T-minus Turkey Day

For the past several weeks I was looking forward to sharing Thanksgiving with one of my favorite people anywhere.  It came about, however, that my brother was able to join us, and he independently hatched a last-minute scheme involving a two-seater airplane that suddenly subjected our holiday to the vagaries of cloudy skies and practice-intensive hobbies. 

He left Seattle on Sunday morning, and it wasn't until Wednesday afternoon that he arrived in California.  It wasn't till Wednesday night after the Beer Mile that all three of us were finally assembled and able to determine a Thanksgiving plan. 

A track, four beers, and thou.  Miller Time.

It was about 11 p.m., as Beaker followed his 7+ beers of the evening with a couple of glasses of port, that he informed us that would not be able to fly before 11 a.m. the next day.  "Twelve hours, bottle to throttle."

(He's a font of these little aphorisms.  On sleep: "The more you get, the more you need."  On exercise: "Pain is the feeling of weakness leaving your body."  On clean runways and consciences: "If there's doubt, there is no doubt.") 

Given that it's a 5 hour drive to L.A. in non-holiday traffic, and Beaker was insistent for his part on flying, the logistics of arriving at my heart's desire by dinnertime proved overwhelming.  We went to bed.

I woke up on Thursday thinking, how am I going to put together a Thanksgiving dinner by tonight, when my mom freaks out with weeks to prepare?  I looked around the kitchen, and lo, we had all the vegetables we needed from the farmer's market the week before.  Potatoes, turnips, sweet potatoes, celery, mushrooms, Thai broccoli, bread for stuffing.  And we had everything we needed for pie in the cupboard.  At first I thought it was remarkable, because I picture Thanksgiving preparation as a lot of rushing around buying specialty foods.  Then I realized that the whole point of Thanksgiving was to celebrate the bounty of Autumn, and since that's what the Farmer's Market (and the Milk Pail) served up regularly, we were all set.  Except for one thing.

Where was I going to find a turkey in time to cook it for dinner? 

Brining was out of the question.  Frozen would be impossible.  But more to the point, would there be any turkeys left on Thanksgiving morning?

I set out with a sense of foreboding.  The roads were empty.

Not a good sign.

I headed to the Milk Pail, because I remembered they'd had signs up about ordering fresh, local turkeys well in advance.  Maybe they'd have a cancellation.

But the Milk Pail was closed.

A terrible sign!

I'd never seen a turkey at Trader Joe's, but decided that if my luck ran out I might be able to get a chicken there.  After all, there were just us three.

So I next went to Safeway. 

The store was jammed.  Not just with people, but with trolleys full of bread, cans of french fried onions and cream of mushroom soup and green beans, stacks of baked pies and mountains of three different kinds of sweet potatoes.  I walked over to the fresh poultry department and the refrigerator case was bare. 

Of course it was.  What was I going to do?

Then I turned around.

Dozens of birds, all of them on sale for six dollars.  Jackpot!

But what was I going to do with a frozen turkey?  They were labeled "2 Hour Turkey," but I don't know which two hours they were referring to.  The turkey packaging said to defrost it overnight at a minimum, and that it would take an additional 4-6 hours to roast.  I wandered around and found cornish hens on sale, so I picked up two of those.  The Barefoot Contessa did a Thanksgiving for two the other day and she made hens. 

But far be it from me to refuse a good deal on a turkey.  I decided to chance it.  The 12 lb. turkeys tempted me - as I said, they were all six dollars.  But I tried to be sensible and got the smallest bird in the bin: 9 lbs.

To be honest, I felt kind of bad about the six dollar turkey.  It seemed so disrespectful.  I mean, to look a turkey in the eye and say I valued its life at six dollars, I was really uncomfortable with that thought.  But it was a little late for that, and efficiency took over.

As soon as I walked in the door I put a pot on to boil and immediately started soaking it in super-salted, warmish water, on the counter, just like you're not supposed to.

