Redneck Thanksgiving Y'all!!

I suppose there comes a time in every woman's life where she meets the man of her life, they fall in love, have the grand wedding and honeymoon into matrimonial bliss. But before the kids and after the split level condo with vaulted catherdral ceilings the inevitable must come. PREPARE THANKGSGIVING FOR THE IN-LAWS AND FAMILY. I, on the other hand, managed to cut out all of that romantic fun happiness and agree to host Thanksgiving for 22 people in our flat on a shoestring budget.

To be fair, cooking is fun. It's relaxing, exciting and nothing brings people together like alcohol and free food. Upon our arrival in London T and I agreed that it would be so cute to host a Turkey Dinner for our new British friends since we wouldn't be home for the holidays. So naive, so wrong.

As a masters student one becomes accomstomed to a certain amount of research. I put that and my pechant for procrastinating to work and began looking up turkey preparations and good old southern dishes around October. As the the day drew slowly near, panic set in and I turned to the people who are honor-bound to help you out. Mamas.

Mama1 and Mama2 received many desperate requests via e-mail for family recipes and ideas on how to host an entire dinner using an oven the size of a shoebox, 4 tiny electric burners and a dearth of cooking utensils. Thankfully the women stepped up and had a grand time doling out advice, suggesting themes and reminding me of etiquette. I took most of it, ditched some and prayed to a small baby Jesus that I didn't poison guests.

Shopping in London is always an adventure and looking for Lillywhite Flour, Grandma's Molasses, cornbread mix, ground sausage, Butterball turkeys, Bisquick, pre-made pie crust, pecans, attractive plastic and paper plates for 30, good wine, and basically all cornerstones of a southern meal proved a bit daunting. Mama shipped over South Carolina in a box including loads of recipes, 6 tubs of lard (I have no idea why!) and other goodies to help. Panic slowly set in as flat mate and I debated menu. SOME people eat BBQ and cole slaw on Turkey day and baked beans and pecan pie. Not to name names...Also, having 10 extra guests and a flat mate who admits that she "hasn't really ever cooked a meal before" did not help stress levels.

As doomesdays often do, the draw drew closer and troops assembled. The invitation went out: http://www.evite.com/pages/invite/viewInvite.jsp?event=GTXTZXYWOBVQSSRSYYOK&showArchive=true (if it's not viewable, imagine deer's ass as doorbell to be the main art). My Candian Thanksgiving host had mentioned that she spent over 30 punds on her turkey (which was delicious). I found one at Tesco and for 19 ponds of self-basting (no clue what THAT means still) turkey of unknown caged origin it only cost 12 pounds! Should I have been worried?? Carting it home in a backpack across six lanes of traffic was a great preview of parenthood (the turkey leaked a little bit, was very slippery and caused back aches). I'll pass for now, thanks!

Scouting out ex-pat grocery stores proved to be GREAT fun as I found beloved Tostitos and salsa, American cereals, and INSTANT OATMEAL. Various unnamed people had requested grits as part of the traditional Thanksgiving meal but I demurred stating protocol of breakfast foods. One day, they will discover the magic. T was in charge of desserts but a serious lack of pre-made crusts (we were expected to MAKE them-what's wrong with people! Eveything in this damn country is a pie of some nature and description!) and no pre-made Mrs. Smith's called for investigative skills. I found the Baker & Spice in South Kensington and talked them into hadning over pre-baked pie shells AND the tins. It's quite sad when that makes me feel accomplished. Dinner was on Wednesday as I left for America the next day and others had plans so the three days leading up to the main event saw the two of us up until 3 or 4 AM every night making stuffing, peeling veggies, checking out Mr. Tom's thawing process. I must point out that every newlywed must at some point buy a frozen bird the day of Thanksgiving or Xmas and then cry we it isn't done by 3PM. HELLOOOOOO! Every woman I met ove the age of 40 told me a similar story which makes me thinnk that many husbands drink a lot on family holidays. We later found out that our banging about in the kitchen pissed off our upstairs neighbor whose bedroom is right over the stove, fridge and cupboards. Whoops!

The big day arrives. I toddled off to class all blurry-eyed and prayed to God that people showed up, no one went to the hospital and taht dinner was finished before 10 PM. After 4 DAYS in the fridge Old tom was still a bit frosty, prompting near hystericl phone calls to T's mother (my moms were on the road or on an island). I removed the giblets (another newlywed disaster apparently-cooking the bird with the plastic pouch still inside), washed it thoroughly in the sink (against many website's wishes), and proceed to stuff the small pouch full of fresh veggies and herbs before buttering the hell out of it. This was no low-cal, let's worry about the amount of sugar and fat meal (sorry those who came, healthy didn't factor).
*I must pause to point out the frustrations of fowl preparation. Every damn website had a different method on how to cook an unstuffed bird (FYI-Stuffed turkey cooking is a Yankee thing). Some say wash it, others decry contamination, one site says no butter or the inside. Bringing, which temperature, inject juice under the skin, tie shut, no wait, SEW it shut, put the foil on first to prevent drying out, but wait, put the foil on at the END to slow down cooking of the breast, flip the bird upside down and then flip again, only cook it upside down ,cook and flip cook and flip. thanks to William Sonoma, Mama1 and 2, Dad, T's mom, clemson University, Paula Dean, Martha Stewart, Joy of Cooking and the Washington Post, I am now thoroughly confused and running out of time.-

