Sandra Lee gets in the Holiday Spirit. "Holiday Spirit" is code for "Chocolate Liqueur."

It has been months since I watched a full episode of Semi-Homemade Cooking with Sandra Lee. I think the last one I watched all the way through was the infamous “Very Cherry” where she advised us to scoop something out with a “lemon baller.”

It was partly ennui—you can only watch the same person screw up the same stuff so many times before it gets a bit tedious. And it was mostly scheduling—both mine (busy) and Food Network’s as they seem to be scaling back on the number of times per day they feature each of their celebuchefs.

Anyway, I was at the gym on Sunday and I caught part of one of her holiday episodes. I was briefly swept away on a tide of nostalgia. And then I saw an advertisement for her Semi-Homemade Holiday special, and I was swept up in a tide of excitement.

An entire hour of Sandra? In prime time? Sign me up! So I sat down in my little chair with my little computer and I watched. . . .and I saw. . .

Festive festoons! Cocktail glasses! Sandra in one of those blinged out Cougar sweaters—the ones with the keyhole detail in front so you can see cleavage without really realizing how old and repellent her boobs are. She actually looks pretty good , except for the horrible extensions. Oh, and the sweater is kind of long, like mid-thigh. I don’t care for a long sweater, especially on a woman d’une certain age. The long sweater totally violates all of Tim Gunn's rules on how to split up your body.

She threatens us with three cocktails, appetizers, a big ass turkey with Brussels sprouts, and her sister Kimber. So many things!

The first feature is her Semi-Homemade self-serve bar. She says it’s “the perfect welcoming to your guests.” She explains that this way she doesn’t have to play bartender, because she’s leaving the ingredients and the instructions for three specialty cocktails out so her guests can make her unduly complicated drinks themselves. Ok, crazy pants. Way to manage both to force your guests to do all the work and ensure that they only drink your swill, not a beer or a glass of wine or something. She demonstrates the Mistletoe Mojito, which is basically a mojito with cranberries rather than mint. Like many of her cocktail ideas, it doesn’t look ½ bad. .

She then goes into her Cranberry Glazed Turkey. It involves fine herbes, and she takes the time to say “not fiend, feen, and it’s spelled fine.” Someone on her production crew has been reading her Television Without Pity board.

And then she molests a turkey. Please excuse my mad 1989 style “film the TV” video making skillz, but you had to see this yourselves (it's also on the YouTubes):




It’s unspeakable.

She finishes off the turkey and makes a cranberry glaze, which involves orange juice, orange marmalade, and canned cranberry jelly.

Commercial!

Back! We see more fake friends pretending to socialize. Sandy says they look hungry so she’s going to start the appetizers—sausage stuffed mushrooms. They’re button mushroom caps stuffed with sweet Italian sausage, the chopped up mushroom stems, and an unholy amount of leeks—but only the green part, because she’s saving the whites for her potato leek soup.

There also appears to be a cornbread component involving boxed cornbread stuffing and chicken broth. I used to eat boxed stuffing all the time in college. It's chancy stuff--it's either the best thing ever or cardboard. After adding the sausage mess to this, she further adds Parmesan cheese and some spices, and then stuffs them into the mushroom caps. They have a vaguely turd like appearance, but otherwise they seem inoffensive.

Then she advises us to buy a shitload of candles. Because that’s why I watch the FOOD Network. She takes the poo mushrooms out to her guests, who pretend she’s not insane, and then ropes one of the guests in to help with the potato leek soup. The helper is a woman she calls Lisa Bennenson, who is editor in chief of Hallmark Magazine—there’s a Hallmark Magazine? Huh.

The base of the soup seems to be the leek whites and a heaping quantity of jarred garlic. She then adds two cans of canned chopped potatoes—they make such a thing???—and potato soup, plus cream and broth.

Actual dialogue from this segment:

Sandy: You’re gonna put in . . .six cups of chicken broth. Which is. . .this is four cups, so one of these and a half of this.
Lisa: You can do math so fast!

Jesus. This is why no one has ever heard of Hallmark Magazine--because its Editor in Chief is ridiculously easy to impress, which does not bode well for the calibre of the publication.

Inevitably, she puts the soup into espresso cups and throws chives on top. I’ve had screaming heartburn all day, and watching this makes me thoroughly uncomfortable. Lisa is forced to take the soup out to the other guests. Commercial!

As we return, Sandy crazy-eyes at us that the appetizers are a hit. Then she abducts a teenager named Amanda and makes her help with the sweet potato soufflé, which is made with microwave Ore-Ida Steam-n-Mash sweet potatoes. Because she’s the laziest woman on earth. Oh, and also because she's the official shill for this product line, which the Food Network Addict recently taste tested.

Amanda has no idea how to use the mixer, and keeps lifting the beaters out and sending sweet potatoes everywhere. Anyway, a bunch more shit gets thrown in and they blend it until it looks like Thanksgiving vomit—it’s very orange, and studded through with pecans.

