This is a short one today, but a crucial one. It's hard to say whether there is more of gravy than of grave about this tradition, since it does involve mashed potatoes and gravy, but it's also a dead tradition.
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| Dad told us that was Santa Claus on the bucket. |
In the years before we found out wheat was a poison to Mom, our Christmas Eve dinner was, every year, a family meal from Kentucky Fried Chicken. Once again, I'm not sure about how this one got started - it probably had something to do with finding a one-stop way to shut 5-7 loud mouths up for at least 5 minutes. Or as long as it took for us to pick the finger-lickin's good.
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Quantity-wise, Emily always won out since she was the only one who liked
cole slaw. |
Mom/Dad would come home in the evening toting an 8-piece bucket of chicken, with mashed potatoes, cole slaw and biscuits for sides. We sometimes supplemented homemade sides because KFC's portions aren't made for an 8-piece family (Kirsten was too young to be doled out a piece of chicken, so I'm not counting her here). Four biscuits aren't enough for 6 kids, KFC. I hate math and I've always known that.
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| They may look big, but not big enough for 6 kids prone to fight over the crumbs. |
Alas, once the Celiac monster reared it's ugly head, this tradition went by the wayside. I'm sure another factor was that we could do our own homemade meal of Mom's chicken wings (LITERALLY finger-lickin' good) and various sides for cheaper than the however many bones KFC now demands for its 8-piece meal.
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Those were the days before KFC offered mac'n'cheese and potato wedges.
That, or Mom and Dad lied. |
Either way, this tradition is no more, leaving me with nothing but the memory of that secret blend of herbs and spices to dream about and a prayer that it might return one magic Christmas Eve.
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| Because Extra Tasty Crispy chicken. |
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