I had had no plans but woke up early thinking, actually, I could throw together a reasonable facsimile of a turkey dinner. First stop my moment of cappuccino and brioche zen and then off to the store where I found almost all ingredients of what my one guest called tacchino decomposto, deconstructed turkey. A thigh, a breast, and apple/onion/sage/sausage garnish in lieu of stuffing, baby green beans and mashed potatoes. I even found cranberry sauce at the shop that has British imports.
When I got home the jar of cranberry sauce went crashing to the floor and shattered. It could have been worse, I thought afterwards. That was not my first thought however, which was F**k! as I slammed the package of green beans on the floor too in a fit of pique and infantile rage. It really could have been worse, it could have been the Prosecco.
I managed to compose myself, clean it up and get to work, all the while wondering when a major delivery to a friend’s house I needed to supervise, scheduled this morning, was going to happen, hoping it wouldn’t be in the middle of some cooking operation, or worse in the middle of sitting down to eat. Alas, I pulled it all off and the delivery never materialized so all was well. We had a lovely meal and I chased the mid-pandemic-far-from-home-Thanksgiving-day blues away on this cold foggy rainy day in late November.
I am thankful to all and for all.
