I know. I get it. What the heck is this photo? Where is the picture of a perfectly cooked Buttermilk-Brined Spatchcocked Turkey?
Well, I made it. It was tasty. That's not what this post is about. Deal with it.
That photo above? It's of my friends David and Cat shucking oysters. They generously brought two dozen to Thanksgiving dinner and had my guests and me transfixed as they wriggled each of these precious crustaceans open for a special treat during cocktail hour. Between the whole "dinner and a show" effect and the briny delights slipping past my lips, it made for a marvelous holiday memory.
And, then there were the cheers. The many cheers. We all bordered on tipsy at certain points in the evening, but always slid back gently with a glass or two of sparkling water. That said, some of the wines were fantastic.
Conversation? There was plenty. Furious intellectual debates about Freud and the true nature of art had me thinking that "Thanksgiving-as-a-salon" wasn't a bad idea. (Besides, Mama Vamp threw out a few zingers that were glorious!)
Of course there was that aforementioned Turkey alongside Ciabatta Stuffing with Sausage, Wild Mushroom Gravy, Fall Fruit Chutney, a Wilted Escarole Salad with Crispy Shallots and Prunes, as well as Spicy Sweet Potato Puree with Pineapple and Lime Zest.
But was there pie? Yes. Yes. There was a Chocolate Pecan number which I served with homemade Vanilla Ice Cream. But, there were also drop-dead gorgeous cupcakes that looked more like a bouquet than any Edible Arrangement ever could...
They were also quite delicious.
But then was the evening's grand finale.
Sherry? Port? Amaro?
Guess again.
The correct answer is: song.
From karaoke warbling of Janis Ian's classic At Seventeen to belting out Kiss Me Kate's I Hate Men, the evening had taken a turn in a way that was sad, wistful, joyful and truly celebratory.
I have no idea if I'll ever be able to top this Thanksgiving. But I am awfully thankful for it.
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