Good American Family Traditions

Yesterday we went over to VBM's Mom's house for a potlucky Thanksgiving afternoon. Ever since I've been with VBM, I have had the great pleasure of being part of this feast. For one thing, everyone in attendance can cook. No namby-pambies here. There is always bacon on the menu, and there is laughing. I made a bacon-infused corn chowder, and I was happy with the way it turned out and proud to serve it to the foodies. VBM made awesome molten chocolate cakes in little ramekins. Oh! There were warm vinegar-y greens, cold salad greens with homegrown carrots and bright blackberry vinegar, and a chicken stew with tomatoes and olives that was sublime. I brought my soup over cold, having made it the night before, and had to spend some time warming it over lowish heat because it had heavy cream in it. While I was stirring my soup, VBM came into the kitchen and had occasion to exclaim, "motherfucker!" I can't remember now why he did that. It might have been because Cooper was eating the recycling, or maybe he grabbed something hot. Anyway, I said to VBM, "VBM, you can't say motherfucker in your Mom's kitchen!" And he kind of shrugged, and then VBM's Mom asked me what he said that he shouldn't say, and I told her he said motherfucker. VBM protested that I had now said motherfucker twice. VBM's Mom said this:" What? Motherfucker?!"
And that, my friends, is only one tiny small reason why I love holiday meals at VBM's Mom's house, and one tiny small reason I love all those relatives of VBM's. They are smart, they are funny, and they never stop being delightful.