In making dressing for the first of three Thanksgiving dinners, I sliced the hell out of my pinky on my left hand.
Blood gushed out like a freight train but fortunately it's not in the dressing.
Well, we can hope.
The dressing is the only recipe I learned from my mother that was old school. It's the cornbread variety and it was one of my favorite dishes she and my maternal grandmother made.
It's just good.
After my mother died, I found a recipe. It's was simple enough, as their were actually no directions on it, just a bunch of ingredients. So, I guess that's not a recipe but I worked it.
And it's so country it's amazing.
Sage and celery seed mixed with carbs that can bring down a water buffalo.
I have no idea how I learned to do this as I am not a kitchen person unless the refrigerator is filled with BASS or a frothy Miller Lite and a jar of pickled Okra, which I like so much it's not even fair.
My dad tries to make the dressing with his new wife, but it's not as good as mine (Take that, Dad.) It's not bad, but it's not Mom and Nanny's (yes, my grandmother was called Nanny. Shut up.)
For whatever reason, this was one I got right and maybe I have taken the dressing recipe to a new generation. I identify Thanksgiving with my mother.
She's no longer here but Thanksgiving was her holiday. It took my a long time to realize that but she cooked these old recipes that were a tribute to the women who molded her. She gave them to my sis and me.
Of course, I burn soup made by the fine chefs at Campbells. So I get to celebrate my rare culinary victories.
And this year, the lovely taste of blood.
Yeah, I nearly took the top off my pinky finger, but I still have it so that's a good thing.