Last night we had Thanksgiving. My hen turned out okay, since I realized that my fig preserves were moldy and I had to wing it (no pun intended) with something else. My hen had a neck when I unwrapped it. I nearly threw it away, but composed myself and called Peter in to deal with it. I am no Julia Child, I'll tell you that. Once the hen was de-necked (okay that "word" makes me nauseated), I crammed some onion and garlic inside it and made a glaze on the stove top of some orange tangerine juice I had in the fridge, some white wine, and a bunch of maple syrup. It turned out okay. Guinea hen tastes remarkably like chicken. So much so that you wonder why you spent 13 bucks on a little chicken when a whole one is only 8. 10 if you want them to rotisserie it for you. I could have done that, and brushed it with maple syrup and that would have been it. And saved myself three bucks. We used to have guinea hens that lived outside our first house. They are horrifically noisy, they sound like a child screaming while being shaken violently. The first time I heard it, I rushed outside, certain something terrible was transpiring in my backyard. Eating one felt good on that level, I don't mind telling you. Ha ha! Revenge is mine, you noisy freak of nature.
Anyway, not at all the point of this post. Dinner came out okay. We also tried celeriac (ugliest piece of produce you can buy, I think) and they're tasty. And I cooked turnips for the first time, and they were also yummy. My stuffing was the best, I think. Want a good stuffing recipe? Take a box of stove top turkey stuffing, and add to it a cup of celery, about three or four cups of mixed mushrooms (spring for shitakes, they're delicious) and about a cup and a half of dried cranberries, and a half a small onion diced small. Instead of water, add about a cup of chicken stock, and a cup of white wine. Or more, or less, depending on how moist you want it. Toss it in the oven for an hour. It was pretty spectacular, and I don't like stove top stuffing.
Also not the point of this post.
Bella did so great last night while I was getting stuff ready. Slept on her own, not a care in the world. Two minutes before Peter came home, when I was filling water glasses and lighting candles, she started to cry. So in walks Peter to see his frazzled wife, a mess in a pair of pants with who knows what spilled on them, maybe sauce, maybe spit up. His baby is looking adorable in her happy thanksgiving shirt and screaming. He smiles, looks at the beautiful spread of food, and goes to sit down. He says grace and Bella screams along and I'm trying to hold her and calm her down while we have a nice quiet meal. No doing. I move to the rocking chair with her, and she starts to quiet. But my food is getting cold so Peter tries to move it near me and spills about a quarter of a bottle of wine, all over my plate, floods it totally, and all over his pants and the floor. He gets up, runs to change, and mop up the floor before we totally ruin our throw rug. He's mad the way only Peter can be at himself when he does something that he thinks is stupid and embarrassing. It makes me laugh a little, but I'm trying not to. By the time Bella is done crying, and the floor is clean, our food is stone cold. We heat it up in the microwave and turn on the football game and drink our wine. I made it just past halftime before I fell asleep nursing Bella with my shirt half off. Peter let me sleep.
Somewhere in there, I remembered another feast I made for him for his Thanksgiving. I remembered how beautiful everything looked, and the candlelight, and sitting at the table together with the fireplace on. I had brushed my hair and had some make up on. Wait, I bet I have a picture.
But all I kept thinking was that I wouldn't trade that for this. I kept thinking that we were right in the middle of a memory that one day we would talk about at pretty Thanksgiving tables with my makeup and my shirt on. We would eat warm food from the oven instead of the microwave and nobody would spill the expensive wine we'd splurged on and we'd laugh about the first Thanksgiving I tried to do with Bella. How tired we were that Peter spilled the wine and stormed around and I held Bella and tried to eat while simultaneously rocking a baby, dripping sauce over us both. It just seemed like one of those moments you know? That one day I would miss this mess and chaos and confusion while we figure out this mom and dad thing. That as I get better at this, I'm going to miss this part. I don't know, now it's not coming out right.
Either way, Thanksgiving was memorable and lovely. Wish me luck with Christmas.
