Originally Posted by
Mrleft8
I run out to the back porch and flip open the lid of the cooler and...... It seems OK.... No foul odor... I give it a poke with my finger... UH OH!... the top 1/4" is OK, but it's still a rock below that. Damn these efficient Coleman coolers! I pull the semi-thawed birdzilla out of the cooler and set it in the sink with a damp cloth draped over it. I get back to the livingroom and see the phone is still on the coffee table. "Hello?" Seems I forgot to hang up. So I invite the DJ to stop by and join us on her way home from work. She laughs and says "Maybe I will.". A little later it is announced that a 6:00AM airing of "Alice's restaurant" has been added to the play list.
A small glitch developes when the person who was going to stop by "Scotty's" to borrow chairs calls up to say that Scotty is having his daughter and a friend over, so we can't have all the chairs... I count on my fingers....That's 3 people, how many folding chairs were you going to borrow? 10. Well, can we borrow 7? Um.....Hadn't thought of that.... Lemme ask, Click.
I wake up just in time to miss the early airing of the song. I check the turkey, it feels fine. This is the point where I realise that I have NO idea how to cook a bird this size.
I call mom.
I wedge the freshly washed beast into the aluminum foil pan ,breast side down, and sprinkle it with Bell's poultry seasoning. Pre-heat the oven to 450f and..... Hmmmmmm. Doesn't quite look like it'll fit in the apartment sized oven.... I pull the rack which I had put on the lowest rack slide out completely. I tie the wing tips and legs together and bind them down tight. It JUST fits. sure the back is touching the oven top.... but that won't matter...
I fire up the stove top and start making cranberry sauce. After 20 minutes I open the oven, slide the super heated monster out onto the oven door and try to flip it over. Ever try to flip a red hot 30 pound slick with fat turkey over? After a few tries I manage it. I dust the breast side with Bell's poultry seasoning, and rosemary and garlic, turn the temp. down to 325 and slide the hulk back into the oven. now the breast is touching the roof of the oven, but what can I do? The wing tips have come loose too, and are touching the sides of the oven. Never has an oven been so completely utilized.
The phone starts to ring. What time are we expected? Where do you live? What do you need us to bring? I talked to Scotty, We can have all the chairs. Is it OK if he and his daughter and friend join us? He forgot to buy a turkey...
I realise I have no idea how to make stuffing. I have all the ingredients, thanks to a shopping list provided by my mother the week before but...
I call mom.
Around 3 people start showing up. Food is piled on the table. Paper plates and genuine steel utensils are put out. A few misguided souls thought they would "Just pop the pie in the oven to finish it off.".... I have just put the stuffing into the cavity for the final 20 minutes.
Someone has decided that it's just not Thanksgiving without a fire in the fireplace. Nevermind that the oven has been keeping the house at sauna like tempatures for the last 6 hours.... All doors and windows are open, and it's still a sweat lodge.
I pull the turkey out, and with the help of two others we haul it over to sit on the kitchen woodstove (Thank GOD no one thought we needed THAT fired up!) to "rest".
The oven looks kind of odd empty, but it quickly fills with a couple of pies, which are then replaced by a sweet potato caserole, and something else in a covered dish.
I go outside to get some air. There are cars parked up and down the street. The Caspar Inn must be doing great business. I'll just slip across the street and grab a quick cold beer and relax for a second.
The door is locked. I peer through the door. The lights are down. Then I notice the paper note on the other door. "Opening at 6Thanksgiving day"
HOLY SH!T! ALL these people are at MY house?!
I run back across the road and sure enough the entire front room/livingroomm/diningroom is wall to wall people, spilling out the front door onto the porch, the view through the bedroom window looks much the same.
Someone has carved the bird, and everyone has a plate piled with food. People introduce themselves and friends that they brought with them. By the time I get a frosty beer and slam it down, and grab a plate..... There is one dried out, slightly charred wingtip left. The turkey skeleton looks like something you'd see at the museum of natural history.
I fill my plate with side dishes.
"Having seconds eh? That turkey sure was good!"
"No these are my firsts, and I wouldn't know about the turkey...."
Everyone laughs, thinking that I'm joking.
The party continues into the evening. The Caspar Inn opens up and an improptu "Open Mike" night occurs.
One really good thing was that I did no dishes. People chipped in and I just sat on the front porch drinking beer and unwinding. Talking to people I would probably never see again. At around 7 an old Buick Skylark, with a rotted out muffler chugs to a stop out front.
An attractive woman with long dark hair climbs out and walks up to the porch. "Hi, is this where Doug lives?"
I'd know that voice anywhere! "KC?!" I get her a plate of left overs and a beer. We sit and talk into the wee small hours of the night.
It was a good Thanksgiving indeed! Karen and I remained "an item" for the next 8 months, until I had to return to the real world on the east coast....
Ruth, feck, and gorm
Re: As requested, the annual Mendocino Thanksgiving story...
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