I know Christmas seems long gone, but I just have to chat about it for a quick minute. Why? Because I didn’t get time to until now, and also because mine was, in one word, hilarious.

Every year we spend Christmas Eve at my aunt’s house. She worked especially hard this year to prepare the meal herself, but somehow some pesky turkey grease decided to spill over in the oven, burn and fill the entire kitchen with smoke. During the almost-grease fire, our long-awaited, drool-inducing casserole was in the oven, and ended up tasting like a mixture of gasoline and lighter fluid.

After the casserole disaster, the oven was off limits for cooking anything else for the meal. At this point there was still hope for the mashed potatoes that were softening on the stove—until the beater broke while my aunt tried to mash them. We also tried to cook biscuits in the food warmer, but they just stayed doughy. It was a bit comical, really, having every door and window wide open in the dead of winter while my sister and I fanned out the smokey kitchen.

We all agreed my uncle, who was the brilliant chef in the family, was looking down on us and laughing his ass off at the whole situation. I wish I could say dessert was the family favorite this year, but really, family was the family favorite this year.