gee, could not sit sitting with folded hands, for once, and wait to be served? The part of the evening devoted to the preparation of food was then a real pain. It was all to hear:
- You put the salt?
- did you remember the oil?
- Maybe you better put this dish instead of this.
- I usually do this ... (air-to-read critique of the type "I sailed home you want to teach, but I will not hurt your sensitivity giving explicit advice").
- Put more parsley, which becomes better.
All through dinner I had that pain in your ears. But had no idea of \u200b\u200bthe inferiority complexes that could result from those two? Not to mention the nerves on edge. A couple of times, the question "... Even took you?" I said annoyed "NO!", as if to say "and now find something to say, if you dare."
E 'was clear to everyone that my nervous system was Sbrocca when, with the scallops to squirt oil into the oven and happy clams to flood water overflowing the once shiny steel stove, my boy proposed "Ask your brother if you prefer to eat before the clams or hoods" and I said " NO, WE DO NOT ASK YOUR anything to anyone, okay? NOW WE DO AS WE SAY! " so loudly that seemed to scream.
Moment of silence. In that moment I had the impression of having spoiled Christmas at all for ever and ever. Then my father began to laugh as I hear him laugh and rarely are, fortunately all went back.
This was enough to make everyone understand that they had only let me stay, eat and sit, waiting to be served, feel free to discuss how many and what seasonings I put in pots and what course they went before the others. Since then everything has been downhill.
I enjoyed the evening, I have not burned anything or anyone and we enjoyed them all.
The moment of opening gifts was epic as usual, with my brother, as is traditional, sang the soundtrack of "Jaws" as if a child had swallowed a megaphone and was stuck in the esophagus. Hundreds of pounds of paper were flying in the living room and I just forgot the incazzatura a little when I first opened the gift addressed to me and I realized that my mother and mother-in-law must have taken us weeks to find exactly what I would have liked, accompanied by phrases fits perfectly and overflowing with affection. How can you stay angry in the face of all this?
The party went on until two in the morning, when all are gone and dropped loads of gifts of pots and ramekins that I do not even know that in my spare time, I was able to wash. Crossing the threshold of my mother-in-law has turned a moment, it is looked around and concluded the evening with a " home is just reduced to a toilet, but it was a beautiful evening . Never were truer words.
The house was reduced to one photon process: the living room was full of crap, the kitchen was gutted. Although the dinner cost us a whole day of cleaning, it was worth it, because we have won the rest of the liberal parties, without threatening phone calls to drink coffee, panettone and swallow other food with various relatives.
Staff Writer
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