Don’t mind me sweetie, I’m cooking, Thanksgiving dinner to be precise, and you know how slightly psycho I get when in my hash-slinging modus. It’s true, the total kitchen bitch. Fortunately I am here all alone so no one has to put up with my shrieking and cursing. Even Saki has been exiled to one of the bedrooms upstairs, aka Cat Jail.
We’re leaving tomorrow to drive down the coast to Big Sur for a few days and since I suspect the kitchen in the cabin we’ve rented is rudimentary, I thought it would be smart to get the cooking out of the way. Plus I don’t want to share my madness with the friends I’m going with.
So now I’ve roasted a boneless turkey breast with a French garnish under the skin
My recreation of my grandmother’s cornbread dressing, because I am as big a Southern girl at heart as Paula Dean.
Speaking of the Queen of Grease Refinement, I also have gravy. But of course. Smooth as silk, but much, much tastier.
The beautiful, beautiful Cranberry Apricot Ginger Chutney.
The vicodin is especially handy since I clumsily tangled with the handle of the roasting pan while getting it out of the oven. Ouchywow.
We had a planning meeting last weekend for this trip and I have to say, I’m looking forward to it immensely. Food, hanging around, card games, maybe hiking, if I’m not too lazy, woo to the hoo, in short, even if we aren’t able to share it with Diane von Austinburg. Rats.
Although we will technicaly be at the beach, I do not expect any of this.
Tragic, I know.