The Fool and I are heading to a northerly suburb to have dinner with an old friend of mine from grad school, her family and other various folks.
Janice and I have a history of notable Thanksgivings together. There was the year we brined a turkey in the trunk of her Maxima because the refrigerator was too small to hold my giant canning kettle.
There was the year we cooked the turkey and then, during the 30 minute resting period, drove it even further north to eat at another friend's house.
And then, there are the ritual tussles over the menu. Neither one of us turns down an interesting food when confronted with it (except for thousand-year eggs; sorry, Janice, you got me twice on those, I'm done.)
But Thanksgiving seems to bring out the mad scientist in Janice and the Betty Crocker in me. She wants to rub the turkey with garlic and cook it on the grill; I want it brined and in an oven. She wants to make unusual side dishes. I want the old standards. She declares that sweet potatoes and mashed potatoes on the same table are vegetable redundancy and I fall over myself explaining that sweet potatoes function nutritionally as orange vegetables and are therefore no more redundant to mashed potatoes than carrots. (That was this year's debate.)
She proposes, I counterpropose.
I volunteer to make rolls. She says yes, but only if they're "interesting" ones. So I've made three kinds - sweet potato cloverleaf, Parker House and pumpkin pumpernickel (which would be a lot more interesting to me if they'd freakin' rise a little faster.)
We're taking a beef tenderloin with garlic and herbs to roast as the second meat entree, and the Fool is making a lovely green salad with a fancy dressing and toasted pumpkin seeds and pears on top.
The cats are sleeping right now, and are no doubt thankful for soft furniture and a warm house and people who pet them a lot, and we are just glad to be here in all respects.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
(pictures and Actual Knitting Content to come later.)