by Jill Smokler
Your side dishes will be “table ready.” So you offered to bring a side dish. There’s hope for you yet! Just please know that it totally doesn’t count unless you bring it “table ready.” Oh, I’m sorry . . . not ringing a bell? That means fully prepared, in a holiday-table-appropriate serving bowl (i.e., not a plastic Country Crock container), complete with serving utensils. Walking in my front door (late), yammering on your phone, with two unopened cans of cranberry jelly in a Walmart bag? Bitch, please. Were you raised in a barn?
You will eat what your hostess serves. As far as the menu goes, unless you have life-or-death food allergies, just . . . Suck. It. Up. So what if my sweet potatoes aren’t like your mother’s? My house, my menu. Say what? You don’t like fried onions in your green bean casserole? I’ll give you two choices: pick them off or just say no thank you. This is not Burger King, m’kay?
Are you on a special diet? Not eating carbs this week? Well, tough turkey, Tanisha. It’s a holiday. Live a little. Asking someone to make you a separate pumpkin pie with Splenda is like ordering an extra-large Diet Coke to wash down your triple cheeseburger and supersized fries. Hey, know what else is great for reducing calories? Portion control. Or instead of sacking out on my couch right after dinner, I bet you’d burn a ton of calories clearing the table and washing some dishes.
4
PUNCH-YOUR-HUSBAND-IN-THE-FACE-IF-HE-ASKS-FOR-STOVE-TOP-ONE-MORE-TIME STUFFING
by Abby Byrd
This year, perhaps you’ve vowed to make an original holiday dish that will become family legend. And perhaps your efforts to create said dish have been trampled upon at every turn by a tribe of philistines who keep asking why we aren’t having “the stuff in the box.” We are having homemade stuffing, you answer, because family traditions do not come in a box.
Perhaps your husband looks at you warily, and then reminds you how “savory” he finds Stove Top.
Give a tight-lipped smile and tell him that your stuffing has sausage in it, and he will reluctantly retreat.
Do NOT tell him about the cranberries and apples.
STEP ONE: On dinner day, prep the following ingredients by chopping them and putting them aside, maybe in adorable little ramekins that you can photograph, if you are inclined to do that sort of thing.
1 medium onion
2–3 stalks celery
1 medium apple
If you’re using fresh herbs, you can also chop them up ahead of time and put them aside, and feel superior for doing so.
1⁄3 cup fresh parsley
2 ½ Tablespoons fresh or dried sage
1 Tablespoon fresh or dried rosemary
½ Tablespoon fresh or dried thyme
STEP TWO: In a large skillet, sauté onion, celery, sage, rosemary, and thyme. Add a bag of precooked turkey sausage crumbles (or fresh turkey sausage, if you’re feeling generous) and cook for a few minutes to blend flavors.
STEP THREE: While this is cooking, dump your 14-ounce bag of prepared Pepperidge Farm stuffing cubes into a bowl (or a greased baking dish if you don’t plan to stuff a bird), and get ready your carton of turkey or chicken stock and 4 tablespoons of melted butter.
STEP FOUR: Pour sausage mixture over the stuffing cubes. Mix in chopped apples, parsley, and ¾ cup of dried cranberries.
STEP FIVE: Argue with mother or mother-in-law or both about how much stock to add to the mixture. Strive to walk the fine line between too-wet stuffing and too-dry stuffing. (You need about a cup if you’re stuffing a bird but closer to 3 cups if you’re baking the stuffing separately. Eyeball it.) Drizzle with melted butter.
STEP SIX: Drink at least two beers or one glass of wine before packing this mixture into a dead bird’s body cavity. If you’re preparing the stuffing separately, simply cover and bake at 350 for about 45 minutes. Uncover for the last ten minutes or so if you want the top nice and crispy.
STEP SEVEN: Eat a bag of Hershey’s bars and have another glass of wine while this fabulous dish is baking. You’ve earned it. This is some sweet-AND-savory-ass stuffing right here. Nobody in your house better even think about asking for Stove Top.
