Phew...

Hey, Thanksgiving and all that, right?
Let's all go ahead and check that off the list for this year.

We did the whole shebangabang here.
Hell, I am mowing through another plate of leftovers, as I type this.
The big meal deal.

It seems that most years KVC and I fly solo on the Thanksgiving deal.
Not out of any overt contempt for the holiday or people into it, but because it is kinda nice to just chill out together.  You know?
Not this go around, though.
No, we were the dinner for misfit toys.
Just a couple, some of KVC's worky cohorts...
Our buddy Kate was one, and we shall refer to the other as the guest whose name we will not speak.


Anyway, with company coming I got super stoked on doing some full tilt cooking, right...
Hell, cooking Thanksgiving dinner is like the big leagues of cooking for guests, right?
The Big Day, with every dish ready for direct comparison to something some random grandmother made sixteen years ago, that was literally the best thing ever.

So, you gotta get game on for that sorta meal...

The plan, as concocted by me-
Roast a reasonable turkey, for four with leftovers to go.
That crab stuffed portabella action we do every holiday.
Garlic mashed potatoes.
Stuffing, or dressing, or whatever you call it, cornbread base, with sauteed leeks and bonus corn.
Roasted parsnips and carrots, cooked in some broth pretending to be done with the bird.
Brussels sprouts and walnuts, with just a hint of Asian spice/influence.
Rum simmered cranberry concoction thing.
Mushroom gravy, you know, from scratch.
Sweet potato pie, admittedly from a box.
A crock pot full of wassail.

Outside of the potatoes, that was my list, my stuff to cook list.  KVC was on the mashed duty, guests were in for pre-game snacks and wine for the evening.

I learned early in the day, day of, that literally everything is closed on Thanksgiving here.  No secret special only store open situation, it's all closed.  That tripped up our buddy Kate, just a bit, but she recovered with some snacking goodness from an obscure Indian grocer, somewhere north.

So, cool.  We are cooking, and chatting, and snacking like people do on Thanksgiving.  My stress level is toning down, as things are actually on track, with only the last big push to gets things on plates to worry about.  Extra, unnamed guest is late.  It's all cool...

I was feeling pretty good on the bird, by the way.  It's the star of the show, so I kinda think you gotta get that right.
Having not made one for about ten years, it had me nerved.  I ended up reading Alton Brown's dry brine tips a dozen times, 'cause that is my go-to dude for cooking science, and then riffing on the Zuni recipe for roasted chicken as well.  Also plugged a thermostat into the thigh, after about an hour in, and watched like a hawk for 165.

With plenty of cooking time to go, guest number two rolls in.  Additions to our mix include two salami, some pita chips (ranch flavored), smoked salmon and a big bottle of Woodbridge.  OK, whatever, sure.  Dude says he's starving, so I chop up that salami, mix together a plate of existing snacks and, uhm, ranch pita chips and put it on the table...
To keep the crowd out of the kitchen, you know, because I was still cooking.

I am managing the sides cooking times, pulling the bird so that it might rest and absorb all those juicey juices and all.
There is the standard new guest house tour, where KVC tells you something about every third painting on the wall.  More wine was opened, I guess.
Transition time, I pour myself a finger of bourbon, but not my first.  The table starts to get cleared/set.  Folks are loitering, lingering, sitting, sneaking bites of stuff.  Cool.  I get down on the gravy, making the rue, browning the flour, stirring like mad to prevent lumps.  The stove top fan is on, because the whole kitchen could roast things at this point of the day.
What?  Commotion from the girls, in the next room.  Something up, but I am nearly done with gravy.  Focus, stir.  Did somebody say sick?  Gravy done, burners off.
What the fuck?

Yeah, the guest whose name we shall not say popped in the bathroom.
Big time...
KVC saw some of it happening, real time.
Our buddy, Kate, was near saintly with concern.
I took the dude a garbage bag, cleaning products and a big goddamned stink eye.

And then I plated food.
That may seem a little odd, but I was two days deep in planning, prep and cooking and nobody was turning that ship around.
Food was ready to go, for fucks sake.

We sat down to, perhaps, the most awkward Thanksgiving I can imagine...for me, KVC and Kate.
Mystery guest continued to cower in the bathroom/vomitorium.
We cleared plates, had some wine, talked about the elephant in the next room.
And he remained, door closed.
Ice water was delivered, food refrigerated, half smiling/half terrified looks were exchanged.
Dude continued the crapper occupation.
I started a fire, we sat around it, drank wassail.
Still, the unnamed guest remained, like a princess in the tower.
Dogs were walked, a movie was watched, I tended embers.
That door remained closed, light escaping from the crack at the bottom but little else.
Girls went to bed, I had another wassail or two, watched the fire turn to coals.
And after seven long hours, the guest whose name shall not be uttered emerged with a garbage bag and long face...
Few words were exchanged, at that late (early) hour.  I left him slumped on the couch, to find a bit of sleep myself.
All guests snuck out, at some point before the sun came up...


Now, that is a pretty epic Thanksgiving story right there.  I could stop, but it continues.
That bathroom, in spite of many hours available for clean up still was an epic mess.  The purple-black slime still remained, bits of half chewed salami fat mixed in for maximum disgust.  It was fucking gross.  Really bad, the slime, the smell, sticky floor, fucking hell...
It was so bad that I threw away the bucket I used, cleaning it.  The mop, the gloves, everything.  Towels that were in the room, bath mat, the damned toilet paper, the laundry hamper.
It was like a puke hurricane.
Shitballs of awful...


Dear Kate had forgotten her dog's medications, at her pre-dawn departure, and was also leftoverless with all that drama.  She is still recovering from some jetlag, so her egress was understandable, by the way...
We all arrived at the Thanksgiving redo, family leftovers theme.  Comfortable clothes, food reheated in the microwave, dumb movies on TV, no barfing guests version.
The food was just as good, maybe better for not having to think so immediately about what had gone down the first time around.
We shared our trauma, horror and some laughs...and had fun.

So, yeah.
How was your Thanksgiving?


Oh, hey, the guest whose name we dare not speak was hoping to keep this story on the down low...
So, this is just between you and me.