Wednesday, October 10, 2007


Hey all. It's taken me a long time to recuperate from the Thanksgiving fiasco that I hosted on Sunday. First things first, I didn't even realize that I missed my one-year blogging anniversary. Happy Anniversary to me!!

Sunday I got down and dirty, cooking like a mad woman. Cleaning the house. All those neurotic things you do when you are expecting a houseful of people. At 2:00, my husband puts the turkey in the rotisserie. We held our breathes in anticipation hoping this bird would fit. It does (narrowly), and it starts spinning away in it's succulence. About an hour later, I hear this forlorn wailing from downstairs, practically stabbing myself in the eye with my mascara wand "CRAPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!"

I run downstairs and see Jarrett pulling the turkey out of the rotisserie. Parts of the skin were starting to burn because it was so fat, it was too close to the elements. Only 3:00 - no where near done turkey. I panic and call Cook 911 (my mother) who advises us to cover it with foil, throw it in the oven, and baste the hell out of it. We think crisis averted (or is it?)

Guests all file in an hour later, the turkey is cooking away in the oven now. Dinner is still on for 5:30. So at 5:15, I start to pull potatoes off to mash them, I honey-glaze carrots, fluff stuffing, and do all that to get the meal out. And at 5:30 my husband takes the turkey out and the little popper thing is still firmly down. We take the internal temperature and it's 170 (shit we need 180). Back in the oven it goes; and I turn on the elements to keep the dinner (which was already on the counter for buffet) warm. Over the course of the next hour, I'm continually swearing at the dead poultry in my oven. My idle threats do not make the physics of cooking a turkey go any faster. It takes it's sweet time. Everyone is noticeably hungry, and being polite not to say anything. Major tip-off is people stuffing olives, pickles and buns into their mouths when they think I'm not looking.

Finally we just feed the kids (minus turkey), and I thank God I made meatballs. Kids are eating, we are still violently stabbing the turkey with a meat thermometer, hoping ticking it with the fingernails will make the dial go up to 180 (this doesn't work by the way). Finally at 6:30 the turkey is done. We all sit down and stuff our faces full. Everyone was happy with delirium to be eating, mumbling "good dinner" between mouthfuls of stuffing and cranberries. I was just happy to be sitting down. All in all I'd say success!!!

The only sad part came after everyone left and I spied the counter full of pots and pans that I needed to wash. You can accurately guess I just filled them with cold, soapy water - and left them for my husband to wash the next morning while I slept in until 10:30. After all, too many cooks in the kitchen; kiss the chef; and thou who spent two days cooking deserves a reprieve.


Em said...

Wow...a near-disaster averted. Glad it all turned out okay in the end. Especially the avoidance of washing dishes!

Anonymous said...

Sounds like a successful Thanksgiving. And yeeHAH about getting out of dish duty.

Any leftovers today?

Anonymous said...

Waiting for meat to finish cooking is the worst! Glad it turned out okay and you didn't even have to do the dishes!

Slick said...

You made your husband wash the dishes?? So cruel!

Sounds like it all worked out...was there enough food left over for me?