“Tangy,” Dad announced, licking his lips.
“Different,” Mom added.
Christmas dinner. We agreed to have my brother showcase the skills he mastered in a culinary arts course.
“Wait!” he exclaimed.
The rest of us watched as he tasted. An expression of bewilderment swept across his face. He got up. Ran back to the kitchen. Returned to sit down.
“I emptied out the wrong pot!” he conceded. “Rum sauce was meant for dessert.”
Mom sat stone-faced. I struggled not to laugh.
“You mean, there’s no sauce for Christmas pudding?” Dad asked.
“Does turkey gravy count as sauce?” brother pitched in.
“Different,” Mom added.
Christmas dinner. We agreed to have my brother showcase the skills he mastered in a culinary arts course.
“Wait!” he exclaimed.
The rest of us watched as he tasted. An expression of bewilderment swept across his face. He got up. Ran back to the kitchen. Returned to sit down.
“I emptied out the wrong pot!” he conceded. “Rum sauce was meant for dessert.”
Mom sat stone-faced. I struggled not to laugh.
“You mean, there’s no sauce for Christmas pudding?” Dad asked.
“Does turkey gravy count as sauce?” brother pitched in.
