Lessons from a Thanksgiving Jello Mold Fail
For the record, I did ask for advice.
When planning our family Thanksgiving, my sister and I decided we should include our late grandmother’s jello mold.
I can still picture it on Nana’s table: canned Mandarin orange slices magically floating in orange Jello making up the top layer. More orange jello mixed in the Cool Whip on the bottom.
Yes, it is icky sweet and laden with more artificial colors and flavorings than you’ll find in a polyester dye factory.
And,
I adored it as a child.
Of course, Nana never wrote down the recipe or told us how to make it, which is why I found myself trying to recreate this perfection by Googling similar recipes and simply winging it.
I had a decent plan of everything that was going to go into the bunt pan, except for one crucial step.
“Do you think I first need to coat the pan with cooking spray?” I asked my sister.
“No way,” she replied. “That would be a greasy jello mold!”
I took her counsel and made the mold with a naked pan.
Come Thanksgiving Day, I took the Jello mold out of the fridge and let it sit on the counter for a bit. I put a plate over the bottom and flipped it, anticipating the masterpiece landing gently like a cloud ready to be served.
It didn’t budge.
I gave a little shake.
Nothing.
“It’s like it’s glued up in there,” I reported to my sister.
“Just let it sit,” she suggested. “Gravity will bring it down.”
I think you can see where this is not going.
20 minutes later, there still was no movement.
It was time for Plan C.
I flipped it around again and let it sit in a big bowl of warm water.
This time, when I flipped the Jello mold over onto a plate it exploded in a giant bright orange mess in every which direction..
My sister ran to my side trying to help me keep it all from running onto the floor.
Together, we held tight to the bunt pan, the plate, as we dissolved into a puddle of hysterical laughter in the way only siblings can make each other lose it.
We finally got a hold of ourselves and what was left of the Jello, scooping it up into a plastic leftover container.
I was so sure I had failed my guests.
Even worse, my Nana.
That is, until the next day.
I found Daughter’s boyfriend scooping out a big portion into a bowl.
“This stuff is actually really good,” he declared in between slurpy bites.
I share thinking, you, too, Dear Reader, might be reviewing some holiday messes.
Between food and family, it seems no one gets through this season completely clean.
May I suggest we remember there still is the potential for good stuff, even when a mess doesn’t follow our original vision.
Here’s to giving a little grace.
To ourselves.
To others.
And to the never-to-be-skipped-again, cooking spray.
