It's late November so this story must be retold so as not to be forgotten.......
Some families go around the table at Thanksgiving and say what they're thankful for. Some families retell the story of Squanto and the Pilgrims. In our family, we tell the sad tale of Uncle Ed and the rutabaga incident of '76-'77, which I will recount to you now.......
The Great Rutabaga Deception of '76-'77...........
My family celebrated T'giving at the home of friends in '76 and I was delighted to see a casserole dish filled with my favorite, sweet potato casserole. My sister Andra cautioned me that she didn't think those were sweet potatoes. I snorted, dismissing her tomfoolery even as I piled my plate high. Turns out, they were rutabagas, the single most disgusting food stuff there is. I had to force them down so as not to embarrass our hosts. The following year we ate there again, but my desire for sweet-potato casserole was known to them from my humiliation the previous year, so I safely and eagerly anticipated dinner with my favorite Thanksgiving dish. Again I dove into the sweet, orange mountain with abandon and again Andra warned me that those might not be sweet potatoes. "Surely not. They wouldn't do that to me again" I exclaimed, incredulous at the thought. As I sat down, I realized that I smelled not of lightly roasted pecans, caro syrup, and the ambrosia that is caramelized brown sugar....instead I smelled a combination of fart and kimchi. RUTABAGA'S AGAIN!!!
Some families go around the table at Thanksgiving and say what they're thankful for. Some families retell the story of Squanto and the Pilgrims. In our family, we tell the sad tale of Uncle Ed and the rutabaga incident of '76-'77, which I will recount to you now.......
The Great Rutabaga Deception of '76-'77...........
My family celebrated T'giving at the home of friends in '76 and I was delighted to see a casserole dish filled with my favorite, sweet potato casserole. My sister Andra cautioned me that she didn't think those were sweet potatoes. I snorted, dismissing her tomfoolery even as I piled my plate high. Turns out, they were rutabagas, the single most disgusting food stuff there is. I had to force them down so as not to embarrass our hosts. The following year we ate there again, but my desire for sweet-potato casserole was known to them from my humiliation the previous year, so I safely and eagerly anticipated dinner with my favorite Thanksgiving dish. Again I dove into the sweet, orange mountain with abandon and again Andra warned me that those might not be sweet potatoes. "Surely not. They wouldn't do that to me again" I exclaimed, incredulous at the thought. As I sat down, I realized that I smelled not of lightly roasted pecans, caro syrup, and the ambrosia that is caramelized brown sugar....instead I smelled a combination of fart and kimchi. RUTABAGA'S AGAIN!!!
To this day I do not eat rutabagas and for years, every Thanksgiving, my son Michael and my sister's kids J.P. and Julia gather 'round to hear the cautionary tale of Dad/Uncle Ed and The Great Rutabaga Deception of '76-'77.
2 comments:
Who the hell eats rutabagas? One of my uncles grew them in his garden. First and last time I've ever seen one.
I know. I've never known anybody. That's why I was shocked even at 14, when they were served.
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