Performance Anxiety

Hug an Indian Day Thanksgiving is looming, and I'm nervous. I'm having The Big Meal with Matt's family, and the prospect of preparing something to share is more than a little bit daunting. Apparently, back when he first 'fessed up to his family that he had a girlfriend, one of his grandmothers insisted that it was very important that I know how to cook. Matt, dutiful boyfriend that he is, informed her that I am an excellent cook. Now I feel that I must take this opportunity to prove myself, once again demonstrating my unfortunate compulsive need for the approval of grown-ups, and am spending my precious pre-work free time leafing through my copy of The Bon Appetit Cookbook.

I'm not really sure what to make, honestly. My gastronomical sensibilities and dietary habits run in a diametrically opposite direction than those of the typical Appalachian family. While I'm notorious for using Paula Deen-esque amounts of butter in my concoctions, I'd nevertheless much rather bring peppered tuna skewers with wasabi mayonnaise to a gathering than, say, deviled eggs or potato salad. I'm trying to compromise. I found a recipe for baked grits with parmesan and black pepper that looks promising (liking grits but refusing to put sugar on them = major Southern street cred), and there is also a cheese straw recipe that sounds pretty tasty (who doesn't like cheese straws?).

I'm not really feeling it for vegetables, as most of the ones I like aren't in season and Matt has informed me that they've already got the requisite green beans, mashed potatoes, and peas-n-onions covered.

I do plan on bringing a dessert: lemon bars. I made my first batch from scratch ever last week, and they were awesome. I'll take just about anything as an excuse to make more. I want to try some with raspberry, but experimentation should probably wait until after I've wowed his grandparents with my mad cooking skillz.