On Christmas Day Andrew, Matthew, Maggie (the boys and #2's girlfriend), and I ate Christmas dinner at a rustic local restaurant, said dinner sponsored and prepared by the local commercial club. #2 and I had done this a couple years ago, and we all decided to do it again. (Actually I decided, but since I'm the cook, I'm also Boss Of The Meal).
The turkey qualified as mystery meat, but the rest was pretty good. And there was a plethora (thanks, I love to use "plethora") of homemade desserts.
Besides the eleventy-seven dozen cookies, many of which were so heavenly delicious I cannot possibly describe them, there was pie -- cherry, peach, pumpkin, blueberry, and perhaps one other I cannot remember.
Afterward we rolled ourselves out to the car.
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One of Smokey's and my traditions is to feed Andrew very, very well when he is home. He loves and appreciates good food and doesn't get a great deal of it when he at school. Of course, we do this out of sheer altruism. We get nothing for ourselves out of this deal. Nothing at all. We eat pb&j whilst #1 son gorges himself.
Well, maybe not.
Here is the note that greeted me when I got up this morning.
However, I decreed that those humongous New York strip steaks and the porterhouse were way too big to be paired with the lobster, and replaced them with some delightful little tenderloins instead. (The big steaks are being saved for tomorrow.)
Smokey had a very, very attentive audience while he ate.
No bit of edible lobster went to waste.
The post-dinner destruction:
There were no steak scraps for the dogs, but they did get to lick our plates. Enthusiastically. Cats, however, must be persuaded that lobster is yummy and that we are not plotting to poison them.
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Stay tuned -- tomorrow there may be actual knitting here!
