Sunday, December 1, 2019
Belated Thanksgiving Feast
Yesterday dawned misty and gray. When I took Olga on her morning walk, our neighborhood looked like this -- ghostly trees and empty streets.
I got back into bed and read. But by late morning the mist burned off and the city came to life. Olga and I went to the Heath around 11 a.m., under a blue sky, amid golden autumn light:
And, of course, she terrorized squirrels.
Dave, meanwhile, spent most of yesterday working on our traditional Thanksgiving feast for ten (!), which we hosted last night. Lest I sound like I stuck him with the household drudgery while I was off gallivanting around the forests of North London, let me say, Dave gets so excited when he's cooking -- it animates him like nothing else, even music. I have learned to stay out of the way (an imperative in our tiny kitchen) and let him do his thing.
By the time Olga and I got back, the mashed potatoes were done, the dressing was baking and everything else was as prepared as it could be at that point. After bathing the dog, I helped Dave hoist Greg -- that's what he named our spatchcocked turkey -- into the oven, and then he worked on the side dishes with periodic assistance from me. We made my mom's recipe for sweet potatoes with marshmallows on top, a holiday favorite of mine -- Dave kept insisting it should have an egg in it, and I said, "Trust me. It doesn't." And it turned out perfect, sans egg.
Our guests arrived at 6 p.m., and of course they all brought food too -- we had four pies, five types of bread, and it was all a little insane, which I suppose it should be at Thanksgiving. We served all the food buffet-style, laid out on our two dining room tables. (For once I was glad that we have two of them!) I am happy to report that Greg was delicious.
One of our guests, who is Finnish, had never celebrated Thanksgiving before. She kept moaning about how full she was. "That's the point!" I told her.
Exhausted Olga, after her long walk, begged some food and then went to sleep on top of everyone's coats, finding them mysteriously preferable to her pink blanket.
I don't even know what time everyone departed, but I'd been working on dishes intermittently so everything wasn't stacked up at the end of the night. (Dave cooks; I do cleanup.) I washed two loads of dishes last night and woke up at 5 a.m. to tackle a third, and to hand-wash the wine and martini glasses and a few other odds and ends. I think it's all more or less under control now (except the broiler pan -- ugh).
We put away so many leftovers that the refrigerator is stuffed. We froze a few things just because the only space we had was in the freezer. You should see the pile of turkey we still have to eat. We seriously won't need to shop for a week.