Thanksgiving week: the day before

How times and habits have changed! For years and years, Wednesday before Thanksgiving was my great grocery shopping day. The store would be packed, but I'd persevere, pushing a load, checking off lists. In the evening, I'd fix a dismissive dinner of spaghetti or gnocchi (we never did takeout in those days) and I'd start in on baking.

Not so today. No trip to the grocery store, no baking. In fact, it was a sweetly different kind of day. Let me fill in a few details.

Early on, I left a sleeping Ed, did my morning stuff...

... and hurried to get to an appointment at my clinic. One of those tests where I'm supposed to track something annually to see if interventions are needed, only we had Covid, so I didn't bother. It's been three years of no tracking. No matter, I got my results immediately -- nothing needed, proceed as usual! Yay.

Then I hustled over to Clasen's. I love this bakery of ours in the holiday season! At other times, the cakes are too sweet for me and the breads too dense (you'd rightly compare it to German bakeries) and the location is too out of the way, but at Christmas time it offers the best chocolate covered gingerbread on either side of the Mississippi! Traditionally, I took kids, then grandkids there for a holiday snapshot. Clasen's made a huge gingerbread house and the kids would scramble inside and raid the plate of cookies there for the young ones. With Covid last year, none of that happened. Clasen's still baked the stars moons and hearts, but I had to rely on home delivery (which they did!) to get my fill. This year, they're open for business, though without the gingerbread house. You don't want unvaccinated kids from all over the place inside a tight space stuffing themselves with cookies. Still, I got an email announcing that the gingerbread stuff is baked an ready! I'm in the neighborhood -- why not go there today and stock up? 

I know, I know, it's the wrong holiday! 

 

 

 

I should be thinking about my Thanksgiving meal. Indeed, I should be making inroads on my Thanksgiving meal. Nevertheless, I'm here. And it smells like Christmas. And it's wonderful!

Clasen's is right across the street from Bruce's. Most of our Christmas trees have been purchased at Bruce's and again my thoughts run in the "wrong holiday" direction. I mean, they've cut their trees already and stocked their yard with the best ones now. Why not pick up the wee little farmhouse tree today? For this, I grab the kids. They live nearby.

At first I look at the wee ones that come potted already. But then I broaden my scope. Why not get one just a teensy bit bigger? Without the ready stand, which, after all, is one big waste of plastic each year? Like, why not this one?

Deed is done. Tree is tied to the roof of the car and we're off for our next errand and this one is more in keeping with this week's holiday: we pick up our baked treats from Batch Bakehouse. These were reserved and paid for weeks in advance, when I felt that I could not manage baking more than the three items tomorrow, all at different temperatures and one needing four hours of oven time. So, no dessert baking this year: I let the young family pick the pies and I get them from Batch.

And then the kids are at the farmhouse for lunch and play time. There's no school today which I'm sure is a pain for most parents, but a good thing from my point of view -- one fewer day for them to get exposed to one of the million bugs that are circulating at the moment. I know that's not the right way to look at school, but on the other hand, it's nice to keep everyone healthy for a very busy set of days ahead.

Dad and Sandpiper come to pick them up...

... and still I do not really cook afterward. Instead, Ed and I go out for a short walk, and then I reheat some leftover takeout Chinese for supper, and somewhere in there I make cranberry sauce. Is there anything on this planet that's easier to cook than cranberries, with some sugar, oranges and a knob of ginger? I'd add a splash of Grand Marnier but, you know, there are kids...

And the day is done. A good day, a happy day. I only wish it was thus for every being on this planet. Sigh...

With love...

Thanksgiving week: part two begins now

 Time for an admission: I've done fifty years of Thanksgiving turkeys (with only a couple of missed ones in there) and I have never brined that bird. Oh, one year I did a half-assed job of salting it ahead of the baking, but I'd neglected some key components to that process so it hardly counts. It's not that I don't believe in brining, it's just that my turkey is never there, sitting in the fridge days in advance, ready to be bathed in something wonderful and aromatic. It's either defrosting still, or it's waiting to be picked up fresh from the fields where it once roamed. I don't have room for a big bird to sprawl out on a whole shelf of the fridge. So, I skip that step and try to compensate by doing everything else I can to make the bird come out with the right degree of doneness, crispness and juciness. As one writer said -- the whole turkey roasting project is one big headache and the result is rarely perfect. Were it faultless, you'd do it again the very same way next year. But no, here we are, wasting our time trying something new, hoping to improve at the margins what you supposedly perfected the year before. (Read the article in WashPo. I laughed hard. It's funny because it's true.)

So on this beautiful November morning...

... I take out the turkey I purchased at the farmers market (I think I got the Blue Valley Farms one, but I'm not sure) and I set it in a brine bath of buttermilk, bay leaves, sugar, salt, roasted peppercorns, and cayenne. Of course, I don't have a brine bag, so I'm willing my garbage bag to do the job nicely. The turkey is 14.5 lbs and the recipe for this year's bird is from the NYT. (It's the slow roasted one with apple gravy, as developed by Padma Lakshmi.) I have to use NYT recipes in abundance, because I splurged and bought the paper's cooking pages (and extra couple of dollars per month) and I am determined to not have wasted my money on their food preparation wisdoms.