Anyway, not at all the point of this post. Dinner came out okay. We also tried celeriac (ugliest piece of produce you can buy, I think) and they're tasty. And I cooked turnips for the first time, and they were also yummy. My stuffing was the best, I think. Want a good stuffing recipe? Take a box of stove top turkey stuffing, and add to it a cup of celery, about three or four cups of mixed mushrooms (spring for shitakes, they're delicious) and about a cup and a half of dried cranberries, and a half a small onion diced small. Instead of water, add about a cup of chicken stock, and a cup of white wine. Or more, or less, depending on how moist you want it. Toss it in the oven for an hour. It was pretty spectacular, and I don't like stove top stuffing.
Also not the point of this post.
Bella did so great last night while I was getting stuff ready. Slept on her own, not a care in the world. Two minutes before Peter came home, when I was filling water glasses and lighting candles, she started to cry. So in walks Peter to see his frazzled wife, a mess in a pair of pants with who knows what spilled on them, maybe sauce, maybe spit up. His baby is looking adorable in her happy thanksgiving shirt and screaming. He smiles, looks at the beautiful spread of food, and goes to sit down. He says grace and Bella screams along and I'm trying to hold her and calm her down while we have a nice quiet meal. No doing. I move to the rocking chair with her, and she starts to quiet. But my food is getting cold so Peter tries to move it near me and spills about a quarter of a bottle of wine, all over my plate, floods it totally, and all over his pants and the floor. He gets up, runs to change, and mop up the floor before we totally ruin our throw rug. He's mad the way only Peter can be at himself when he does something that he thinks is stupid and embarrassing. It makes me laugh a little, but I'm trying not to. By the time Bella is done crying, and the floor is clean, our food is stone cold. We heat it up in the microwave and turn on the football game and drink our wine. I made it just past halftime before I fell asleep nursing Bella with my shirt half off. Peter let me sleep.
Somewhere in there, I remembered another feast I made for him for his Thanksgiving. I remembered how beautiful everything looked, and the candlelight, and sitting at the table together with the fireplace on. I had brushed my hair and had some make up on. Wait, I bet I have a picture.
But all I kept thinking was that I wouldn't trade that for this. I kept thinking that we were right in the middle of a memory that one day we would talk about at pretty Thanksgiving tables with my makeup and my shirt on. We would eat warm food from the oven instead of the microwave and nobody would spill the expensive wine we'd splurged on and we'd laugh about the first Thanksgiving I tried to do with Bella. How tired we were that Peter spilled the wine and stormed around and I held Bella and tried to eat while simultaneously rocking a baby, dripping sauce over us both. It just seemed like one of those moments you know? That one day I would miss this mess and chaos and confusion while we figure out this mom and dad thing. That as I get better at this, I'm going to miss this part. I don't know, now it's not coming out right.
Either way, Thanksgiving was memorable and lovely. Wish me luck with Christmas.
12:33 PM
Funny how every time you write about your meals you make, there is wine. Either in the food or in the glass. I wonder....do you know how to cook without it? And did you by chance get any pictures of Bella's first American Thanksgiving?
I'm glad you had a memorable thanksgiving!!
Sounds fun :)
4:39 PM
Oh Melanie, I'm so happy that you're a mother that I nearly cry. And I'm not even joking. I'm reading this post, and I'm imagining you sitting here telling me about it (maybe your hair is brushed, maybe it's not). I honestly think I just sat here and smiled through the whole thing, and at the end I got a little teary. I'm not PMSing am I? *calculates* Nope. This is just oh so sweet. I agree, this is one of those really great stories that you're going to tell a few Thanksgivings later (maybe even the next) and laugh and smile about.
8:19 PM
First: LOL @ "Revenge is mine, you noisy freak of nature."
Second: It came out right. I got it.
Third: Sounds like a Thanksgiving any man would love to me... Food, sports, alcohol and nudity. Really, what more could you put in there? Peter is a lucky man.
7:24 AM
Sounds like quite a day! But I am glad you could make the most of it and like you said you made memories.
I love Becky's comment! HA HA
9:03 AM
Carrie, you're so sweet sometimes it makes me cry.
Becky, that is a fantastic comment, thanks for putting it into perspective for me. He IS a lucky man!