No Orange, No Cry

I love orange sherbet.

Dangerously so.

As it happens, I’m allergic to oranges. My mouth and everything in my digestive tract breaks out after eating anything that contains orange juice. (Pineapple is worse.) It can get bad. So I was talking to G tonight and debating if I could use orange Kool Aid to make a faux-orange sherbet. Chances of anything genuine-orange in Kool Aid must surely fall into negative numbers, right?

Then he reminded me we thought the same about orange Powerade.

Let’s just say I was wrong enough to make a lasting impression. At least it didn’t land me in the ER.

Plan B

I had puff pastry in the freezer and a can of apple pie filling in the cupboard. I set the timer on the microwave for the first batch of puff pastry when I put it in the oven — and forgot to start the timer. The first batch of puff pastry rectangles are a nice shade of football brown.

The second batch was much improved.

Not a fancy Thanksgiving dessert, but considering I could barely stay awake for work today, AND I cooked real food for everything else, I’m calling it good enough. G is happily stuffed, and has zoned out in front of Britbox for the rest of the night. (My spousal unit is a raging Anglophile, at least when it comes to old British comedies and detective shows.)

The deviled eggs are merely boiled eggs in the refrigerator because I ran out of steam. I’ll make them tomorrow.

I hope everyone’s Thanksgiving was peaceful and joyous.