duck-shaped pain

23 November 2000
Revenge Of The Parsnip

So, you're probably all geared up and curious to learn how my Thanksgiving went. More so than you would be if it was just yer standard T'giving, because this year the first where I was completely in charge of the dinner.

Well, to ease your suspense, it went well. Things weren't hectic nor were they disorganized, thanks to the Turkey Flowchart I drew up the night before. I knew where things went, I knew when things should happen, and everything got done on time.

Then we ate, which went fast. Six hours of cooking, fifteen minutes of eating. No wonder my mom never really seemed to enjoy Thanksgiving dinner � she was probably too busy thinking, Hey! It took me forever to make that food! The least you could do is at least pretend to savor it�

However, I did not play the martyr after dinner. I gladly let other people clear the table and do the dishes while I went over and laid down on the couch with a full glass of cab and a piece of chocolate (yeah, I know those don't sound good together. They weren't.)

It was a decent day all together � I expected much worse. Even the part where my grandmother told me that nothing I make could be any better than what she could get ready-made at the store. She recanted, I hope, when she tasted the braised vegetables in wine sauce (two hour sauce!) I made.

That last dish was my one semi-original addition to the traditional Thanksgiving roster. It was very good, even though it took forever: shallots, sweet potatoes, carrots, parsnips and mushrooms all browned and then simmered in red wine and mushroom broth. I felt virtuous making it: I made it from scratch, I used the rosemary and thyme I grew, I even included some of the unpopular vegetables. It even tasted really good.

But, there was a dark side.

Parsnips = evil deadly flatulence from beyond the grave.

Happy Thanksgiving. Happy get-up-early-and-buy-useless-crap day. Happy weekend.

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