Thank You, Disillusionment.

You know, sometimes I don't know why I even bother.

Today was lovely. I was having a very domestic day - I got up, started my laundry, made breakfast, and started preparing a Big Dinner. I should say here that one of my favorite ways to spend a weekend day is preparing a big dinner, and I decided that I was going to make myself Thanksgiving dinner today (since I was too busy working/pouting on the ACTUAL Thanksgiving Day). I made pie crust...ran to the grocery store...started working my way through the various chores required to make dinner. Dishes were done...a little vacuuming...a little more cooking. Seriously, if I'd been wearing a frilly apron and heels, you'd think I was a housewife from the 50's.

Now, the great thing about spending a major holiday alone is that you're allowed to put any spin you want on the traditional favorites. My menu:

Roasted duck leg quarters
Bourbon Butternut Squash Risotto with Shiitake Mushrooms (oh, and I threw in some wild rice for the hell of it)
Maple Cranberry Sauce (which I adapted to include kumquats and some pomegranate. Probably mostly because I really like to SAY kumquats and pomegranate, but regardless, it was fuckin' tasty as hell)
Green beans sauteed in olive oil with some garlic and a little lemon juice
Caramel Pumpkin Pie

So I was feelin' a little fancy this year. Freakin' FANTASTIC dinner, if I do say so myself. In fact, one of my best efforts to date. Very happy Wahooty, even if I am largely indebted to the whipped cream. (Note to self: Whip cream at least once every day. Eat with spoon. Repeat until fat and happy. I think the words you're looking for here are OH DEAR GOD.)

Now, the thing that sucks about spending a major holiday alone is that you are entirely responsible, not just for the eating, but for the preparation AND THE CLEANUP. The work is one thing, but the cook/cleanerupper easily consumes THREE TIMES the amount of calories that the average diner does, all via tasting for seasoning and snitching in the packing up of leftovers. And I am a particularly bad offender where this is concerned. So this evening, after going back for alternating spoonfuls of risotto and whipped cream (shut up, you're not the boss of me), I finally resigned myself to packing up what's left. And as I open the refrigerator door to put the whipped cream away...I manage to knock over a bottle of fish sauce.

I watch it fall. In slow motion. Onto the floor.

The hard, ceramic-tiled floor.

Did I mention that this was a GLASS bottle?

And that said (750-mL) bottle was nearly full?

Now, for those of you who do not do any Thai or Vietnamese cooking, let me explain what fish sauce is. It is...well, pretty much exactly what it sounds like. They pack fish in salt and let it ferment. The juice that runs out over time becomes fish sauce.

This is some pungent shit. The only sensory comparison I can come up with is that it smells disconcertingly like my grandfather's dog kennels used to. Quite delightful in moderation and diluted by food. But maybe not so much in 750-mL quantities. On ceramic tile. Which my apartment now smells like. As do my feet. Which means it follows me. I'm being stalked by a condiment.

You know what's more fun than spilling a bottle of fish sauce all over your kitchen floor? Breaking your mop. Seriously, Fairprice, where, exactly, is my $3.98 going??? Certainly not towards quality control.

And you know what's more fun than mopping up fish sauce with a sponge? Mopping up tiny glass shards.

Nothing says "good fun happy time" like tiny, SALTY glass shards. That smell like fermented fish. When your hands are dried out and eczema-ridden and your feet are bare.

Once I got the puddle contained, I looked up and took a deep breath, only to realize that despite all of my domestic efforts...despite the fact that I went the entire day (and menu) without using any utensil, pot, or bowl less than twice...

...it looks like Thanksgiving exploded all over my kitchen.

Wait, no. Unless Thanksgiving smells like fish sauce.