Let’s talk Turkey
And then, Let’s talk about how I can’t finish anything.
First please discuss what kind of MORON gets drunk on Thanksgiving and wakes the next morning with dishes piled to the ceiling, cheese left out over night, and a total inability to form a lucid thought? Okay, I admit, that last part may be standard operating procedure but the combination doesn’t bode well for post-Thanksgiving clean up efforts. Thank goodness Hubby had it together enough to put the chocolate cake in the microwave (aka: the cat proof storage unit) because the chocolate cake, man it was good. Actually, I’m pretty sure my hangover is from the THREE pieces I had and not the 2+ bottles of wine that I drank with Elisa last night.Lest you think that I am not a good host-ASS the drinking did not commence until the Orphan Thanksgiving was over and all guests had left the building filled with a whole new perspective on “The Crazy American”. Elisa and Mike, who are not so much guests as essential fixtures in our house, arrived later in the evening rosy cheeked and fresh from a Family Thanksgiving in New Hampshire. This is where the evil begins. It ended with me in bed wondering why the THIRD piece of chocolate cake was consumed and exactly how many seconds will it take for me to fall asleep before I puke it all up. Under all of the Cake was a warm feeling. Largely left by ending our day with two of our friends a which capped off a pretty great okay day.
And this is where the Turkey talk ended. I wrote that bit Friday fully intending to edit pictures and do a proper post. The couch won out, and then the tivo after that, and then my book, oh – and don’t forget the knitting. My intentions are always good.
Which leads me to the next topic – how I have developed a habit of NOT finishing things. The unfinished Friday post above is exhibit A. Exhibit B – my photo essay about Thanksgiving. Here is where it starts and ends:
11/23 Wh*le F**ds Market, 10:30 am. Time to Pick up the Turkey. They had Valet Parking! It was crazy. And can I just say, this was probably the most polite place in Boston on this day. People were so nice as they rammed you with their carts.
11/23 Chez Bookish, 12:00 pm. The cat has been picked up, the food has been brought in. Can you see how long it takes to get anything done here? This is why Peapod delivers my groceries. There are few things you can do in a city quickly.
My intentions are always good. However, I think that my expectations far exceed my energy/attention span (pick one, they both weigh heavily on my psyche.) Note to self: Do NOT attempt to create a photo essay during the one day of the year where you are the grand master with no prior experience.
Details on the Feast
The Feast went off….okay. I survived. That’s about all I can say. I was exhausted and a bit disappointed. Going back to that whole expectation thing. Your advice was invaluable and, to be completely honest, kept me giggling and semi-sane through out the day. Like when I pulled out the turkey innards and did not realize that ALL of the innards were not in the turkey cavity – they were stuffed under the fold of neck skin. Yah, this was found at the 13th hour. I hope that sentence sounds as gross as it actually was.
Here’s another grosser than gross description – I told Ann that I couldn’t make the gravy with the gizzard because I might barf (ps – that Ann is the best – she sent me her phone number! I didn’t have to use it…but it was a close one.) The recipe said to “pull the meat from the neck” and well, there is no way I could do that. I realized that I’m not so in to preparing a little turkey. It is sad. Very sad. Poor little turkey – even if he had a free range to range prior to being confined to my oven. I did not enjoy cooking him. I’m not a veg but rarely prepare meat in my home (Robby is a veg.) I have a hard time with the American meat industry…it’s a nasty business. However, I could never get it together to procure my own meat (Although I do greatly admire people who can – Power to the People Liz.) I would be too busy barfing and feeling horrible.
Delicate bunny I am.
My favorite advice that I received wasn’t listed in the comments. It was from my friend Jeff (he was one of the Easter boiled turkey eaters.) His advice,
“Just make sure the pooper is down and you’ll be fine.”
I couldn’t have said it better myself. I think it applies to most things in life.
Rob and my favorite recipe: Portobello Mushroom Gravy. We have been searching the house for food to put this stuff on, it was that good. The recipe is from Eating Well Magazine. Have you all seen this? It’s a great magazine, lots of good interesting recipes and loads of information about nutrition and food. I have gotten the past two issues and have really enjoyed reading them.
Least favorite recipe (can’t remember where this one was from): Cornbread Stuffing. Dry, bland, blech. It could be improved with some fruit for sweetness and some time in the oven to crisp it up.
Each of our guest brought something from their home country, or something from the grocery store (chocolate cake, yum.) My favorites were Japanese Croquettes, basically a croquette of potato and ground beef. So. Good. And Chinese meatballs. I can’t remember what these are called.
It was interesting to talk about Thanksgiving and describe it to everyone. I take for granted how much I know about American Holidays and what it means to live and grow up here. We discussed the American Indians, Slavery, the first settlers, and the origins of different foods on the table. One of our guests compared the American Indian Settler relationship in the US to the Palestinian Israeli relationship in the Middle East (he was Israeli.) Now there is a conversation time bomb. Overall, it was an interesting conversation filled with great people. Unfortunately I was still stressed about my 24 + hours of cooking. At one point I pulled out the globe (one of MANY maps in my house..I told you, I love maps!) and everyone talked about where they were from.
The most interesting fact that I learned: Cyprus is not only its own country but it is split in two and each side basically feels as though it independent of the other (in fact, the UN recognizes this separation.) So much so that there is surprise when a person from one side (a woman from my work) meets someone from the other side (one of her colleagues) and they discover they are so much the same! So interesting for an Island of 3,571 sq mi (9,250 sq km.)
Okay, this may be the chattiest Bookish Girl post ever.
Parting thought –
Keep the pooper down and you’ll be all right.