5
THE GREAT FROZEN TURKEY INCIDENT OF 2006
by Christine Burke
When my husband and I were young and stupid (read: poor and stupid), we used to daydream about having big family holidays in the new home we didn’t yet own. Visions of snowy windows, crackling fireplaces, and family with rosy cheeks at our door used to dance in our heads. We used to get positively giddy at the thought of our family gathered around our hearth and home, all swooning at the perfection that we’d created.
Yeah.
Let me tell you about Thanksgiving 2006.
Or, as I like to call it, The Great Frozen Turkey Incident of 2006.
In September 2006, our youngest joined the family. For reasons still not clear to us, we thought that fall would be a GREAT time to do the following:
1. Establish a new routine with a newborn and a toddler.
2. Sell our house.
3. Buy a new house.
4. Invite twenty-two people over to our house for Thanksgiving.
As you well know, a newborn in the house equates to constant laundry, cracked nipples, sibling rivalry, and sleep deprivation. Oh, the sleep deprivation. The I’m-so-tired-I-don’t-think-I’m-actually-sleeping-when-I’m-sleeping tired. The How-did-I-drive-here-and-not-hit-seventeen-cars? tired. The I-will-cut-you-if-I-don’t-get-some-sleep tired. And, about eight weeks in, you are fairly certain that you will never. Sleep. Again. And that your toddler needs to go live with the gypsies.
Eight weeks in brings us smack-dab to Thanksgiving 2006.
When you invite twenty-two people to your home for Thanksgiving, it is usually a bonus to have a place to actually put them. Our first home was by no means small, however, we had long outgrown putting a couple of tables in the family room to house everyone. So, this particular year, my husband convinced me that our guests would be most comfortable in our garage. In. Our. Garage. Next to the motor oil and fertilizer. Can someone pass the potatoes and the air compressor hose?
Upon waking up that morning (read: realizing I was sleep-drooling on the nursery floor), I set about tackling the tasks of the day. Gravy supplies? Check! Fifteen pounds of potatoes peeled? Check, check! Cranberry sauce made from scratch? Bitch, check that, yo! Turkey defrosted?
Houston, we have a problem. A big, twenty-two-pound, FROZEN problem.
Twenty-two people coming to my house in five hours and we have a twenty-two-pound frozen bird sitting on my counter.
I haven’t slept in fifty-six days, and I have twenty-two people coming for dinner, and my frigging turkey is frozen.
Those who were present for these fifteen minutes in time have described the moment I found out about the frozen turkey as epic. My parents and hubby simply stood out of harm’s way as I totally, completely, and categorically lost my marbles right there in my kitchen. I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience and I was scary enough that when my brother and sister in law arrived from their hotel in the middle of my meltdown, they simply turned around and left for an hour.
I have heard reports that when my dad asked what they could do to help, I yelled, in a primal manner, “You people need to find me a frigging turkey.” I do remember guttural screaming and I do remember the mixture of horror and amusement my hubby had as he watched his normally sane wife come unglued over frozen fowl. In that moment, I understood what it meant to be 100 percent batshit crazy. When my dad asked if turkey cutlets would do in a pinch (I still marvel at the bravery of that man to even ask that question), reports are that I rounded on him, eyes bulging, and yelled, “Get me a turkey with bones or don’t come home.”
And then my husband suggested that we try to defrost the turkey . . . IN. THE. BATHTUB.
That might have been the straw that broke the camel’s back.<
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Garage. Frozen. Bathtub. Fifty-six days with no sleep.
It was all just too much.
All I wanted was to have the Happiest Thanksgiving Ever, and now we were officially throwing the White Trash Hillbilly Holiday. The dining room smelled like grease, there was a turkey wrapped in a garbage bag defrosting in the guest bathroom, and my dad just came home with a fresh $75 free-range turkey because he was too afraid to show his face empty-handed.
