Thanksgiving dinner? Done. It went really smoothly, or as smoothly as thanksgivings ever do. I was making dinner for five friends of mine, Super Agent Fred, Hot Foot, and Drumstick and two gal pals in town from Phoenix. All of them were more than willing to help, but all of them also were snacking on edible marijuana and were a tiny bit incapacitated. I had to give instructions in small words with a very firm voice and repeat them as needed.
We had rented a very nice great big house on the other side of my neighborhood primarily because I wanted a big kitchen to work in and a nice dining room for dinner. And this place delivered, it was beautifully decorated and the kitchen was just what I wanted, spacious and well laid out.
Anytime you’re working in a strange kitchen, figuring out where all the pieces are is the biggest hurdle. When we first all settled in on Tuesday, I set my little army of loaded elves to helping me inventory what I had to work with. It was like a scavenger hunt, I would call out what I was looking for and they would dig through drawers and cabinets to find them. Pretty much everything I wanted was there, except, oddly enough, whisks. What kind of cooks can make do with no whisks? They did however have 8 corkscrews. Hmmm.
Wednesday I made cornbread dressing and potatoes Dauphinois, which is just peeled and sliced potatoes simmered in half and half and then baked. Ooh, so good. Thanksgiving itself was just the turkey and gravy. I braised a turkey breast and drumsticks this time and if I ever have to make one again that is definitely the way to go. Although the drumsticks were gigantic; they looked like ostrich or at least kiwi legs. If they really were turkey, they had obviously been mutated.
Every time you embark on a complicated cooking attempt, you have to accept that at least one thing is going to bomb. Oddly enough this time it was the cornbread dressing, which is so easy to make, it’s practically foolproof, but nothing can resist being left in the oven a tad too long. Oops. I decided to write it off as just the sacrifice the Thanksgiving gods require. We ate it, it was just sort of crispy. Aside from that I was very pleased with everything, so why I keep focusing on the one thing that didn’t work out is simply an insight into my warped little psyche.
Hot Foot and Drumstick made an apple pie and it was pretty much the platonic ideal of one. Flawless. Delicious. The only problem was that there was only one of them.
I’m glad that’s over. By the end of the evening I felt like I had been dragged behind a speeding car. We had an early night and I when I got home I took a shower and collapsed into bed and didn’t wake up until midnight the next day. I think this very well may be my swan song of making a Thanksgiving feast. The setting and food were ideal this time, the drama was low-key to the point of being negligible, and I didn’t hurt my back (which has happened plenty of times before) so I think I will retire on a high note. Remind me of that next fall.
boys for whom I am grateful:
Tonight’s post is brought to you by ButtChops.
Daddy dude, for all those pushy Chaturbate queens.
I already miss summer, even if I never go to the beach anymore.
We give thanks for meat.
Oh my goodness.
This guy, whom I always refer to as “This guy” because I suppose I will never learn his name.
Another old, nameless favorite.
One last ass shot.
Well, OK, just ONE more.