Thanksgiving Eve

That is the only picture I've taken today. It's the stock I made for the dressing and the gravy. The giblets are in there too. Jessie gave me the fresh sage yesterday that she is growing in her yard. It's not serious chef stock, but it's good enough for our palates which are not exactly sophisticated. It's like I always said back in the day when people were obsessed with hugely expensive stereo systems with fancy-ass speakers and all that stuff- my ears aren't educated enough to know the difference. I mean, I can tell the difference between a record played on a Fisher Price My First Record Player and one played on a decent stereo but beyond that, not so much. 

I got a lot done today. I may have over-picked greens. There were just so many more than I realized. I used one of my biggest pots to cook them in but they did cook down after they'd simmered for a few hours and they've now been transferred into a smaller (but still large) pot and are in the refrigerator in the garage. The turkey is in the kitchen refrigerator along with the container of dressing, all ready to be stuffed into the bird. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the turkey was almost completely thawed. It was somehow reassuring that it was still a tiny bit icy in that I know it has stayed cold enough to ensure safety. I also decided that hundreds of angel biscuits might not be enough so I made a loaf of Challah. I've made a stab at clearing off surfaces for the food that will be coming in tomorrow.

Y'all- I'm overwhelmed. There is going to be so much food. It's like I told the guy working at the dump who, after we wished each other happy Thanksgiving, said, "Don't eat too much!" and I told him that we were going to have so much food that if I took one bite of each thing, it would be too much. And it's true! 
Well, if this isn't a First World problem, I do not know what is. And there will be plenty of leftovers for all. 

And despite all that I've done in preparation, I know that I'm still going to be swamped tomorrow. I still have to whip cream, heat greens, roast the turkey, make gravy, make iced tea, get the tables ready, roll out and bake the angel biscuits, pick some camellias and put them in vases, and decide whether or not I should use real plates and cloth napkins or the Chinet plates and Vanity Fair napkins I bought at Publix yesterday. I have plenty of china plates and cloth napkins, although none of them match because that's how I do things, and part of me will feel like I'm cheating if I don't use them but part of me thinks, "Oh, who the hell cares?" At least I got the quality stuff. I also got Solo cups which is a real sin because they're plastic but my drinking glasses are mostly mason jars which are not exactly festive or fancy anyway. 

There will definitely be real table cloths. And none of them will match either. 

So that's the way it has gone today. Actually, it's been very pleasant and I love doing the day-before-Thanksgiving cooking. Mr. Moon had a lot of errands to run and was gone most of the day so it was just me and the cats. He is heading up to Tennessee on Friday morning to meet up with buddies for hunting and good times and I am totally supportive of this. These trips are as important to him as time by myself is important to me. It works out beautifully. 

We were joking that he would definitely not get any turkey flautas this year. He and I really laid eyes on each other in that way the night after Thanksgiving, forty years ago. It was at a local rather dive-y bar where my ex-husband was playing with his band. A rather unusual situation but sparks did fly when that almost inappropriately tall guy asked me to dance. And then he did his best to get an invitation to my house afterwards for a turkey sandwich. 
He did not get that invitation. 

But I invited him over a few nights later for turkey flautas which I made from a cherished and delicious recipe which of course I still have. And I suppose the rest is history. 
But NO turkey flautas for him this year! Or turkey sandwiches either, for that matter. 

He'll live. 

And maybe, if he is lucky and there is sufficient leftover turkey, I'll save some and make those flautas when he gets back. 

I'll report in tomorrow evening unless I end up guzzling rum straight from the bottle on what I call "the hidden porch" after everyone is served. That porch is only steps away from my bed so you can see how that could turn out. 
It probably won't. But the man did bring me a fancy bottle of rum home and tomorrow there will be a shot or two and we will shout, "Whoop-Ai-Ay!" for Lynn who always came over Thanksgiving morning while I was cooking to have a little dance with me in the hallway and a shot of rum before she had to go to her own family's Thanksgiving. 

"Yum rum," she would say, closing her eyes in order to experience every bit of the taste of that dark, molasses-sweet shot. 

I miss her. I miss my Whoop-Ai-Ay woman. 

Meanwhile, Happy Thanksgiving Eve, y'all. For those who celebrate, of course. 

Love...Ms. Moon