So, I had spent two days baking and cooking for our Thanksgiving feast. I made pumpkin chocolate chip muffins, pumpkin pie, a cranberry walnut tart, green bean/ corn casserole, squash casserole, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, and a sixteen-pound turkey. It was a ridiculous amount of food.
My family devoured everything, and complained about how stuffed they were afterwards. I'm sure you're familiar with the story if you live in the good old USA.
Four hours later, at around 10:00 PM, I walked into the kitchen and found my son, my daughter, and my daughter's friend mixing ingredients. That's right. They were getting ready to bake.
"What the heck are you doing?" I asked, completely flabbergasted. "We have a ton of food in the refrigerator. You don't need to make more. Besides, it's way too late to be baking and eating even more food!"
"But, Mom," my daughter said. "You didn't make monkey bread. And it's never too late to make monkey bread."