Thanksgiving 2013 – The Rest of the Story

Have you ever had one of those perfect days planned. Everything is all bright, and shiny and ready to go. It’s gonna be perfect. Just like in the movies. And then you’re “movie-like life” turns into Christmas Vacation (or some other silly comedic romp)?

Yeah, today had a bit of that, but only a bit. At least my oven didn’t catch on fire. Had that happen to a friend of mine…and she didn’t even believe her daughter when she said it was on fire. Thankfully they’re all ok.

But back to the Hectic Household’s Thanksgiving…

We have a 24lb bird. Please do not ask whether it was a Tom or a Hen. I don’t know. I didn’t look at the receipt to see. My youngest daughter and my mother think I’m an abject failure because I can’t answer that question. But I didn’t see either of them up in the wee hours of the morning stuffing this big ole turkey. So there.

So the 24lb bird consumed all of the Sausage-based Stuffing that I made. I was intending for between a quarter and half to be baked separately, but the cavities in this bird were huge. It was like a never-ending pit.

So the bird was stuffed and went into the oven bright and early. Then I used my over-the-top nerdish spreadsheet to figure out the timing for all the other components (check out our Thanksgiving Menu). I had it all figured out.

For whatever reason, I got a burr under my saddle and decided to start on actually mashing the potatoes an hour early. I was planning on doing this by hand, but my arm literally felt like it was going to fall off after 15 minutes. So I searched the entire kitchen for my ancient hand mixer. Somewhere along the line I realized that my old hand mixer has been replaced by a newer model. At least I think the newer one is mine. It is entirely possible that the one that I used belongs to one of the two daughters who didn’t make it home for Thanksgiving this year. I should have it cleaned and returned to the lazy susan before I see either of them (not before Christmas).

So I started with the hand mixer and four pounds of crock-pot cooked potatoes. And I mixed. And I mixed. Then I added some more milk. Then some cream cheese. Then I mixed some more. I kept looking at the recipe and tried to figure out how much more liquid I dared to add. No matter how hard I tried, I had lumps the size of a quarter potato that kept surfacing. I had planned to take pictures of all the food during various stages of preparation, but part way through the hand-mixing there was a bit of a mishap and the camera was sent away from the kitchen. I got most of the potatoes, milk, and spices off the cabinet, counter, and floor. At least I got most of it, right? The camera is going to take a bit longer. Let’s just say the potatoes were not ready for their close-up, Mr. DeMille.

So there I was working on the potatoes, and the timer went off for the turkey. Right on time. Right in line with what the spreadsheet said. So the potatoes were bundled up to cook some more, and the turkey came out of the oven. I carefully inserted the meat thermometer, and it wasn’t close. I mean not-by-a-mile not close. So the bird returned to the oven.

The hand-mixer and I attacked the potatoes. But at this point, I was still within the wiggle room built into the spreadsheet (this isn’t my first rodeo with that spreadsheet, so there’s lots of codified wiggle room). I started the jarred gravy heating. I had planned on making a simple gray with the drippings from the pan, but there were howls of disapproval from the kids when I asked, so I defaulted to Heinz Turkey Gravy (it was on sale at the grocery store). The sweet potatoes were cooking away in the lower oven, the strawberry rhubarb pie was cooking below them. I paused my hand-mixer induced euphoria to check on the pie…and noticed that one of the potatoes was dripping onto the pie. I quickly cleaned the pie and moved the potato. The pie was in the clear. But of course, I didn’t think about the potato sitting directly on the oven rack, already dripping. Clear shot to the bottom of the oven. You know, the one that doesn’t have a drip pan, nor foil, nor a silpat. I don’t know why, it just doesn’t.

So back to the potatoes. Then the turkey timer went off. Warmer, but not ready. Reset the timer, back to the potatoes. Then the pie’s timer when off. I opened the oven, to the really unappetizing face-full of smoke you get when sweet potatoes decided to drip all over the bottom of the oven. The pie was whisked away from the smoke, a pan was employed to catch the sweet potato drippings, and I used my kitchen ninja skills to sop up the not-yet-hardened nor encrusted nor completely burned drippings on the bottom of the oven. That earned me a little burn on my finger…right through the oven glove. Not a bad burn, but one of those irritating ones that rubs against everything.

Back to the potatoes. Stir the gravy. More potatoes. I was worried that the potatoes would never be done. My Mom arrived in the midst of all this, took a peek at the turkey, marveled at the quantity of potatoes I’d made (remember, so food for ten is a big meal to her nowadays), and disappeared to visit with the rest of the family.

I checked the turkey again and finally made the rash decision that the stuffing was going to have to come out of the bird if there was any hope that it would ever be fully cooked. So I hefted the bird out of the oven and onto the cooktop. I noted that the meat thermometer was still in the bird. Then I did things in the wrong order, and I’m going to be paying for that mistake for a while. I took off my oven gloves, then went to remove the meat thermometer from the gigantic turkey. I have two meat thermometers, one with a heat resistent rim around the top, and one without. Today I picked the one without and managed to burn my thumb, forefinger, middle finger, and ring finger. Why I missed my pinky I’m not sure. Anyway, even the nearly-cooked turkey blushed when I let loose with my expletives. My 22 year-old twins thought it was pretty funny. They tried to hide their mirth, but they failed. Miserably.

So the turkey was de-stuffed then returned to the oven. The spreadsheet and I were now about 30 minutes out of sync, so I announced that dinner would be late. Of course, that’s when I discovered the entire family in the other room eating crackers and cheese balls. In retrospect I wonder if they thought that was all the food they were going to get today, at the rate I was going.

I attacked the potatoes with a vengeance, and got them close enough to serve. I got the jarred gravy ready to go. The turkey finally go far enough along that I could carve it. The rolls were made. I completed the gravy with pan drippings and got it onto the table. The accursed sweet potatoes were removed from their foil, sliced in half, and presented to the table. We said grace and everybody dug in. Well, everybody except me. I went to tend to my burned fingers and then changed clothes.

It hadn’t hit me that I’d been in the mashed potato kill zone when they started firing from the hand mixer. I was pretty much a mess.

But the good thing was, the meal was well-received. The company was great, the food delicious, and the cleanup wasn’t that bad. Well, except for the mashed potatoes that I have to get off the can lights when they cool down.

Hope your Thanksgiving was as fun as mine was!