December 24, 2009

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, 
wafted the smell of fried taters, cooked by my spouse;

The onions were carmelized in the pan with great care
In hopes that no kitten hair would flutter in there;

The hogs were well nestled in their muddy wallows,
For they knew Holiday ham wasn't a tradition we'd follow;

Ok, I'm out of inspiration. That is a long poem to try to mimic, and I just don't have the energy!

For our Christmas Eve dinner, Mr. Pony and I celebrated with blue cheese hamburgers and oven fried potatoes. Nope, not ham. Not turkey. Not even green bean casserole {Mr. Pony lacks the required gene to enjoy that particular gastronomical delight}. My photo skills failed to yield an attractive burger shot, but I like this one of my phalanx of potatoey goodness.

But whatever you may have {had} for dinner tonight, I hope the stupor of overeating wears off enough so that you can repeat it again tomorrow!

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