Sandy then advocates making cider to perfume your house “or just serve to your guests.” Revolutionary! Cider for drinking!!!!! I never thought of actually DRINKING Cider before—I was just using it to perfume my house, and then throwing it away. This is the best example of what's most wrong with this woman: she's a wasteful sow who would rather spend $60 million dollars making it look like she's put forth some effort than spend $6 to actually put forth the effort.

They top the vomity soufflés with marshmallow topping--Fluff--, and then carmellize the tops with brulee torches. You know what? My grandmother managed to achieve the same effect with actual marshmallows and an oven. She didn’t have to shell out for all these extra tools or giant vats of fake marshmallow. And I'm guessing that the massive amounts of the crazy made it even more difficult to find time to cook from scratch.

Anyway. Commercial.

Back. Sandra talks about ho the semi-homemade bar is working perfectly, and then tries to steal her friend’s drink. They make a Sugar Plum Fairy cocktail, which may end up going in the beverage fountain at next year’s party. It’s a nice bloody urine color, in keeping with tradition, and it looks rather less expensive than last year’s SoCo debacle.

Apropos of nothing, the cocktail is made by Sandra’s token guest of color, whose dress is slightly unzipped in the back. You know what I'm talking about--the dress hooks at the top of the zipper, and she apparently couldn't get the hook hooked herself, so now the zipper is starting to inch its way down.

Sandra and her sister start in on dessert, which they plan on making in something Sandra refers to as cappuccino cups, but which look more like bistro coffee cups. Calling something a cappuccino cup doesn’t make it so, Sandy.

Oooooooh, they’re going to make cappuccino cup-cakes in the non-cappuccino cups. It’s so presh I might throw up (or maybe that’s the heartburn. Also, they’re filling these bistro mugs ¾ of the way through with cake batter made from boxed mix. That is not a fucking cupcake. That’s like two cupcake and a half to spare. I can’t imagine eating that much cake.

Another great party tip: Sandra advises putting disposable cameras around so your guests can take pictures. Because that hasn’t been done at every suburban wedding since 1993.

Sandy and Kimber then use whipped topping to cover up the fact that the tops of their cup-cakes are severely deformed. Sandy calls it “rustic” and “homemade looking,” but we all know this is code for “severely deformed.” Also, they use an entire container of Cool Whip to top 8 cakes. Clearly this is all part of a plot to put her guests into a diabetic coma.

Back from commercial. Sandra’s pocket gay, Mark (he who nearly got his drink stolen earlier) comes in to make Brussels sprouts with brown butter using frozen Brussels sprouts. I HATE Brussels sprouts so much that I can hardly bear to watch this.

While Mark is stirring the butter, Sandra pulls out a severely anemic looking turkey, and paints the cranberry nonsense all over it. Oh, thank god—it goes back in the oven for another hour. I thought she was going to give the guests salmonella on top of insulin shock.

She continues to spread her gospel of lies about a cap full of extract being a teaspoon. Then she tells another gospel of lies about Mark having a female wife named Cathy. Mark seems to be in on this gospel of lies, though, as he elaborates on it by adding two fictional kids to the mix. They coo over the Brussels sprouts. That I didn’t actually vomit during this segment is amazing. It was close.

Next we’re told how to make a “Polar Espresso.” It involves Peppermint Schnapps and White Chocolate liqueur, and looks like something I would’ve loved when I was 19.

After the last commercial, Sandra plates her turkey and then shows us how to doctor store bought chocolate jumbo muffins into something she calls a “cupcake wreath.” It’s a muffin with cherry pie filling, buttercream frosting, and a “fruit strip” (like that tape candy from the candy store). How. . ..special.

Tablescape! Some nutcase talks about how Sandra’s tree is “chic and modern and fun and traditional all at the same time.” Sandra replies that she wanted something that was “winter white wonderland meets disco chic in black and white.” You know what I want? A Christmas dress that is chic and classic and timeless and totally au courant and tasteful and preppy and punk and goth and demure and slightly whorish.

Look, it's no less likely than that tablescape description.

The nutcase is apparently Editor In Chief of In Style. So glad I didn’t subscribe to that when my cousin’s daughter was having a sale to support her school. The kind of Style advice this woman dishes out, I do not need.

The tablescape involves stretch velvet with rhinestones—it looks like something the whores in 9th grade would’ve worn to homecoming in 1994. There are mirrors and pedestals involved and. . . .jesus, my acid reflux! How much longer will this torture last?

Oh, good, she brings out the turkey, then toasts her fake friends. We see a knife cutting into the turkey, but we don’t see it sliced. Probably because it’s a toxic shade of pink. Or because once she slices into it, it tells everyone about how she touched it, and Sandra gets sent away for a long time.

And that's the end. Thank you, Sandra, for sharing this magnificent Holiday gift with the world!