Moving along, I blindly used family directions (with some Herbs de Provence references from W-S) and propped my laptop up and ran Martha Stewart's "I Will always Make a Better Thanksgiving Than You but Here are Some Tips You Mis-Guided Peasants" streaming video on loop. Rather impressed with my slather and stuff technique I prepared to seat my bird upon his throne of winter vegetables cut into a lattice (small over equals no roasting rack-thanks Mama for the tip). With the interior frostiness I had not been able to thoroughly violate my birds insides but had figured that we were a go for the oven. As I began to tie him up I noticed something was a bit off. What the hell was BREAST SIDE UP? These things should really come with signs stamped on the skin. Long frantic transatlantic phone call story short, I had the bird upside down. My careful buttering would never be known. Flipping 19 pounds of poultry over I realized that the little hole near the top end was larger and in fact, the bird cavity. Great, I had spent a careful 15 minutes washing out and stuffing Tom's ass. Wondeful, and I still had to remove the neck and other assorted meat parts. Close call but a newly stuffed and retied bird went into the oven. It was at this point that T came home from school, noted the butcher string looped around my neck and the frantic look of a strssed woman and immediately poured wine and jumped into her pies.

Four hours and three glasses of white later (maybe it was four-sleep deprivation lowers my math skills) it was time to shower/sober up a tad. Mama mentioned that a smart cook cuts her wine with soda water to prevent drunkedness before dinner and possible ruination of 175 dollars worth of food. We then discovered the limits of our hot water heater so the cold shower provided rejuvinating. T's old roommate was in town and soon became our Errand Bitch, picking up cole slaw from Nando's (I gave on that but happily invited T to figure out brisket if she was hell bent on it). Now, in the land of the South, PEOPLE DO NOT SHOW UP ON TIME LET ALONE EARLY. I barely had my make-up on when the first guests came bounding up our three flights of stairs. With every available burner, pot and surface taken over in the kitchen, I sent them out for beer and more wine. they left, more guests arrive right on schedule and damned if we didn't suddenly have 12 people in our four-butt kitchen chatting away. Feeling a bit like General Patton (the f*ing Normandy invasion took less planning I swear) everyone was banished to our living room where lw lighting and tea lights hopefully helped conceal all of the junk we had shoved in corners.

The bird came out and looked pretty damn tasty if one (ahemm) is to brag. The kicker came upon carving. Dede and Bill had loaned, albeit unwittingly, their Henkel carving set but there wasa little problem. In our house, and indeed in many houses everywhere, one is required to have Y chromosomes to touch meat (I just realized how homoerotic that last statement might be perceived). Shooting, grilling, hacking away and carving all falls under the ageis of being male along with rodent disposal and garabage detail. Stone-dead sober and faced with this enourmous beast of a bird tears threatened. What if I screw it up, make shredded turkey instead of slices. I had watched Martha create her "Bird of Paradise" presentation and felt like a total failure as a woman. I might pause to point out that I may have a slight penchant for drama. Thank God for boyfriends as Christian, who apparently attended Turkey Carving School, stepped in to do the honors. It must be said that NO OTHER MAN STEPPED UP TO THE PLATE!

Yes Mama, I served dinner on paper plates and with plastic cutlery but we have no dishwasher! About this time we all start to notice that our our other hostess might have overserved herself. this was noted with a tumble down the three steps leading up to the kitchen. It caused quite an impressive bruise but God bless her, T didn't barely felt it (two botles of wine will do this). The guest was as follows: 3 from SC and 2 from NC (more or less), 2 Brazilian, one BrazIrish (Irish but raised in Brazil before returning to Ireland), 2 Californians, a Canuck and her Swedish man, Aussies and Kiwis alike. I THINK that was all but we had quite the gaggle. Desserts rocked, wine flowed and we shoved the last guest out the door around 2AM. Ashley, thank God, had done most of the dishes with my drying (I didn't even notice untill we had been in there for an hour-many hands make light work etc.). Our still slightly inebriated hostess managed to lose her camera and say hi to our French neighbors (only friendly when all parties are drunk) before hitting the lights.

One quick packing for Sea Island and it was late to bed, early to rise and time for a plane ride to the old US of A!