The closest we came to a disaster was the turkey getting done an hour early. Karen covered it with foil and insulated it with a heavy bath towel while we continued our scheduled preparations. We served at exactly 1:30 just as we had planned. But short of any disasters, it was an unusual meal anyway and that was my fault. And Sarah's distinctive laugh will keep it one to remember.
Sarah, our oldest daughter, had planned for Thanksgiving dinner at her house and invited the whole family. Ken and I would be driving 5 hours north with our three school-age kids and Karen, our second daughter would be driving 5 hours west with her husband Jeff and Matthew, their 22-month-old son. Since Sarah worked graveyard shift as a 9-1-1 dispatcher, her e-mail to everyone was, "You send the menu and grocery list; I'll do the shopping; you'll do all the cooking." Her husband, Jon, would get back just in time for Thanksgiving from a short business trip to San Diego. Because I am, among other things, a natural born procrastinator, the Saturday before Thanksgiving dawned and I still had not sent either a menu or a grocery list despite daily naggings by Elizabeth, our 14-year-old.
On my way to work that Saturday morning, I listened to a radio cooking show and was enthralled by their guest chef. He prepares a sumptuous turkey dinner for twelve each year in three ours flat! His only concession: he buys a marvelous dessert to save time and energy and limits all cooking/baking to Thanksgiving Day. Since we all love to bake, I knew we'd be making our own desserts but I figured we could do it early in the morning if we needed to. Besides, Karen and Jeff (both excellent cooks!) would arrive Wednesday afternoon and I knew they'd get things rolling. Still, three hours sounded too good to be true. Thanksgiving dinners always take me a lot longer than that! I managed to completely ignore the learned reality of that cliché: most things that sound too good are.
I listened to the chef (author of several best-selling cookbooks) and the host rave about how delicious everything was and go into great detail about his innovations and preparations. At the close of the show they gave a phone number to call for a complete menu and all the recipes. I rummaged around trying to find a pen and some scrap of paper within my reach as I drove. Nada. Then they gave a web address: splendidtable.com. I abandoned the paper search. If I kept repeating the web address out loud, even I should be able to remember it for the ten minutes it would take me to be at the office.
I unlocked the front door and rushed into the office still reciting the web site in what was now a sing-song chant. I fired up my computer and a second one in the office as well. Mine I'd need for work, but when the second computer was up and running I logged on, entered the URL and went straight to the Thanksgiving feast. I clicked to print the entire menu, timeline and all recipes then turned back to my own work while the printer behind me began spitting out copies.
At home that evening I looked it all over. I should have recognized one error right to begin with: the menu did not include mashed potatoes! The second glaring omission that I glossed over: there were no fresh-baked rolls. Now, I have to tell you that you cannot serve a Thanksgiving dinner sans mashed potatoes and rolls. Why, it's downright un-American! It rates right up there with quiche on the Fourth of July. Or cold corn flakes for a hunters' breakfast. Or . . . rabbit stew for Easter! Face it, there are some things that just can't be done. Besides, what would that do to tradition for what was a traditional meal?
But, short of those specific gaffes I was willing to give his menu a shot. It included green beans with julianned lemon zest that actually sounded good since I love green beans with plenty of lemon-pepper. It also featured sweet potato home fries. Now I confess that we don't eat sweet potatoes since I'm the only one who tolerates them, but fixed in a new and different way maybe others could be coerced into trying them. Maybe. It would be something unique on our table and, nutritionally speaking, a vegetable we should be eating anyway. Then there was a fresh cranberry-orange relish. Although I knew it was a very popular relish and close to becoming traditional for Thanksgiving, it was one I had never prepared. I was willing to disregard the fact that I didn't prepare it because everyone hated cranberries. During the radio show, the host and the chef had traded glowing descriptions about this, their very favorite, wonderful, most excellent relish. It was easy, delicious and obviously fit for the gods. The chef had altered the recipe slightly from the one on the back of the fresh cranberry package and added fresh chopped mint and cayenne pepper to give it a little "bite."
