They say all good things must come to an end. Apparently "they" are the phone company, who burst my brief bubble of happiness by cruelly reinstating my Internet only to wrench it from my giddy grasp a day later. AT&T giveth, and AT&T taketh away.
If I have any readers at all at this point I'd be flabbergasted. If you have faithfully checked for signs of life each day, or if you subscribe to my RSS feed, bless you. And also, maybe get out a little more.
I could give you the avalanche of WHAT THE HOO HAH that has buried me up to my neck in the past month, but I'll spare you. THAT IS YOUR CHRISTMAS PRESENT. You're welcome. Suffice it to say I am the proverbial camel. And if I see one more straw, I may just lose it. I don't know what will happen, nor when—I may kick a squirrel, or set something on fire (I'm looking at you, side-view-mirror-destroying tree)—but it will involve obscenities.
If you work at AT&T, be alert. That's all I'm saying.
So, as I prepare to bid farewell to the shitstorm that was 2008, I send it out not with a bang, nor a whimper, but with a smorgasbord. Few things cannot be solved by the 2/$5 Cheez-Its deal at Publix. On the Woodside, this is also known as the 2 boxes/5 minutes deal. I would tell you I'm fattening myself up for winter, but the 70-degree temperatures belie such a plan.
Thanksgiving, which seems light-years ago, was spent at the G's lake house. It's a lovely homestead, with views of the water and a grassy hill and the world's steepest driveway. It required war-room-type planning, because I had to determine what to make ahead of time, what to make at the house, and what supplies I'd need in each case. I was joined by
LSis and MJ, four dogs, and JLB—aka The Cripple. (JLB's 2008 leaves something to be desired, too. Ask her about her epic fall, the tragic knee injury, and the hard-boiled egg at the root of it all.)
The night before our much-anticipated departure, I made
Curried Calabaza Soup, making sure I brought a little extra vegetable broth. I used acorn squash in place of the calabaza, and it came out a smidge thick.
In retrospect I would have thinned it a bit more, and I did wish the curry had been punchier and I'd had some cold sour cream to cut the heat, but there were clean bowls when all was said and done. Behind that you see the "cranberry sauce." Thanksgiving WITHOUT FAIL produces at least twice the cranberry sauce you need, and I was hoping for a turkey breast that wouldn't need the sauce for hydration purposes. So I made Giada's
Cranberry Lime Bellinis. If you don't make cranberry sauce, you might as well get sauced WITH cranberries. Unfortunately, this is my line of thinking on a lot of subjects.
I also made
Smashed Potatoes with Goat Cheese and Chives. I packed some extra milk so that I could moisturize them a little on reheating, and they went the way the soup
should have gone. We had mashed soup and potato soup.
I also packed some extra chives for garnish. These were good but not transcendent, and I wouldn't be in a Wal-mart stampede to make them again. Tasty, and super useful as leftovers, but not anything worth slapping your mother over.
In lieu of baking, I picked up some Publix challah.
I love that eggy bread. It wasn't as good as
Big Sky challah, but a smear of butter cures all ills.
On site, I made
Broccoli with Cheddar Sauce.
At the last minute I decided to double the sauce (hence obliterating the
Cooking Light benefit). Those brown flecks come from the most delicious
Maille whole-grain mustard. Yes, you pay more of a premium than you would on, say, Southern Home, but as a person who has carried on a lifelong love affair with mustard, I can tell you without hesitation: It's so worth it. As Rachael Ray would stupidly and repetitively say (always ALWAYS about nutmeg), "It's that little something in the background that makes them say, 'Hmmm ... What is that?'" It's your dignity, Ray Ray.
JLB made dressing.
There was lots of tasty stuff in it (including hard-boiled eggs—HARBINGER OF DOOM!), and I even set aside my usual anti-wet-bread stance to give it a whirl. I may be a convert.
LSis made the world's. tastiest. pie.
It's made more elegant by her impressive swirly handiwork, but if you really want to wow some folks, ask her for the recipe. It was almost disturbingly delicious, like an enormous Reese's cup with a chocolate-chip-cookie crust. Commence mother slapping.
And of course, I made the turkey breast.
Spiced Turkey Breast, to be precise.
I foist my mustard love on everyone, even when I'm not indulging in the main course. I wanted to take it out about an hour before it was done, but LSis forcibly restrained me from passing platters of salmonella around.
Ultimately I thought it seemed a little bit dry, but the carnivores swore up and down that it wasn't.
Here's the finished composition, complete with the gravy that MJ reminded me 386 times that he MUST HAVE on T-day.
Aaaaaaaaaand aftermath.
LSis pried every available piece of meat off the bone for optimal day-after consumption.
(See those flaky, dehydrated looking portions? Methinks carnivores are LIARS.)
And, though LSis is by definition something of a hardass, a fair bit of bird went into these two.
Bellies full and glasses atipsy, we left the boy to do the dishes and settled into crooked smiles and food comas.
I gave thanks for lovely friends, cozy rain, and more absurdly competitive board games than I ever thought possible (excellent intoxication test: If you're playing Taboo, and someone gives you clues about Pretty Woman, Steel Magnolias, Richard Gere, and prostitute, and you can't name Julia Roberts? It's time for bed.).
J gave thanks for tryptophan. And beagle butts.
