Over the last several years I have come to be the host of Thanksgiving dinners for a regular group of my friends whom I think of as “The Children.” As in “The Children are coming to dinner.” Mostly because they are all young enough to actually be my offspring, were I wacky enough to spring off, but also because, as in the case of providing the traditional Thanksgiving, I have somehow morphed into a mother figure. To be more accurate, a grandmother figure.
Four of the Children are out of town this holiday and I was remarking to Super Agent Fred (the only one who would be around) how I was looking forward to taking drugs and sleeping all day instead of cooking. Fred looked absolutely stricken and protested that he was looking forward to turkey. And gravy. And mashed potatoes. And dressing.
Of course I relented and thus wound up slinging a menu that exactly reproduced what my grannies would have knocked out 80 years ago. And it was delicious, thank you very much, so I guess I’m glad I did, but the dinner did leave behind a refrigerator full of left overs because it turns out scaling down a celebratory dinner for 10 to one for 2 does not work. I just don’t know how to make my granny’s cornbread dressing in a size smaller than what could be described as a vat. We will be dining on that fucking turkey all week. Turkey salad, Turkey Tetrazini, turkey sammiches. OK by me.
Also in other domestic news, the garden always looks sort of shaggy around this time of year. Most thing suddenly green from the rain finally starting, but also quietly revving up for the burst of flowers spring will have. The most appealing contradictions are the Australian Tea Trees, brilliant rose and pink and crimson right now. The two in the picture are about 20 years old and have taken that long to really get established and turn out such show off blooming. I see them from my bathroom window every time I go pee. That is not what the average garden planning book would consider, but I’m glad I planted them where I did.
The view from the toilet.
I used to easily do Thanksgiving for six to twelve. A couple years there was a surge to 25 and 27. Easy, just add a pre-smoked turkey warmed on the BBQ grill in addition to the oven-baked one and more side dishes. Yeah, but scaling down is really tricky.
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I too have cranked out gigantic Thanksgiving dinners and even though I’m proud of them, I do rather shudder at the memory of the kitchen Nazi I would turn into in order to get everything to table simultaneously.
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We had 14 at the table and enough to go around. My brother’s insistence on Old Family Recipes mostly served to remind one that the grandparents really didn’t go in much for for flavor, what with only using salt and pepper, and that somehow creamed onions really aren’t quite the treat one sometimes remembers.
The port-wine salad, however, was a triumph.
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Port wine salad sounds deeeee-lish. Was it gelitanated?
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But of course. Three ingredients: black cherry Jello, canned black/bing cherries, and port wine. Lashings of the latter. People laugh, but there’s never any left…
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grandmama’s work is never done.
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oy
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I miss you most at Thanksgiving, m’dear! XO
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And you dear.
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That reminds me I have to go make turkey soup.
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Leftovers really are the best part and the soup is star among them.
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It made 7 quarters. We’ll eat it.
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I knew you were a good sport! Never one to pass up a bird.
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I didn’t even pretend to sulk. It was so gratifying that Fred was so looking forward to it
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I have a view of a beautiful evergreen tree from my toilet so I appreciate that you enjoy a view from the loo.
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cause what else are you going to do? Blog?
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