Much of the rest of the day passed in a blur of Chardonnay and postictal confusion. The meal was cooked, the space heaters crackled, and there was frost on the garage windows. Our families sat in my garage and ate that free-range turkey gleefully. There were no worries about children spilling juice, parents and in-laws quietly chuckled at how the mighty Martha Stewart had fallen to a new hillbilly low, and the children had plenty of space to run like lunatics. I consumed my body weight in Chardonnay that day, and I can report that I slept like a baby for the first time in fifty-six days.
I believe it was my mother-in-law who whispered in my ear, “Honey, now THAT’S how you throw a Thanksgiving to remember.”
6
SIX REASONS THE KIDS’ TABLE IS THE BEST SEAT IN THE HOUSE
by Andrea Condodemetraky
Every holiday it happens: There’s not enough room at the big people’s table, so someone digs out a rickety old card table with rusted, mismatched folding chairs from the garage, throws a stained tablecloth on it, and calls it the kids’ table. No one over the age of fourteen ever wants to sit at the kids’ table. But, why? That’s just crazy talk!
Whether it is because of having little ones in high chairs, or just being the “martyr” of the family and saying, “No, you go ahead and sit with the adults; I’ll sit at the little table,” I’ve been there and have to say, it’s a lot more fun than not. Here are a few things you should keep in mind if you are in a position to make a move to the kids’ table this year . . .
1. It is socially acceptable at the kids’ table to do things that are frowned upon at the adults’ table. Burping, farting, blowing bubbles in milk, and eating mashed potatoes like Randy from A Christmas Story are not only acceptable but expected at this table.
2. The kids get served first. Want your pick of the buffet items? The kids are ushered through the kitchen first, so if you are picked or volunteered for the kids’ table, you have a right to get in line behind five-year-old cousin Timmy. You do risk cousin Timmy spilling his wobbly paper plate on your foot, thus covering your new wedge boots in gravy, but this is a risk you will need to take in your position.
3. There is always a toddler you can blame things on. Spills? Food on the floor? Half-chewed brussels sprouts spit into a napkin? Just. Blame. The. Toddler.
4. Specialty items at the kids’ table. There is always that one child at the holidays that is a picky eater. They don’t eat turkey, they hate green beans, they gag at the thought of stuffing. If your family is like mine, there is inevitably a plate of chicken fingers at the kids’ table only to ensure they have something of substance to eat before the almighty dessert table is visited. So if you are seated at the kids’ table, you may get to indulge in some kid-happy food like chicken fingers and pizza bites or something of the sort. If you are at one of those Pottery Barn–type Thanksgivings where the hostess actually goes all out on the kids’ table, you may even find a chocolate favor or something like it at your place setting. BONUS!
5. No one notices how much wine you are drinking. Kids at the table are not going to pay attention to how many times you have refilled your wineglass (or in this case, whineglass?). At the adult table, you may be silently judged for how much sauce (not cranberry) you are taking in to help get you through the holiday madness.
6. Kids are much more fun than adults. You will most likely hear more entertaining stories at this table—brutal, blatant honesty about life in general—and have more belly laughs than you would at the adult table.
Whether you are at the adults’ table or the infamous kids’ table, I wish you a very happy Thanksgiving. May you find the joy in the holiday no matter where you sit!
7
FAKING IT IN THE KITCHEN
by Jennifer Weedon Palazzo
The official definition of “holiday” is “a day of festivity or recreation when no work is done.” This definition was obviously written by a childless single man with no extended family.
My definition of “holiday”? “A day that formerly held religious or cultural significance but upon marriage and motherhood become a gauntlet-esque test of one’s creativity, work ethic, culinary expertise, and diplomatic skills.” Oh, and it’s a crap-ton of work. Especially the baking part.
I mean, who has time to bake these days? The last time I tried to make a pie, my son had a temper tantrum over why he isn’t allowed to swallow quarters and I forgot all about the pie until the smoke alarm went off.
