Thanksgiving is two days away, have you started to thaw your turkey? Usually, this is the day that I go over all the recipes and do one final check of ingredients to make sure I have everything. Going to the store today is far better than rushing tomorrow after work to get a can of jellied cranberry.
Back in my twenties, my best friend and I hosted dinner at my house for all the single folks in our unit. She agreed to bring over the turkey since I had the roasting pan—a simple plan. Except she bought a giant turkey, and there was no way the bird would fit into my pan. Off she went to the Super K, the only store open on Thanksgiving, and when she rushed back into the house, she let out a war cry. She had grabbed the last pan, breaking through a mass of people to get it.
One guy offered her fifty bucks for the five-dollar pan, and she admitted she considered it. But she remembered we had a dozen folks coming over, and while using the money for booze might make the day more merry, folks were expecting something to eat. What a Thanksgiving that turned out to be, but I learned a valuable lesson—buy the damn turkey myself.
The funny thing about all the cooking is, by the time everything gets on the table, I don’t want to eat any of it. Quite frankly, I’m sick of it before I take a bite. Why is that? I love every dish I put out, crave it all a month before the big event. And by the time everyone gets settled, all I want is a cheeseburger.
I sound like Dawn in Daughter of the South Wind. You can find out what I mean when you read it.