Here's what else I did in the next hour and a half.  Chopped old bread into cubes and dried them in the oven.  Boiled and drained both kinds of potatoes.  Cooked down the sweet potato cooking water and added just a little brown sugar and cinnamon; poured it over the sweet potatoes and added marshmallows.  Sweet potatoes: done.  Warmed milk with smashed garlic.   Ace went to town on the mashed potatoes and garlic milk - creamier mashed potatoes I've never had.  I couldn't keep my finger out of them.  Mashed potatoes: done.  Poured OJ, ginger and cinnamon into a small pot of cranberries and turned on the heat till they popped.  Added Torani Pomegranite Syrup and a little cornstarch and thickened it.  Cranberry sauce: done.  Sauteed the onions, celery, Japanese eggplant and sausages for stuffing; added the bread cubes and chicken stock.  Stuffing: done.  Grabbed the pastry cutter and made a pie dough of lard, butter, whole wheat pastry flour and hazelnut meal and put it in the fridge to chill.  Throughout this process we'd pull out the turkey and re-heat the brining liquid - a total microbe soup, I'm sure - and put the turkey back in.

By this time it was 1 pm, and Beaker was itching to fly his airplane.  Ace insisted that I get the first ride.  Unthinkingly, I downed a glass of egg nog for sustenance and we headed on over.

Isn't that the cutest airplane you've ever seen in your life? 

As Beaker did all his pre-flight checks, the manager at the Palo Alto airport piped Glen Miller over the loudspeaker.  (A Very Miller Weekend!)

I did what I was told, adjusting altimeters and punching 'horizon' buttons till they were level, and wondering aloud what I would do if my brother had a heart attack up there.  This airplane is a trainer from the 1950s, so both front and back seat had the same controls and could fly the plane.  But he offered to let me fly in a straight line and I declined.

Here we are over San Gregorio:

And here we are making a right hand turn over Pescadero:

Yeesh. 

Here we are over Half Moon Bay:

We flew all along the coast.  It was a beautiful day, but as always it was windy at the coast and we jumped up and down until my egg nog made itself felt.  We headed home.

When we landed, the airport manager was playing the Top Gun sound track over the loudspeaker.

During my flight Ace went for a run, washed all the dishes and put the turkey in to roast.  He met us at the airport and I walked over to the duck pond and watched as they took off. 

Beaker again offered his passenger the controls, and Ace flew them to the Golden Gate Bridge and back.  I reckon I managed to take in more scenery than he did, though. 

Beaker pointed out a corn maze, and I spied a pumpkin patch and an even smaller hay maze, plus horses and cyclists taking the routes we take to the coast.  An awful lot of people in Atherton have swimming pools and tennis courts.

By the time they got back, there was just time for Ace to shower, Beaker to pour the wine, and the two of them to invite the neighbors for dessert.  The turkey was resting, the vegetables were warming in the oven, I made gravy (it was way too salty when I added the pan "juices" - but that tip to cut up some plain old potatoes and fish them out later totally worked), sauteed the broccoli, filled and baked the pie.

Mom, you'd be proud.  Except that it was a pretty low-fat meal.  Mom might not be so proud.

Anyway, we spent Friday sleeping and playing with iTunes and going for a run on the Baylands and eating leftovers and watching a terrible movie, and Saturday Beaker left really early. 

Ace and I went out on the duck path to wave him goodbye. 

The wiggle is Beaker waving back.

Comments

[Fraulein N]

That's a really pretty spread. Well done! We bought our turkey at the last minute too. I let it sit out for a few hours (like you're not supposed to do) and then ran some hot water over the ice on the inside before seasoning it and tossing it in the oven. Came out fine.

[Kelli]

This is like a movie! So sweet. I love that you flew, and pulled a gourmet meal out of your butt. Okay, out of your pantry and Safeway, but still. Wowie!

[TasterSpoon]

Fraulein: Thanks! And I'm glad yours turned out. I think salmonella is overhyped. (Famous last words.)

Kelli: It WAS like a movie! With a dinner-making montage!

[Beth C]

So glad you were able to get together for Thanksgiving. :) Last year was so much fun. No turduckens this year -- I went to my uncle's in Texas.

[TasterSpoon]

Hey Mrs. C - Ace and I were agreeing last night that we're really glad to hear you had a plan and company this year. That turducken will never be topped.