Well, mostly. And it was only okay, overall; not great. But still. As a person who cannot cook worth a damn, the fact that I helped turn out something edible is a veritable coup.
My sister and I were press-ganged into kitchen duty at around 11:00, and we spent a good few hours slicing and dicing while we watched The Princess and the Frog, followed by Ratatouille — “Disney films for foodies” being the theme of the day, apparently. At one point, my mother lamented our lack of a double oven by doing a bit of the “Single Ladies” dance and singing “all the single ovens, all the single ovens.” Pretty standard.
After most of the other food was prepped, I passed the rest of my afternoon perched on a stool by the oven, basting the roasting carcass therein with a nigh-religious fervor every thirty minutes, as decreed by Martha Stewart’s “Perfect Turkey” recipe. Ultimately, I think it could have used another half-hour or so in the oven, but it was definitely as moist as you can get a turkey without, like, reading it excerpts from an erotic novel.
Post-dinner activities included watching the rest of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, followed by six intense rounds of Scattergories (“Things you keep hidden” that start with the letter “B”: Butts and blow-up dolls. My family, ladies and gentlemen). Now my mom has retired to the upstairs bedroom, Til and Nia are watching Moonstruck in the back, and I’m about to pop in The Lion in Winter and see if I can get my laundry put away before I slip into the inevitable food-coma.
I hope you all had warm, wonderful Thanksgivings, surrounded by the people you love best.