Our biggest quarrel was on Thanksgiving over a seven-layer jello mold*. Most people are absolute about jello on Thanksgiving Day. There are the jello eaters on one side of the table and the definitely non-jello eaters on the other. There’s no jello in-between.
Once a year I break down and make a traditional jello recipe handed down from my great aunt. Let me be perfectly clear. This is the only time I ever eat jello. It is minus any floating fruit, devoid of stringy carrots, and deliciously picture perfect for the palate. Except, Strawberry’s palate, that is.
What bothered me most was his disdain for the product. As he handsomely headed down the buffet, I noticed a slight nostril expansion when he spotted and detoured away from the attractive jello. I considered, foolishly, that maybe he’d have it for dessert. Then again, that nose action was telling me otherwise.
You know, when you cook with reckless abandon, even if it is just jello, you like people to eat and enjoy it. And I was sensing an arrogance from Mr. Strawberry. Like he was above jello. I thought, “No one is above jello.” They may not like it, but they’re not superior to it.
Even my sister-in-law whispered, “He didn’t eat the jello.”
“I know.” Don’t remind me.
“Colin ate the jello.”
“I know.” Don’t remind me.
“But he was also a big fat cheater, right?”
“That’s right…don’t remind me.”
to be continued...
*Check out the jello recipe on the Recipes Page, just in case you get the urge.
