Di.Poppitt
GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN
Christmas Eve always started with a trip to the butcher to pick up the turkey. Mom staggered home with it before going back to buy the rest of her shopping.
Making the stuffing was a ritual, first an onion was boiled until it was soft. Then we made breadcrumbs from a stale loaf of bread, rubbing lumps of it in our hands until it crumbled. The leaves from a dried bunch of sage were rubbed in the same way, then mixed into the breadcrumbs with a pinch of salt and a shake of pepper. All this was mixed together with the onion water, not too much, not too little.
Tomorrow I'll pretend it's the onion that makes me cry while I'm doing all of this with the help of my kitchen blender.
Making the stuffing was a ritual, first an onion was boiled until it was soft. Then we made breadcrumbs from a stale loaf of bread, rubbing lumps of it in our hands until it crumbled. The leaves from a dried bunch of sage were rubbed in the same way, then mixed into the breadcrumbs with a pinch of salt and a shake of pepper. All this was mixed together with the onion water, not too much, not too little.
Tomorrow I'll pretend it's the onion that makes me cry while I'm doing all of this with the help of my kitchen blender.