Since then, I’ve become a pro at passing off store-bought goodies as my own. You can too, by following my no-fail tips:
• Store-bought pie crusts are far too symmetrical. Use the back of a spoon to rough them up a bit by smushing them for a more homemade look. If the top of a pie looks too pristine, cover it in whipped cream and sprinkle some nutmeg or cinnamon on top.
• Serving cookies warm always makes them seem homemade, and you don’t even have to use the oven, just nuke them in the microwave for thirty seconds. If the bottoms of store-bought cookies look too perfect, use a butter knife to roughen them up, and if you want to go the extra mile, brown the bottoms of the cookies in a frying pan over butter to give them that slightly burnt made-at-home-look.
• If you’re using a store-bought cake mix, the key is not to mix it too well. Forget using your electric mixer that has never come out of the box, just a regular dinner fork will do the trick. Lumps are charming!
• Sprinkle whatever you have on hand into premade dough, like Pillsbury Crescents or Nestlé Toll House cookie dough. Got some raisins or almonds you’ve been trying to pass off as yummy snacks to your kids? Did your kids get a slew of candy canes at school that you wish they hadn’t? Mix that shit in!
• If you are serving these counterfeit treats at your own home, pour some imitation vanilla into a baking pan and heat it in a three-hundred-degree oven for an hour. Your house smells cleaner and you give the vital olfactory illusion of baking.
• Sprinkle some flour on your pants. Even better, put some in your hair. It will act as a dry shampoo and convince people you’ve been baking.
• If anyone asks for your recipe, sweetly claim it’s a closely guarded family secret. If an actual family member asks, tell them you found it online and forgot to bookmark it.
Oh, the hours of time and effort I’ve saved you! You can thank me by inviting my in-laws to YOUR house next year. I’ll bring the vanilla extract.
8
PUT-YOUR-FEET-UP-WHILE-THE-CROCK-POT-COOKS CRANBERRY SAUCE
by Crystal Ponti
Using your Crock-Pot on Thanksgiving Day frees up space on your stovetop and alleviates the pressure of having yet another dish to meddle over. Plus, it tastes and smells wonderful—that’s a major win/win!
2 cups fresh or frozen cranberries
1 cup dried cranberries
2 large apples (diced, skin optional)
1 medium orange (enough for ½ teaspoon of zest + ¼ cup juice)
3 Tablespoons honey
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 pinch salt
¾ cup walnuts (optional)
(If you’re feeding a large crowd, double the recipe and opt for a 5-quart or larger Crock-Pot.)
Grate the zest from orange until there is ½ teaspoon of zest, then slice and squeeze out ¼ cup of juice.
Add zest and juice, along with remaining ingredients, into a 3- to 5-quart Crock-Pot.
Cover and cook for 2 hours on high or
3–4 hours on low.
Bask in your time-saving genius.
9
TEN WAYS TO ENSURE A MEMORABLE THANKSGIVING
by Rita Templeton
Ah, Thanksgiving: a time for families and friends to gather, share a bountiful feast, and make special memories. If you’re hosting the soiree, consider implementing a few of these helpful tips to make this Thanksgiving one your guests are sure to never (ever, ever) forget.
1. Let the kids help with food preparation. Explain to the guests that the pieces of eggshell are in there “for added texture.”
2. Try out a new recipe you saw on Pinterest, no sooner than one hour before guests are set to arrive. It should ideally involve more than twelve ingredients and a blowtorch, and be shaped like a turkey or other holiday-related icon.
3. Put the turkey in the oven. Realize hours later at mealtime that you forgot to turn the oven on. Serve greasy fried chicken from the warming tray down at the gas station instead.
4. Invite forty people. Make enough food for twelve. Watch what happens.
5. Announce to your hungry guests that because you care about their cholesterol, you’ve decided to serve Tofurky and dried kale chips in lieu of the traditional Thanksgiving foods. Swap out place cards with informational brochures titled, “Why Vegan is Veg-tacular.”
