Does anyone here remember the sit com "Three's Company"? Stupid 80s stuff, but do you remember Stanley Roper? Anyway, Mr. Roper was this lecherous landlord, who flirted with the hot young things renting his apartments while rebuking the amatory advances of his wife Helen. Mr. Roper, in other words, got hot in the wrong ways at the wrong times in the wrong places.
Much like my stove, also named Mr. Roper.
As such, cooking is not much my thing. But Thanksgiving is the one holiday, much like dear Helen Roper, on which I have to get it on with Mr. Roper as best I can, for better or worse.
With Mr. Ropers's assistance, we've continued our Thanksgiving traditions this year again:
Tradition 1: I burned the apple pie.
Tradition 2: I did not defrost the turkey long enough and opt for Cornish game hens *ahem* "personal poultry".
Tradition 3: Toss the leftovers and head out of town for two days of no cooking.
Thank you, dear friends, for sewing, sharing, caring and being plain groovy.
Happy Thanksgiving (a little late, yeah, but I'm still grateful).
I'd be grateful for any new gas range recommendations you might have, too!
