Thanksgiving Dinner

Normally, we go out for Thanksgiving dinner. I know this sounds peculiar but my husband and I were cross-country truck drivers for a whole lot of years. During those years, if we were not able to be with family, we ate in truck stops.



When we quit driving truck, my husband decided (with my full concurrence) that eating out was a good thing. I did not have to cook all day and no one had to do the dishes. We usually went to a cafeteria style restaurant and that way EVERYONE got what they wanted.

Fast forward to this year.

There was a news story that the average Thanksgiving dinner for 10, cooked at home, this year, cost an average of $42.76


Now, we are not poor. We are currently, however, a little cash impaired. To go out entails driving 50 miles, plus or minus, and then paying for the 4 of us. The weatherman was predicting snow and bitter cold.


We (that would be the royal we) started thinking.


DO NOT EVER DO THIS!



The menu: Butterball turkey breast (we only like white meat)
Mashed potatoes (this recipe from Ree)
Green bean casserole
Dressing
Turkey gravy (bottled, of course)
Cranberry sauce
Baby Gherkins
Black Olives
Celery stuffed with cheese(s)
Pie(s) (Pumpkin, Pecan, and Cherry)
Cool Whip
Clementines







We had a wonderful day. We spent most of the day in our pajamas. Lil man learned how to spread cheese in celery sticks.





Gas expended?

Zip.


Grocery bill?



WAY MORE THAN $42.76 and there were not 10 of us.


Will I do it again next year? I’m pretty sure I heard lil man utter the word “tradition”. I am doomed.

Or blessed!

Fun Monday - Do You Have to Tell That Story Again?

This week’s Fun Monday is hosted by Karisma. She wants to hear “The Story”. You know, the story that gets told and retold and embellished and told some more - at every family gathering.

The story that gets told and retold about me at my family’s holiday dinners is “The Gravy Story”. I was not really a child, I was 15 when this happened and it was not during the holidays, but there you have it.

My sisters are 10 and 13 years older than I am. When I turned into an obnoxious child, back in the day when preteen was not yet a word, my parents would send me to my sister’s house for the summer, or at least a good portion of it.

My sister was an uber-housewife. Her house was clean, her child was clean and his clothes were pressed, as were her tablecloths. She actually, and I kid you not, trimmed her lawn with manicure scissors. She ran a perfect household.

When my brother-in-law got home from work, his home was his castle. His queen had fresh makeup, her hair was perfect, dinner was cooking and there were NO problems.

So, the year I was 15, my nephew was 2 and my sister was pregnant. I was spending the summer there to help with my nephew and because my parents did not trust me at home. I truly was a horrible person at that age.

My sister went to the hospital and had a beautiful baby girl. I was at home with the 2 year old and my brother-in-law went to work.

I set out to be my sister. The grocery store was within walking distance of their house, so shopping was not a problem.

I decided to cook a roast beef dinner with all the trimmings. No problem. I cooked the roast, peeled and cooked the potatoes, mashed them, made a salad, and heated up some green beans. I washed up the kitchen, set the dining room table, washed and changed and ironed my nephew and made sure that everything was perfect.

The problem arose when I decided to make gravy. My mother is an EXCELLENT cook. She just doesn’t like people in her kitchen and, to be honest with you, by the time I came along her patience and desire to teach another person to cook were nil. But I HAD watched.

So I took the plastic container thingy and mixed the water and the flour and shook it just right and stirred some into the pan drippings. It looked OK, but a little thick. I added some more. Still a little thick. I added just a scoche more and decided to quit while I was ahead. I put the gravy into the then traditional gravy boat and served dinner.

My brother-in-law is a very kind man. He tried. He honestly tried. When the spoon stood in the middle of the gravy straight up, he told me as kindly as he could that he just couldn’t eat it. He carried it out to the kitchen and turned the cup over.

The gravy slid out in one piece, landed in the sink, and stood there quivering exactly like a jello mold.

We went out to eat.

And I still do NOT make gravy!

The Gravy Boat.

I never thought it strange as a child. Whenever we had family holiday dinners, we would eat in the dining room and we would use the good china. The furniture would be polished (the legs were my responsibility) and the china, freshly removed from the hutch, would be hand washed and dried before we set the table.

The menu for these dinners rarely varied. We always had both turkey and ham since I dislike turkey and my sister does not care for ham. If it was one of the winter holidays, we had sweet potatoes with marshmallows on top and the green bean casserole. If it was Easter, we had glorified rice. It was my mom’s recipe, with cooked rice and pineapple and whipped cream and coconut. It always did, and still does, taste like spring to me.

We were not rich. We were not poor. We were comfortably well off; at least we were when I was young. I was a late-in-life baby and my parents had much more when I was growing up than they did when my sisters and my brother were young.

Anyway, my mother makes wonderful gravy. I do not have the knack but my mother could make gravy out of anything. So, on holidays we would get out the special pickle dish and the divided cut glass dish for carrot and celery sticks and the cut glass cranberry dish. The table would be set and it would all look just lovely. Then dinner would be served and the gravy, in it’s Pyrex measuring cup (the big one, the 2 cup one), would take its place on my mom’s table.

None of us thought it odd. It was just one of those things. Then my oldest sister got married and I guess her husband said something. Next thing I knew, Mom and I were at St. Vinnie’s (the St. Vincent de Paul Thrift Store) buying a gravy boat. It was beautiful. It didn’t match the dishes but it was beautiful. I’m not sure the gravy ever tasted as good or stayed as hot in the gravy boat but it was beautiful.

Last week, I was in our local senior citizen’s thrift store looking for some Mason jars.

I bought the gravy boat.