I traveled home on Wednesday evening to join the family and to help prepare for our big dinner. When I arrived home several of the traditional dishes were complete and awaiting hungry people. There were five different pies, two meats and a variety of salads and sides. It was a feast. All we had to do was finish up on Thursday morning.
All feasts start as plans, or at least good intentions.
Mom is usually pretty organized, but this Thanksgiving she had a detailed list, or time-line, of the preparations. I suppose it was to help ease the day along – I think the list was ditched by 10:45 a.m. The Pillsbury Dough-boy was floating across the television. The dinner prep started the night before, and there was no lack of entertainment.
My dad, sister and I retreated to the living room for some quality television while mom slaved in the kitchen. Before you chastise me for not helping, mom was set on doing things herself. I didn’t argue.
“It’s still frozen,” mom yelled from the kitchen, followed by other lines of mumble. The three of us all let out a small giggle. "We should have just had hamburgers."
“What do you mean, still frozen?” Dad hollered into the kitchen and then says just loud enough so we can hear it, “I told her she should have had it in the fridge like a week ago.”
“I’ll show you,” she hollers back.
“Don’t bring that nasty ass bird in here,” he answers.
We hear more mumbling and then an “Oh my god.” This is where she realized the bird was thawed (kind of, but the actual neck was still pretty solid).
Great, we’ll be eating Swanson dinners tomorrow. She comes into the living room with a towel and the turkey neck. Not a good sight.
“It was just a chunk of ice,” she says, obviously relieved that the turkey part had thawed.
Mom is going to attempt to brine the bird – whatever the hell that was supposed to do. (Which I can now say there wasn't much difference, at least that I could taste). I’m sure she got the idea from the Food Network, where a majority of her hair brained meal ideas come from.
Then I hear my name – in that tone – and then she asks if I can take a bucket to the basement.
First of all, it’s a five gallon bucket, with water and a turkey carcass floating in it. We’re not talking about taking a bag of trash out – it’s heavy. I manage to get down the steps without breaking my neck or spilling salt/sugar water all over the place. The next morning I realize I must have been a real weenie if my mom could haul it back up the stairs without any help.
The next morning was turkey day! I walked into the kitchen for breakfast and mom goes, “Wanna see the turkey?” I look at her as she lifts the roaster lid and I see an empty roaster. She has been working for a good hour before I got out of bed.
“What the hell happened? I asked, the roaster was bare.
“It won’t fit, so I had to use the oven.” There’s a thought. “The ham will go in here instead.
“Did you not know it wouldn't fit?”
“I didn’t think it was that big,” she says, speaking of the turkey.
The night before when dad asked how big her turkey was she answered “22 pounds.” He shook his head. “What, if the roaster is not big enough?” She suddenly got concerned.
He then says in his scholarly (yet sarcastic) tone. “Do you know how big a 22 pound turkey is before it’s killed?” she shook her head. “It’s huge, like old…we’re going to be eating old turkey,” He means geriatric or spent hen type. She rolls her eyes and walks back out of the room to finish.
At breakfast mom reads off a detailed time-line of all the deliciousness that will take place in our home. We crack some jokes at her expense, which is pretty normal, and she starts in on the first task past 7 a.m.
The morning clips by fairly easily, especially for me because I went and hid across the street at grandma's. When I got back home though, there was plenty to do – and I got started soon.
Mom asked if I wanted to peel potatoes. At this moment I considered my level of ‘want’ because I didn’t really WANT to, but knew it would help. There was a five pound bag, and we needed most of it peeled. Mom asked me if I wanted a knife or a peeler. Well, a knife wastes potato and the peeler is ancient – sharp, but ancient – so I was pretty well at a wash situation.
“Peeler,” I answered. “I’ll need a glove though.”
“Why?” She looked at me like I had grown a tail.
“Blisters,” I answered, being the true smart ass I am.
T minus three hours to a houseful for turkey, I realize, is not the best time to be funny.
After the potatoes came the pie. I took a knife and went to cutting pies. That’s when I heard the oven door open and a gasp. I braced myself.
“The poker is out! It’s an hour early!”
At this point all I can see is that turkey on National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation – when they cut into it and it bursts open to small bits of insanely dry turkey nobody will eat. I made us all laugh as I replayed the scene in our kitchen. Mom actually laughed, so I figured it wasn’t that big of a deal.
“Just shut the oven off,” I tell her.
“Look at all that juice, my god we’ll have more gravy than we know what to do with.”
I figured we’d need that much gravy, especially after everyone soaked their turkey, because eating turkey that has been ‘rewarmed’ is like cooking it again and it begins to resemble turkey jerky.
The next point of concentration is the ham, which she has smeared with some glaze. It has been sizzling all morning in the roaster, so I was hesitant to open up the lid. I was anticipating a huge black chunk of meat that would be nice and crispy. It wasn’t actually bad.
Mom wasn’t sure if it was done, so back across the street I went for a meat thermometer. The problem was there was no meat thermometer – so we used a candy thermometer instead. Worked like a charm. It just left a bigger hole in its wake.
As we were wrapping up the preparations the guests started to arrive, and before long the house was filled with laughter and fun – because that’s how we roll.
Something we should all think about this holiday season, have fun with your family and friends - even if they drive you crazy - because when they don't drive you crazy anymore, you'll miss it.
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