Looking Back
Tuesday was an 18-hour cooking day, extended by the wait for the “eggnog” part of the cranberry eggnog tart to set properly. The center filling was more like cheesecake than eggnog so I knew to look for the endpoint, a fairly firm texture, rather than to blindly follow times in the recipes. By then, I knew that most of the cooking times in the Gourmet recipes had been underestimated by at least 25%. Maybe they used a convection oven?
Wednesday was only 15 hours in the kitchen and on the road and I was already beginning to feel the fatigue. This was not just cooking. The dishwasher ran 5 times that day. The refrigerator had to be cleaned to make room for the turkey. Roomba made two passes on the dining room and kitchen, picking up mainly Twyla hair. I was also two dishes behind on the game plan and had all of Wednesday’s preps to do as well. I took a nap early in the evening and get up around midnight to make the chard purses.
Liz called around 9am Thanksgiving morning, waking me up on my latest morning in weeks. She prepared the turkey and did a masterful job, one far better than I could have. She has roasted hundreds of turkeys and doesn’t even need a thermometer to make adjustments like tenting the breast or lowering the oven temperature. She worked butter under the breast skin with economy of effort, evoking (to me, at least) Picasso sketching Femme. She yelled at me when she found the giblets package in the breast cavity. How was I to know? I thought they would be in the body cavity like they are with chickens and ducks. All this is meant to highlight what a mess it would have been had I roasted the turkey.
There was plenty for me to do, especially as mealtime approached: Cauliflower and hazelnuts to roast for the salad, preparation of the jeweled rice (the buttery crust, called tah-dig, is created by toasting cardamom in butter at the bottom of a Dutch oven then layering the rice and dried fruit over it, flatbreads to reheat, and chard purses to poach. We listened to Handel’s Messiah and the Randy Newman Songbook.
Liz seemed to be in constant motion at the oven, tilting and basting, fussing over Elvis. I had to make a quick trip to the store because the parsley I had bought in advance was not the flat leaf type required. Food Lion didn’t have any, so I substituted watercress. The boys arrived about half and hour before the scheduled launch.
Then we had a problem – the gravy. It was inordinately complex and counter-intuitive. You’re supposed to caramelize sugar and then add the pomegranate juice.. The instructions warned: “use caution, mixture will bubble and steam vigorously.” They didn’t warn that the molten sugar would fuse into a rock hard mass. With much whisking, boiling on high heat, and lifting when the mixture foamed up, I was able to get the damn thing dissolved but there were still a few persistent lumps to strain out. Speaking of straining, Liz complained about the constant straining of juices and stocks as the whole concoction was assembled. She said the roux, made with turkey fat, was too dry. I gave her the go ahead to add more fat. As the base began to bubble, it appeared way too light and way too thin. Then we added the pomegranate syrup and it suddenly all made sense. By that time, we were 45 minutes off schedule.
Still, miraculously, all was ready as each course was served. There were two omissions: one accidental and one by consensus. I spaced out the candied-orange and cranberry compote meant to accompany the cranberry eggnog tart and, by dessert, we’d had enough wine and the half-bottle of Marsala was not even opened.
There were no lowlights but some items did stand out. The pumpkin soup with red pepper mousse was exquisite, the richness of the pumpkin contrasted perfectly with the smoky piquant peppers. The cranberry eggnog tart is a real keeper. Liz never eats desserts. She requested a small slice, but I gave her a standard one and she ate it all, constantly marveling how she usually hates desserts. The Colli Trevigliani Prosecco Vino Frizzante, lightly chilled, was a perfect match for the soup and flatbreads. The rich fennel flavor of the artisan sausage in the stuffing hit it off with the chard. Some things were okay, but probably more effort than necessary. The salad was good, but not extraordinary. The same effect could be achieved with less labor. The gravy was great, but not that much better than pan gravy. The rice was flavorful, but roasted potatoes would have been a much better match for the labor-intensive gravy. Still, when we finished, almost two hours after we had begun, nobody had any complaints.
We watched movies during and after eating, the boys selected Strange Brew from my extensive video collection, eh? Liz insisted they watch Bubba Ho-Tep and they enjoyed that almost as much as the McKenzie Brothers. I put on A Zed And Two Noughts, just for the imagery, as we all drifted into narcolepsy, drifting into and out of consciousness, satisfied, as Twyla brushed our legs compulsively, energized by the strange and intense activity she had witnessed, and Claudette slept peacefully in a corner.
11:56:49 AM 
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