Thinking of Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. I love getting together with family and friends to share good food. I'm glad that we're hosting Thanksgiving again this year after two years of reprieve. Two years ago we had just moved into this house and I didn't think I could get our house organized in time to have everyone here. Last year we were in Arizona to celebrate Marty's grandpa's wedding. So this year we're here and I've pretty much unpacked from our move.
As I've been planning for Thursday, I've been thinking about past Thanksgivings. I seem to have a gap in my childhood memories, but it's a pretty safe bet that we spent most of them with the Mitchell family. Here are my Grandpa Mitchell and me, I'd guess I'm probably about the same age that Sophie is now:
My most vivid Thanksgiving memories are from recent years. I remember the first Thanksgiving I was in college when I invited a few people from the dorms that were too far from home and one guy showed up in a three piece suit and a fedora. I remember the Thanksgiving when I was in Europe, spending the evening having dinner with my friend Jessy in Salzburg.
The first Thanksgiving that I hosted in my own home was memorable because I was pregnant, had a terrible cold, and had to turn the table at an angle in order to fully extend it in the dining room to accommodate all of our guests. The second Thanksgiving I hosted in that house I made a turkey so large that the legs touched the sides of the oven causing them to burn and fill the house with smoke.
Probably the most memorable Thanksgiving of all was when I was 22 and my mom was in Paris with her girlfriends. It was my first time ever making a turkey or a full meal that relied on timing to get everything to the table at once. This was the same time that the guy I was dating (sort of) showed up the night before with a 40-ounce bottle of Budweiser in a brown paper bag. It's unclear whether he brought it as a gift for my dad or if he just hadn't had time to drink it on the way to my parents house. Either way, that was the last time anyone saw that guy around.
So, as I prepare for this Thanksgiving I know that I've learned a lot. I've got the menu under control, the timing shouldn't be a problem, and God willing no one will show up with a 40 of Bud.
On the table this Thursday (let the cooking begin): Martha's (a) Big Fat Turkey (with Rosemary Gravy made with Giblet Stock), Garlic Mashed Potatoes, Sourdough Stuffing with Sausage and Pears, Chive Green Beans, Salad, Jane's Cranberry Surprise, Jelled Cranberry Straight Out of the Can, Dinner Rolls, Vanilla Ice Cream, Orange-Vanilla Ice Cream, Apple Pie and Chocolate Cookies. Whew.
As I've been planning for Thursday, I've been thinking about past Thanksgivings. I seem to have a gap in my childhood memories, but it's a pretty safe bet that we spent most of them with the Mitchell family. Here are my Grandpa Mitchell and me, I'd guess I'm probably about the same age that Sophie is now:
My most vivid Thanksgiving memories are from recent years. I remember the first Thanksgiving I was in college when I invited a few people from the dorms that were too far from home and one guy showed up in a three piece suit and a fedora. I remember the Thanksgiving when I was in Europe, spending the evening having dinner with my friend Jessy in Salzburg.
The first Thanksgiving that I hosted in my own home was memorable because I was pregnant, had a terrible cold, and had to turn the table at an angle in order to fully extend it in the dining room to accommodate all of our guests. The second Thanksgiving I hosted in that house I made a turkey so large that the legs touched the sides of the oven causing them to burn and fill the house with smoke.
Probably the most memorable Thanksgiving of all was when I was 22 and my mom was in Paris with her girlfriends. It was my first time ever making a turkey or a full meal that relied on timing to get everything to the table at once. This was the same time that the guy I was dating (sort of) showed up the night before with a 40-ounce bottle of Budweiser in a brown paper bag. It's unclear whether he brought it as a gift for my dad or if he just hadn't had time to drink it on the way to my parents house. Either way, that was the last time anyone saw that guy around.
So, as I prepare for this Thanksgiving I know that I've learned a lot. I've got the menu under control, the timing shouldn't be a problem, and God willing no one will show up with a 40 of Bud.
On the table this Thursday (let the cooking begin): Martha's (a) Big Fat Turkey (with Rosemary Gravy made with Giblet Stock), Garlic Mashed Potatoes, Sourdough Stuffing with Sausage and Pears, Chive Green Beans, Salad, Jane's Cranberry Surprise, Jelled Cranberry Straight Out of the Can, Dinner Rolls, Vanilla Ice Cream, Orange-Vanilla Ice Cream, Apple Pie and Chocolate Cookies. Whew.
It's too bad that you were so judgmental about Mr. 40 Ounce. He seemed like he must have been a helluva guy. I'm thinking I might try the "bring a forty-ounce" approach at our upcoming Thanksgiving. Thanks for the tip.
Of course, this would simply provide me with an opportunity to introduce my favorite drinking game, "Edward 40-Hands," in which you and your friends duct-tape forty-ounce beers to each of your hands and see who finishes first. Of course, you are somewhat limited as to what you can do while the beers are taped to your hands. Like, you can't go to the bathroom. It's only 80 ounces. You know, about 6 1/2 cans of beer. No biggie.
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Eric, if you're going to introduce that game might I suggest you bring along some Depends.
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Funny, but I don't remember hearing the story of the giant beer. Maybe it was kept under wraps (in the brown paper bag). I have fond memories of the same Thanksgiving. We four American women went to Harry's Bar in Paris, had martinis and smoked cigars. No wonder Americans have a bad reputation!
I am really looking forward to Jennie's Thanksgiving feast...she is a much better cook than I am!
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Oh, I remember that 40 ounce beer. I think we had good laughs over that one for quite awhile. such a great punchline.
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