Big Bird Day

Our standard Thanksgiving routine includes a morning perambulation of at least a couple lazy miles, theoretically at least in the original concept helping with the appetite (or something), I guess. As we all get older (lazier), in lieu of shortening the amble, the start time has tended to slide just a tad (not to mention the average pace). This year we met up nominally at 10:30, leaving me time to pull off bacon, scramble, and potatoes for five (Mara and Sean had heroically pulled in around about 1:00AM following evening work - and some of us stayed up to greet them).

The walk came off without a hitch, actually better than in many years thanks to lack of rain. It was quite breezy though, and I regretted that all I had for torso was shortsleeve poly covered with longsleeve cotton (the former originally intended as survival gear - it filled the role, but barely - it's never a good sign when you are survival-garbed at the start of a project). Heading south along the waterfront into the wind was a little marginal.

My god-daughter and neice Kirsten had her board along and picked up on my suggestion that she hitch up a dog. Allie (net weight 22 lbs!) was initially pressed into service, which she ably provided for a while, though only to the tune of keeping up with us amblers. Re-hitch to Mr. 'stotle totally changed the program. K quickly smoked us, being out of sight in a few minutes and returning eventually after high-speed pull (Ari net 45+ lbs?), when we were only two-thirds of the way to the turnaround. He seemed unfazed.

A couple hours later we reassembled in West Seattle (formerly aka Alki, or New York Bye-and-Bye, also fictionally within a quick paddle of Lake Union via "Sleepless") to gabble, tell lies, re-tell stories, and otherwise endear ourselves to each other like some sort of goose-gaggle. Mara and Sean had assembled what seemed enough Devilled Eggs to satisfy a decent throng. Marg had prepped Brussels Sprouts on my behalf. Eric had presumably done the necessary ligament stretching and mind-origami for his gravy-guru role.

Present on the day itself, as my feeble gray has it, were four grandparents, seven of the next generation, and five from generation three. It was notable and appreciated to have my parents present - they have commonly traveled to Southern California to visit my sister Ann by this time. Excellent to have them join us. Not to mention four hounds and a brand-new-to-the-house cat, who was more or less under wraps due to all of the above.

Well, actually, besides the stories and bad jokes and all, we were there to cook, imbibe, and finally fall face down on more food than is seemly.

It's a blessing. In ever so many ways.

I didn't manage quite the intensity of photo coverage I sometimes am able to pull off and would have liked to. I find myself recently designated as the default bar-man, a role I struggle with even when on home turf, since I tend to also often find myself slotted in for a bit or two of cooking. I can't help but remark on, if not envy William Powell's schtick (we've been watching the occasional Thin Man); he certainly tends the liquour with gusto and far more brio and splash than I can ever muster (he somehow has a far more maleable clientele), never missing a chance to offer up a drink while keeping his own glass full, but then food preparation is done by magic in his movie-life. And, for that matter, much of his bar-work seems to be done by the "help." I dunno - maybe he's expected to be ever-alert for clues. I should probably check the fine print in my contract.

Working the bar, in case you have not had the experience, can be a very engrossing task at someone else's house, e.g., when it comes to tracking down mixers, add-ons, and working out alternatives with the "clients." Par example, no properly-chilled white wine was to hand at happy hour on this occasion, not something the conscripted brewmeister can remedy quickly.

And then there are the other responsibilities that compete with camera work, i.e., negotiating for Home on the Range for B. Sprouts and Bok Choy.

But we made do.

I did get a few cameos.

Mara worked up her own creative takeoff on a Waldorf salad.

Kirsten did some wonderful magic with the sweet potatoes, no photo coverage available alas, as we were sweating side-by-side at the time.

Sean, the savvy-one with sharp scimitar worked over the Big Bird.

And Eric broke new ground with a roux-gravy that might have been the best ever.

It cannot be denied that there is perhaps an element of over-the-top in this meal, with dishes that readily come to mind this year (bypassing the hors d'oeurves and dessert - and forgive me for what I forgot) including:

Da Bird (23 lbs)

oh, the dressing, I can never get enough

mashers (Chad's favorite - if only he could have been present!)

sweet potatoes

green bean casserole

creamed onions

gravy(!)

Waldorf salad
Brussel's sprouts

bok choy

devilled eggs

home-made rolls

Ye gods, what a lot of food! Looking back, there are several dishes I missed even sampling (certainly not gravy-maestro Eric's masterpiece!).

That's more or less how we do it. I.e., the dinner course. The pre- and post-, well, if need be we can get back to that later.

Of course for all of us, it's a highlight of the year to have the chance to have so many loved ones together and savor so much scrumptious food.

We were lucky enough to catch the tail-end of "Alice's Restaurant" on the radio after morning constitutional. I was amused to read on line later in the weekend a post indicating that their family (well, it's probably only dad, I'm betting, and one deranged one at that) has a tradition of following Alice up with a play of the Chipmunks' "Please Christmas Don't Be Late." Oikks.