Cast of Characters:
Connor - Teething grandson
Chelsea and Kris -Tired parents of teething, grumpy baby
Connor
Tom - Patient husband
Josh - Fast thinking son
Sheila - Dear friend of 6+ decades
6:30 p.m. – after a recent family dinner...
Dear Sheila:
I'm just sitting down now and before the wine wears off I have to share with you about our family dinner that we just had.
Connor's mom and dad have been working hard, long hours,
plus parenting an active, drooling teether. I must have left the room at
our last family gathering as I was nominated and voted in absentia as Sunday's
chief turkey cook.
Yesterday I cooked up turkey giblets for the gravy while
watching Game of Thrones, Red Wedding chapter. It's hot and gory
stuff! So hot and gory that I forgot about the pot of giblets on the
stove until the house filled with stinking smoke. I grabbed the offending
giblet pot from the burner and stick handled it outside the kitchen door to put
it on the back steps. However, the steps are covered in shingles and the
pot immediately melted into the tar and grit.
After it cooled, I pried it out of the tar. Tom looked at
the black crud, fused to the inside of the pot, and the tar on the bottom and
told me to turf the whole thing. But, I howled, "It was my mom's
pot!" Two hours later in the basement there was much muttering,
scraping and grinding with some sort of fierce tool and Tom made the pot look
decent.
I was not going to let this little incendiary incident
defeat my dinner plan. By then it was very late at night, but with no gravy
making giblets I drove around and found a 24-hour grocery store. I told
them the sad tale about mom's pot. At that hour they must have
eviscerated an unlucky passing animal and they emerged from the back of the
meat counter with a handful of fresh giblets - free. I went home
and cooked them again, without needing to phone the fire department on
speed dial.
Now, the turkey was one Tom won curling at a turkey
shoot. Well, this bird was shot for sure. It was missing a leg and a wing
and lots of breast skin. Did it fly in circles? Whatever, it was a
freebee. I did a turkey dance, (a private little ritual inherited from my aunt
Helen) stuffed the bird and put it in the oven. The smell was amazing and
even though somewhat lacking in extremities, the turkey looked pretty good.
When it was done I heaved the brute out of the oven (18 lbs.) on to the top of
my glass topped range and lifted it onto the platter. As usual, the family
gathered round for the next step.
I love making gravy and I'm good at it. It's one of my finer
qualities. I cranked up the burner. There was a lot of juicy gravy
makings and I proceeded to stir the bits in the bottom of the roasting pan with
the giblet liquid. I noticed an odd smell and moved the pan slightly aside from
the burner. Huge flames shot up. I slid the pan back over the flames. It
seemed the thing to do. Josh dashed for the fire extinguisher and Chelsea
grabbed the baking powder. Everyone shrieked "not the gravy!" as
Josh aimed for the pan. But he backed off as Chelsea carefully aimed the
powder as I slowly slid aside the pan (not mom's) ever so cleverly controlling
the flames. Fire out, Josh scraped the burnt, powdery mess from the stove
and tossed it out the back door. We rejoiced that the gravy had survived.
It seems that I had left a silicone trivet on the burner to protect the glass
top from the roasting pan. Yes, silicone can combust but it takes talent.
On to a glass of wine. Sheila, by this time I really
needed it.
At the table, Tom carved the turkey from the side with limbs
and I sang a silent tune of joy that I hadn't managed to bugger up the yams,
corn and beans. The stuffing was a waist watchers nightmare. Simply glorious!
The gravy too! It had that flambé, "je ne sais quoi" about it. Kris
helped out by shaking the gravy jug at the table. Next time we'll ensure
the lid is on tight, however gravy seems to work with my tablecloth
pattern. Everyone got served and nobody missed the uncooked carrots still
residing in the refrigerator. I found out after dinner that some carrots
did make it to the table. Unfortunately they were the ones I used to make
the giblet juice and apparently they tasted like... oh I don't know
what.
In his high chair Connor was bouncing, waving his arms
about, grunting and whinging for some reason or other. But he was dry. No
"trouser treasures." He had his yams, tofu, cereal, apple juice and
bottle, what else could he want? Well Sheila - he wanted turkey!
Chelsea broke off wee bits for him and he gobbled the gobbler like a
barbarian. That was not enough so we gave him the drumstick. Then Kris
knocked over a bottle of red. I looked at the table. There were
bones on it - the large ones Connor tossed aside after gumming them. Red stains
were blending into the gravy stains. Connor was covered in baby food goo and
turkey bits. The carcass had lost what little glory it ever had. What to do?
More red please!
At last the perfect, greasy grandson and his pooped out
parents have gone home. Tom and Josh are cleaning up and tearing apart the
remains of the carcass for storage.
My heart is full. With everything we have all gone
through last year, I am so grateful to have had today. How lucky am I to
have such a marvellous crew messing up my table. I wouldn't trade this dinner
for the finest dining anywhere, anytime.
Sheila, how fortunate am I to have you in my life.
Thank you for listening dear friend.
S...t. I just realized I forgot to light the
candles. Probably a good thing.
Love,
Judy
Judy
