Those poor turkeys never had a chance. But they looked and tasted good en route to their extinction.
5:30 AM: Up and at'em to stuff the big bad boy going into the oven. I had had moments of clarity the previous few days and had cooked stuffing parts separately so I wouldn't have to waste time at 5:30 AM yesterday. 5:30 AM. That's just stupid. Anyway, I ripped the bags'o'body parts and gravy spackle from the 22 pounder's innards, douched the bird, slapped butter, salt and pepper on it and shoved the entire mess of homemade stuffing that was now a beautiful conglomeration of previously made parts all in sagey harmony, whispering to me, I love you, yes I do...
It was early. I was hearing things. Shut up. I shoved it into the turkey and left it to cook for 8 hours.
6 AM: Can't possibly go back to sleep, so baste the turkey for the first time.
6:05 AM: Lie down on loveseat and evaluate nails popping out of the ceiling.
6:07 AM: Feed Merv and evaluate likelihood that I will still have to make some sort of sweet potato grotesquerie from the sweet potatoes that I'd overcooked the day before.
See, if you bake sweet potatoes (whole fresh ones) just long enough to firm up, then chill them, then cut them into slices, then dip them into sour cream/cinnamon/brown sugar, you have a lovely appetizer.
But, if you cook them at 400 degrees for one hour they liquify, ooze out onto the heating element, leaving you large patches of charred sugar, making you think the house is burning down. Plus, they're all mooshy and not sliceable.
I kept whining during the day to Mr. Froth - Do I HAVE to make sweet potatoes with the marshmallows? Let's just have syrup of ipecac. YES. YOU DO. The chilrens backed him up. Ma, we love sweet potato pie with marshmallows.
Where did these children come from? Seriously.
7 AM until whatever hour: Baste, evaluate ceiling nails, baste, etc.
9 AM: Mr. Froth goes next door to let the three yapper dogs out since we're on dog/cat sitting patrol. These yapper dogs, cute as buttons, have been inside all night (This is the house the neighbors just sold so they could move to Chicago. It's a very nice house. But, they changed the locks.And, the whole family is in Tucson for the weekend.) and it was direly important that they go outside.
9:05 AM: Mr.Froth returns,cussing, "I can't get the door open." The key wouldn't work.So, he called the realtor who came out to open the lockbox, blah blah blah, so now we can get in and out. Good thing because those yapper dogs would produce a lot of little yapper poop.
9:30 AM: Oldest Frothlet and Frothlet's sweetheart appear, with laundry, and foodstuffs. Frothlet's sweetheart was going to be making a German green bean dish for the meal and BAKED BRIE for snacking. Baked brie. Oh baby oh baby. Unfortunately, the oven wouldn't be available til 2ish. So I hurried the bird up. I spoke to it sternly. Sternly. COOK, ya mangy fowl.
A foul by any other name is just as paltry......I think that's just cute. Shut up.
9:31 AM-2ish PM: Go for walks, sit outside and do crossword puzzles, drink some wine, beer, eat some prosciutto and havarti, marinated mushrooms, gherkins and olives and finally------
3 PMish: BAKED BRIE with roasted garlic and rosemary, olive-oil toasted crostini for dipping. It was heaven. Simply disgustingly gooely heavenly. Who cares about dinner.
4 PMish: Youngest Frothlet and friend appear after playing disc golf. Friend went home to eat with his family and then returned to eat with us. He's tall and weighs approximately 25 pounds.
5 PM: Mr. Froth's raspberry chipotle/bourbon glazed and basted smoked turkey is done, potatoes are reheated, beans are cooked, putrid fetid sweet potato casserole is bubbling, fabulous life-changing stuffing is dished and we eat. Oh. Jello, of course and rolls. And the pumpkin cheesecake. On top of the BAKED BRIE.
It all fit into our stomachs, with lots of leftovers for the kids to take with and remarkably this morning we both had lost a pound or two. Weird.
7 PM: Watch a bit of Texas/A&M, do nails, suggest to oldest Frothlet and sweetheart that they might want to head out since he had to be at his store at 5:45AM for Black Friday. (Youngest Frothlet had already left with his friend to head back to his new and empty apartment. With our deck chairs which we just discovered...) They leave. I go to bed. Merv joins shortly thereafter.
It was a fine day.