Late Sunday evening, Elizabeth and I sat down to the computer to make out our menu and an associated grocery list. I included all those things we have come to expect of our Thanksgiving feast as well as the (optional) new additions and Elizabeth's wish list for desserts. The grocery list was three pages long. I assumed Sarah would take a look at the menu and accompanying list and automatically reject anything suspect. Like cranberries and sweet potatoes. She didn't. She stripped the list off her printer on her way out the door at night and the next morning hit the grocery stores when she got off work. She drove miles to find fresh mint and oregano and sage. She cruised six stores to add fresh kiwi and pineapple. She located specific olive oil at a small yuppie mart and managed to discovered some special bottles of sparkling fruit drinks for the kids. She had Jon pick up a few items and left me an e-mail saying if I really wanted the wine I listed I'd have to bring it myself . . . Tualatin Valley Sparkling Muscat was unavailable in the entire area northeast of Seattle. She finally crawled into bed for some much-needed sleep knowing the only thing she had left to do was pick up the fresh kosher turkey on Wednesday. Her part was done.
When we arrived late Wednesday night, Karen had a pumpkin pie already sitting on a cooling rack and a shell baked for the lemon meringue. The dressing was sliced, diced, mixed and waiting in a Rubbermaid container in the refrigerator right next to the roll dough she had kneaded to perfection. In the refrigerator I also found 1 1/2 lbs. of cranberries and a bag of sweet potatoes. Now I was obligated. No matter what my initial reason for including those things in the menu, they were now a reality and I not only had to treat them seriously, I had to prepare them as if I knew what I was doing. We all visited for a bit, got the hide-a-bed out, the sleeping bags in and settled down for a short autumn nap.
6:00 am arrived sooner than I wanted but Karen and Jeff were up with the baby even earlier and we all converged on the kitchen. The pies had to be finished before we could get the turkey in the oven. Jeff, who had once been a chef himself, was now the family slice-master and worked on appetizer trays for pre-meal grazing. Karen whipped up a chocolate cream pie and we got the apple pie in the oven. Karen got the turkey stuffed and in the oven as soon as the pie came out. A pan of water went on the stove to cook the neck and giblets for gravy and Jeff added chopped veges for flavor. I peeled potatoes into a stockpot of cold water for later and prepared and par-boiled the sweet potatoes and green beans. Then I went to work on the cranberries and oranges. Jeff found a manual food processor but after ten minutes, I couldn't get it to work satisfactorily. Karen tried. Then Jeff tried. We finally gave up and I tackled them with the blender. The recipe was very clear, though: do not over-process. So, little bit by little bit I worked away at chopping the cranberries. What is the line between chopped enough and over-processed? Especially when I had to just hit the blend button then push everything down and hit it again over and over again. After about 45 minutes I gave up. I still had about a cup of cranberries that had not been processed but I didn't care anymore.
By then Elizabeth was up and we went to work on the fruit salad. I kept the cooking dishes done and when the turkey got done an hour early, we called Sarah to help and the boys to set the table. Sarah, Jeff and Karen chopped the potatoes for boiling. The sweet potatoes went into a baking pan with fresh minced garlic, chopped fresh parsley and olive oil. We turned the heat up to 500. They should be done in 25 minutes so the rolls could go in. After 15 minutes I opened the oven to toss the potato wedges only to find the oven just warm. We fiddled with the dial. Another 15 minutes and nothing looked better. We couldn't wait. The rolls went in below the potatoes. I started stir-frying the green beans and lemon zest strips. Again, a 15 minute check showed little change in the status of the potatoes. The oven was warm enough to allow the rolls to raise more but nothing was getting done. Karen turned the heat down and the oven came on. The potatoes, not brown, came out and the rolls were moved up. At 1:30 everything went on the table. The potatoes never did brown, the beans were beautiful but crunchy and Karen's rolls were too dark on the bottom.
Karen couldn't believe it. "We forfeited rolls for . . . sweet potatoes?!" She shook her head in dismay and dumped the rolls into a napkin lined bowl. She sighed. "Oh, well . . ." I figured those potatoes better be good. We sat down to eat.
The turkey was delicious. The gravy, mashed potatoes, stuffing and fruit salad were perfect. Karen's rolls were, as always, glorious even with dark bottoms. The sweet potatoes were . . . well, sweet potatoes. I ate some. Ken ate some without comment. They were not high on my list of something to forfeit Karen's rolls for. Not next time, anyway. In fact, not ever. The green beans were beautiful and stayed that way as I scraped them off plates and into the garbage much later when I was cleaning up. But the relish . . . that was a real conversation piece!
