On a very specific frustration.

Every year for Thanksgiving, my family has a tradition of burning our timeshares and trotting off to some random location in the continental US to spend a week together.  Every year, my brothers and my aunt gather up our loved ones and converge for seven days of local exploration, museum trips, and video games.  It's one of the highlights of my year.  But I'll get into that at a later date.

Thing is, my family is under the misguided impression that since I spent a couple of semesters at a culinary school, I'm usually on deck for the sides.  For which I'm totally not complaining.  You have to try really hard to make me happier than when I'm cooking a metric ass-ton of food for people I love.  The sad thing is, there is one dish that is my truest weakness.  One dish that has, over years of trial and error, become my nemesis.

Stuffing.

(or dressing, if you want to get technical.)

The worst part about it is I know what I'm looking for.  Proper stuffing has the crunch of panzanella on top and the spongy silkiness of bread pudding beneath.  It's rich with savory flavor, whether it's punched up with herbs or bolstered by pork.  It shouldn't be hard to achieve.

But no.  Due to my stubbornness and refusal to stick to recipes, I can never get the Bast-damned liquid content right.  Either I swamp the damn dish and we wind up with bread soup or I short it and the fam is gnawing through chewy bread cubes studded with vegetation.

What's worse is my inability to grasp this aspect of stuffing makes me question everything else about it.  My last attempt had chorizo, bacon, and cheese in the mix and I still salted that motherfucker.  I mean, what the shit.  That's some rookie-ass bonage right there.  When something rattles you, it can throw you off your game.  It's like missing a cakewalk side pocket shot and losing your ability to bank for the entire rest of the damn match.  Or your partner murmuring to you that you're using too much teeth while kissing and you suddenly forget how to fuck.

And I know, the best way to get over the hump is to sack up, pull up Alton's recipe, grab a measuring cup and eat stuffing for two weeks straight until I get the damn thing down pat.  I just have to push past my pride and get the job done.

Once more, with feeling.

Push past my pride.

Get the job done.