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The Goddess Speaks
LAST year I gave being a Domestic Goddess my very best shot. There wasn't a home or cooking catalog from which I didn't order. In fact, my kitchen could have been Lillian Vernon's display room. Calm over chaos
this ThanksgivingI painted kitchen cupboards, bought place mats and napkins that matched, and started a new set of dishes with more pieces than I knew what to do with.
What better way to show off my efforts than by throwing the perfect Thanksgiving dinner?
Naturally, I had help. My stuffing recipe came from the Williams Sonoma catalog, as did the exclusive burnt apple cider, herbes de Provence, and instructions for cooking a turkey in a clay pot. I'd even ordered the perfect platter from Martha Stewart, but tragedy struck when it arrived shattered into a million pieces.
My stuffing recipe called for a turkey with appropriate poundage for 12 people, coincidentally the number of trusting souls I'd invited for dinner.
Unfortunately, the only bird my husband could find was big enough to be the country of Turkey. Since it didn't fit into my clay pot, we had to cut the wings off.
This change of events necessitated my first call to my mother in California. "Just melt some butter, throw in some Sherry and garlic salt and baste frequently," she advised.
And so I did.
But the bird was still too big for the lid to fit tightly, an essential element to successful clay-pot cooking. Call No. 2 to Mom netted the same advice, so I basted away then set the oven to a low temperature and left my turkey to start its journey to deliciousness.
Don't ask me why the oven was on broil 45 minutes later. Fortunately, the clay pot lid hadn't cracked. I can't say the same for the breast of the turkey.
During my next phone call, Mom suggested I baste the turkey again. Then she added a new twist, "Pour some sherry in an empty glass and begin sipping."
THANKS to my stepdaughter, dinner eventually arrived on the table safe and sound. Everyone was either too polite or too hungry to comment that the salads were warm, the mashed potatoes cold, the gravy nonexistent and the turkey dry enough to sop up Kailua Beach.
Pride in all of my new purchases turned to shock when I noticed stacks of dirty dishes, walls of pots and pans, and clumps of used utensils reaching up to the ceiling.
Thankfully, my sister-in-law is the kind of woman who would have been insulted if I didn't let her help clean up. We had the kitchen spotless in no time. OK, by the middle of December.
This year, I actually considered trying for the perfect Thanksgiving dinner one more time. But then I was haunted by visions of turkey breast the consistency of leather, a kitchen so full of dirty dishes I had to duck to get to the sink, and the morning after a sherry binge. Surely there had to be a better way.
I've decided to start a new tradition. It will be just me, my husband, Tony, and my parrot, Flash, at the Thanksgiving table.
Flash will get pellets straight out of the bag. Tony and I will have hamburger patties. Ketchup will be the only side dish. And I'll serve our feast on paper plates.
Michelle Calabro Hubbard's first book,
"Sour Notes," is about a local girl who goes to
drastic measures to lose weight only to accept
herself just the way she is.
The Goddess Speaks runs every Tuesday
and is a column by and about women, our strengths, weaknesses,
quirks and quandaries. If you have something to say, write it and
send it to: The Goddess Speaks, the Honolulu Star-Bulletin, P.O.
Box 3080, Honolulu, 96802, or send e-mail
to features@starbulletin.com.