Bird out, stuffing made, sweet potato casserole assembled, potatoes ready to cook in water, two batches of muffins made, just gravy, fennel and brussel dishes to go by the time Jack returned from visiting grama, which he claimed made her whole day. And maybe it did.
I was in the middle of whipping potatoes when blonde Heather arrived on the scene; a nice addition, new energy. She brought a veggie tray, nice healthy foods before the giant onslaught of butter, cream and fat.
Jack came and was going to just sit and drink more. I had finally had enough and asked if he could help my heroic husband on the final two dishes; this is always a mistake, to let Jack in there. He of course burned the sweet potato dish, and managed to throw a stick of butter on top of the already delicious creamed fennel, just to be Jack. What is a meal with out lard and not following directions to him? Why, not a meal at all!
My folks arrived during this final push. My mom a bit on the tense side as she didn’t help but to make the cranberries, what with having gone off to Hawaii for a week before, and then with my grandmother to focus all of her worries on this week. Blonde Heather makes up for the small talk. With her flirty chatty nature she talks up a storm of nonsense, which is what every party needs, conversation to fill the air.
Heather is telling everyone how I purposely planned to have my Hanuka party on a date she had chosen and told all about. I would have done no such thing. Had no idea she was planning a holiday party, let alone which date. Last minute I agreed with my husband we would have one again, and looked at my complicated work calendar and saw my four days off come from the 13th to the 16th, so decided on Saturday the 15th. For dramatic effect Heather makes it a head on competition. Posted her party for the 22nd and invited my husband and I both. But as she has built up this drama in her head, has not RSVPed for our Hanuka shindig. To which, say lovee, I shrug my tired non-competitive shoulders at.
Jack started slicing up my bird before I realized what was happening. I made him put it back together so I could take my grand picture of my first ever bird paired with side dishes, family and Heather behind round the table. Jack had managed to burn the top of the sweet potato casserole (which tasted just fine) and did the same to the fennel. Was jacking off while carving the turkey, in the sense that he wouldn’t allow me to bring out any of it until he had arranged it all out in some laborious Jack like fashion on our platter. I served myself small piles of things on my plate as Heather continued her repartee. My mom finally came and did the same to her plate, and I passed out our muffins; crazy rich from a Paula Dean recipe, just softballs of heaviness in the hand.
I ladled the thick porcini gravy into a cream pitcher as I haven’t a gravy boat, commented a little too loud how well it came out, sans bacon, a comment I threw in for Jack and his lard laden ways.
I gave a toast, we clinked glasses, my brother demanded heatedly that I look him in the eye while clinking; well, there were so many to clink, and who could take their eyes off of that yummy plate of a thousand smells?
Not once did Jack say a kind word about all of the foods. But I thanked him, and of course my heroic husband for his efforts all. Late to the party came interloper Jimmy, which was welcome to give the group someone else to chat with and break up the familiness of our gathered union. Blonde Heather made plans to go walking with me this morn pre my sample sale indulgence. Complimented us profusely on our cooking. A successful first Thanksgiving meal made by me, and my team of worker bees, husband, and brother Jack. And mom's asked for orange cranberries were a fabulous addition.