Yeeks! 14 minutes to meet NaBloPoMo, blogblogblog.
Let's return to Carry Out Thanksgiving dinner for a minute. I'd decided that I hadn't the energy to produce a full-fledged Turkey dinner for 7 on my own this year, after forbidding my sister and her family to contribute. "We'll carry out!" I declared, secretly also declaring myself a gynus. After all:
The guy at the deli explained to me: The entire meal would be ready to go, but I'd have to "reheat" the turkey in the oven for about an hour. The rest of the meal, I imagined, would be hot and beautiful, in deli containers, that I could perhaps, dump into my own serving bowls and beautify with some parsley. It's all about the presentation, right? Something like this, I thought:
Not so much.
I picked up the generic, white box, at precisely 3:30 in the afternoon.
I lugged the thing in, 1/2 hour before the guests (aka, my family) were to arrive.
I photographed the box, giddy in my excitement.
There it is! There's the entire dinner, along with some fancy deli thingies I bought to put on the side: dolmas, marinated artichokes. I'd throw that in along next to my own veggie tray, a caprese salad, and some pies. Lovely, just lovely.
Upon opening the box, though, minor disappointment immediately sat in. Here's the entire Thanksgiving dinner 30 minutes before Teri's familia was to march in.
I got kind of a sick feeling immediately, and yet a thankful one: Thank God it's "only" my family coming. As if I'd get away with feeding them any sort of gruel, but would have been mortified to dish it up to guests like you.
So. To the right of the turkey sits 2 bags of Yoder's mashed potatoes, "just like mother used to make," the bag read. There was also some stuffing that required 1/2 hour of baking, after the turkey,...
or claiming to be...
The gravy was... transparent. gelatinous. yellow. ish. yellowish. It was like lava-lamp lava, dumped into a plastic container. It was...mutant, I was sure someone would end up with a 3rd ear, if they tried the gravy.
The food was squooshed into serving bowls, things were heated up. It was a proper, processed-food Thanksgiving dinner. The turkey was fine, the potatoes too salty, the stuffing a bit creepy, and the gravy downright scary. My homemade sides were good.
The Thanksgiving meal I served, though tolerable, and generally fitting the bill, freaked me out. Processed food, in general, freaks me out. I really, really wouldn't serve this up to anyone, ever again, if only to comfort myself.
And Clint, the only person at dinner brave enough to try the gravy?
I swear...there's an ear sprouting on his forehead.