Nothing says special holiday like a big bucket of KFC. We got the family 12 piece meal and just about devoured all of it together.
Dining on fast food on Christmas eve always reminds me of my own childhood. Ever so often — after we couldn’t bear to think about eating another of my mom’s hamburger and macaroni casserole– we’d plead with Dad for a meal out. We’d ask “Dad where are we going for dinner tonight??” and he say “Howard’s kitchen!” and then chortle delightedly the few times he fooled us.
We ate at a Shakey’s Pizza about once a year, and later, when we were teenagers and had our own paper route money, we rode our bikes to McDonald’s now and then in the summer. Fast food was a honest to goodness treat, almost like a holiday itself. We were freed from the horrors of Mom’s debilitatingly bland cooking and Mom was freed from having to prepare it. And we all escaped dishes, for one night.
A curious thing about fast food around here– our little ones know just what is in the boxes and bags even before we open them. If they gave them out, they would already have a PhD in McNugget dipping.
Lucky for them, we don’t eat take out that often–so they can learn all over again the joy of fast-food holidays, and not just on Christmas.