It takes a while to brine the turkey. Why? Because the darn bird us big and it leaves a trail of juices on the counter and in the sink and if you're obsessive like I am about poultry bacteria, you'll scrub everything ten times afterwards so as to decontaminate everything. But, on the upside, the bird is now bathing and I found a bowl large enough to contain the bird in the garbage bag, buttermilk and spices included. (I think Ed was properly horrified to see me pour buttermilk mixture into a garbage bag, but I assured him it would not go to waste, though honestly, I don't know that this is true. If the bird is just 95% perfect, that will be no better no worse than last year's bird, which was good enough without 2.5 quarts of buttermilk going into the effort.)

In the afternoon I pick up Snowdrop, who had pajama day at school today.

In the evening, the kids are all home, doing what they usually do.

(Snowdrop likes company for homework)

And even later, I am back home, vaguely keeping tabs on all that I have to do before the big day.  I've done it enough times that I know it always does come together in the end in some shape or form. Always. And if it's not all perfect, well, you can improve on it the next year or the year after.

Thanksgiving week: catch your breath

On this Monday, my holiday week is on recess break. I vaguely consider cooking the cranberries, but there's more room in the fridge drawer where they reside than on the fridge shelves where the turkey hogs much of what's available, so I let that idea slip by. Besides, it's a cold but beautiful day...

(Breakfast with Dance who likes to sit by my plate, much to Ed's disappointment. I ignore her, she comes anyway. That's okay - Ed's reach is long.)

 

And, too, I have a Zoom party with my Polish friends. Both the weather and the get-together require that I turn away from what's in the kitchen and instead take in a few deep breaths of the Great Outdoors and, too, practice my underused these months social skills with my pals.

Where do Ed and I walk? Oh, just our local park. But the crispy clear air! And the view of the setting sun (we put the walk off that late into the day)! -- sublime.

I'll return to the turkey and company tomorrow. Today, I take a pause.

Thanksgiving week: four days before, and one day after

We'd stayed up late into the night piling on stories that you cant ever fully review in the course of a busy week. It's heaven to have such leisure with your grownup kids. It leads me to push Ed again on the subject of finishing the construction of the writers shed. Once the second grandchild is born to the Chicago family, it will be a tight squeeze in the two bedroom farmhouse. Ed, of course, is anything but keen on the idea of undertaking a construction project of that magnitude. Nonetheless, we toss around the idea periodically until it fizzles. And then comes back again. 

 

This morning, aka "the morning after" began when Primrose, our youngest visitor from Chicago, nudged us to get up and get on with the day.

We had a quick breakfast of left-over croissants...

We played. Or, more accurately, she played for us.

But very quickly, the young family had to go off on their round of visits: old high school friend, my mother...  

By noon, they were back again and Primrose and I took a walk to the barn to search for eggs.

At the house, they read books, I fix a frittata.

This cheeper egg dish is such a farmhouse staple that really, I could do one with eyes closed. Today's had tatsoi, leeks and mushrooms. And of course, a small mountain of Farmer John's cheese.

And yes, it did feel like the day after Thanksgiving. There was left over pie, there were chicken bones to shuffle around in the fridge (waiting for Ed to turn into a soup). To top it off, I did my first Christmassy thing: I brought out four candles I had purchased from different candle makers (each claiming to provide a whiff of the quintessential holiday smell of pine). They voted which was the most authentically Christmassy. (Brooklyn Candles, appropriately called "Christmas tree.")

 

 

 

And then they had to leave. The next time I see them, the family will have grown (or be in the throes of growing!). 

My Thanksgiving holiday with them has ended, even as the second Thanksgiving, the one with the rest, is still in its earliest stage.

In the meantime, just to tie these days together, in the evening, Snowdrop, Sparrow and Sandpiper, along with parents, come over for supper. So much to review! (Do you love this as much as we do? Reliving the best moments by rehashing them at least one extra time?) 

Toward the end of the evening, my daughter picks up a book I had left for future perusal. Snowdrop noticed. And that's how we then moved to an hour where my daughter did a masterful job of explaining an important chapter of American history.

Dishes done, families back at their homes, and me, I'm now on the couch with Ed. Feet up. Definitely feet up. And I keep thinking that we are one lucky family. We have each other.

 

With love.

Thanksgiving week: all in the family

So much to this day! Our Thanksgiving gathering continues, even as it has to be still not entirely in the way that it would have been before the pandemic. With one super pregnant daughter and two unvaccinated little kids from different households and both attending schools, we are not yet ready to all sit down around a table inside. Nonetheless, we can do so much! And it seems this glorious weekend we do it all. 

Let's break it down a little:

The morning of the sleepover -- Primrose, here, from Chicago.

 

(Every child here has loved every single toy food here. Primrose is no exception.)

(Heading out)

Going to Madison Sourdough bakery with grandma.

Meet up with cousins and aunt and uncle at the Arboretum. With pain au chocolat.

Primrose is reunited with mom and dad.

(A hike)

The whole gang.

The four grandkids: Sandpiper is astonished.

The four grandkids: Sandpiper is delighted.

Back at the farmhouse now: preparing Thanksgiving dinner number one: my prep starts with the pie. Melissa Clark-- your advice was great. Pie, loaded with nearly four pounds of honeycrisp apples, spiced with cinnamon, ginger and nutmeg, is delicious.

Primrose paints.

Her talent is obvious.

Predinner snacks.

A hug for little sister.

The threesome, or maybe we should start saying foursome?

The chicken, stuffed with wild mushrooms and sage.

Getting the meal going...

And now it's almost midnight, but I'm hanging on to my last moments with my youngest girl and her husband before things get crazy busy for all of us.

A beautiful day. I am so full of gratitude and love...