Sarah burst out laughing part way through the meal.
"What?" I asked.
"Karen got something she didn't like," she managed to say, almost doubled over with laughter. I peered through the flowers to see Karen across the table from me. Her face was contorted into a painful grimace with her eyes screwed tightly shut and her lips quivering. She shuddered from her head down then gulped both visibly and audibly.
"(gasp!) What is that?" Jeff thrust a glass of wine in her outstretched hand.
"Um, it's the fresh cranberry-orange relish." I said, looking down at my own plate to the large, colorful mound I had not yet tasted.
Sarah was still laughing. "It can't be that bad!" She picked up her fork and tried it, blanched, and grabbed her napkin so she wouldn't have to swallow what was in her mouth. "I stand corrected."
Elizabeth looked at the small spoonful on her plate.
"Go ahead, try some," Sarah and Karen both encouraged her, eyes twinkling.
Elizabeth dipped the tines of her fork in the relish and slowly touched them to her tongue. "Eyew!" She, too, grabbed a glass of the closest liquid to wash the offending taste away. Her sisters both hooted with laughter as Elizabeth's eyes teared, threatening to wash her contacts out.
Ken looked at all of them. "I tried it and it wasn't too bad," he said and picked up his spoon to eat yet another large bite just to prove his point. I truly don't know if he meant it or if he was being chivalrous. "Try some," he told our sons in a no-nonsense tone of voice.
"Not me!" Garrett, 8, informed him and set about pushing the rest of his food away from the small spoon of it I had put on his plate.
"No, thank you," Brian, 11, answered. I noticed that he was smart and hadn't served himself any in the first place.
"Where's Mikey?" Karen asked, having fully regained her voice and referring to a TV commercial cliché. "Let's let Mikey try it!" There was a chorus of hoots.
I didn't look to see if either of my sons-in-law had served himself any and at this point I wasn't about to suggest that they do so. If fact, I hoped very much that they had not.
I picked up my fork. Everyone at the table watched as I lifted a bite of the relish to my mouth. The moment it hit my tongue, whatever taste buds are sensitive to bitter went on system overload. The pungent, bitter, repulsive flavor of orange peel blotted out everything except that spicy little addition of cayenne. I swallowed since chewing was redundant but the aftertaste lingered. I smiled and ate a second bite and a third. That was as much as my own pride could force me to eat.
"Hmmm. It's a bit unusual, isn't it? Doesn't taste quite like I expected." I mean, what else could I say? I honestly don't think I had even considered it enough to have any kind of expectation. I had definitely struck out, though. Three for three. Potatoes, beans, relish. Ouch. The main problem in my own mind is that I am a good cook. Or, rather, I used to be. This foray into the unknown didn't leave much hope for the future. When did I quit recognizing automatically that something was just plain lousy and reject it before spending time and money on it?
"Do people actually eat that stuff?" Karen asked. It seemed to put an end to the discussion and we continued the meal in happy gluttony. I guess it was "be kind to grandma" day since no one even mentioned the beans or the potatoes. Fortunately there was plenty of other food to satisfy appetites. Besides, we'd all been grazing on Jeff's deli trays.
When everyone was sated, Ken and Jon headed to the family room where there is a TV and a computer. The rest of the family braved the Seattle-area rain to put up all of Sarah's new outside Christmas lights. I cleaned the table and did dishes. I had a nice, big bowl of cranberry-orange relish to do something with. I didn't shed any tears when it wouldn't fit in the refrigerator but it came home with us the next day. It's now in my refrigerator. We've added about two cups of sugar to see if it would help and now, after five days, the taste does seem to be mellowing. It's not quite so bitter. My sister says it will happily sit in the refrigerator for several weeks and, from her experience, will actually be edible by about Christmas. She likes the relish but even she shuddered at the thoughts of serving up orange peel quite so fresh. We also added what was left of the one can of cranberries we had opened Thanksgiving day.
So now, instead of two pounds of relish nobody likes, I have over three. With the rate at which it's growing, by Christmas we should be ready for commercial distribution. I'm sure my refrigerator will hold sufficient quantities to serve everyone in the world who likes "fresh" cranberry-orange relish. Besides, unlike a bakery, we won't waste any since no one will be tempted to "taste test."
