“My mother-in-law tried to throw away all the dishes I had prepared for Thanksgiving because I ‘cook horribly’ — so I taught her a lesson.”

Translation: not up to standard.

— Cheryl, I said calmly, what is all this about?

She began unpacking her bags like a caterer in the middle of a rush.

— Just a few dishes I prepared. I know you said you were managing, but I couldn’t let the family down. They expect a certain… standard.

— But I’ve been cooking all morning…

« I know, my dear, » she said, smiling falsely. « It’s adorable! But let’s be honest… »

She gestured contemptuously towards my table.

— The family comes for MY cooking. They would be disappointed if we served them… that.

— That?! I repeated, my voice tense.

— You see what I mean. Cooking isn’t really your thing, darling.

She started pushing my dishes aside to make room.

— Stop! What are you doing?

— I’m making room, you see. We can always put your dishes in the garage… or throw them away. Nobody’s going to eat them anyway!

And then… I broke down. Not with shouts. Nor with tears.

With a smile. Cold. Calculated.

« You’re right, Cheryl, » I said gently. « Go sit down and rest. I’ll take care of everything. »

She looked at me, surprised, then smiled as if I had finally understood my place.

— That’s good, my daughter. You see, we’re getting there.

She left for the living room, triumphant.

And I rolled up my sleeves.

Operation Karma Thanksgiving had just begun.

I carefully emptied all her dishes… and transferred my recipes into her elegant serving dishes. My turkey in her porcelain platter. My stuffing in her crystal bowl. My sweet potatoes in her old casserole dish.

And her dishes? Hidden at the back of the fridge in my Pyrex dishes.

When everything was ready, I called out:
— Dinner’s ready!

The house filled up in an instant. Mark’s brothers, their wives, his grandparents, friends from the church, neighbors… about twenty people crammed into our house.

Cheryl reigned supreme on the sofa, welcoming compliments and hugs.

« I’ve tried a new blend of herbs for the turkey, » she announced. « You’re going to love it. »

I almost burst out laughing.

Everyone enjoyed themselves. Compliments were flying.

— Best turkey ever, Mom!
— These sweet potatoes are amazing!
— And that stuffing… wow!

Cheryl was smiling, but I could see her expression change as she tasted it. This wasn’t her kind of cooking. She knew it.

She stared at me. I smiled and took a bite of my turkey.

— Cheryl, said Mark’s grandmother, this is the best Thanksgiving meal you’ve ever made.

« Thank you, » she replied weakly, still frozen.

Twenty minutes later, I raised my glass.

— I would like to make a toast… to Cheryl. For her wise advice on cooking and her sincere opinion on my culinary skills.

A few nervous laughs.