Burned to a crisp Halloween sandwiches. Don’t tell me I can’t carry out a theme!
I should just stop trying to entertain. I try so hard to produce a memorable occasion for my family and friends, but always fall short of the mark.
Today was a case in point. I invited seven of my oldest and dearest friends over for lunch after church. I spent two days preparing the meal which was quite dandy if I do say so myself.
No one’s birthday. We just wanted to blow out a candle!
First mistake. I had told everyone to arrive at 1:30 p.m. At 1:40 no one had arrived and I was fuming. Norma called to asked if she could wear jeans.
“What? You haven’t even left home and here I sit with the ice melting in the goblets and the pimiento spread has formed a crust on top?!”
In a very calm voice, Norma explained, “It’s only 12:30, Emily. I will be there in plenty of time,” she said.
“Oh.” (The time change, of course. )
I hadn’t had time to bring in the ladder so I could change my kitchen clock. It was still saving the daylights out of my Sunday. (Me, the one who made a whole post yesterday reminding everyone to change their clocks.)
Anyway, Norma rushed right on over and we decided to go ahead and toast my luscious asparagus sandwiches which would be served on the veranda with my new recipe for pomegranate punch. The sandwiches had been made in advance, dipped in real butter and dredged in Parmesan cheese. They were going to be the hit of the party after a brief browning in the oven.
I turned the oven on broil and proceeded to tinker with the stereo system which was playing tunes from 1947, the year we all made our debut on this earth. Norma started to tell me some juicy gossip, and I flat forgot about asparagus. That tale-tell smell finally found its way through my sensory system to my brain.
“MY SANDWICHES!” I yelped. When I opened the oven door I was hit with a black cloud of smoke that practically knocked me down. We decided to rename them “Halloween sandwiches – Tidbits from the Dark Side” and serve them anyway. Someone had the bright idea to remove the burned side and eat them topless. That worked.
“These are to die for,” said Peggy.
“Can I get the recipe?” asked Carolyn.
“is it imperative that we burn one side?” asked Martha innocently.
“Yes.” I replied. “To be honest to goodness Halloween sandwiches, they must be burned on at least one side.” They bought it.
At the end of the day, I realized that burning the asparagus sandwiches paled in comparison to remembering our experiences together. We were here to honor our friend Martha who had just buried her mother. We were a motley, but adorable crew.
These were the people who loved us when we had pimples on our faces, wore braces, and failed our algebra tests. Our parents may have wanted to trade us in, but we always had each other and knew we had greatness in our souls.
Mom, there’s some woman in our chair, reports Lucky Dawg, who hung with us every step of the way.
We are just about ready to let it loose. Burning the asparagus sandwiches and finding a way to make them work was a creative endeavor – kind of like making lemonade from lemons…oh, but so much better.
There’s no stopping us now.