Thanksgiving more than potatoes (11/22/04)

My daughter is making the mashed potatoes this year for Thanksgiving. Her entire family is grateful for this. I have no idea how she managed to become a great cook. She certainly didn’t get it from me.

A couple of years ago we all went to her in-laws for the holiday. It was a team effort to make the mashed potatoes. The mother cooked and started mashing them before handing off the electric mixer to one of her daughters. Kara beat and beat and beat and complained more than once that the potatoes looked strange. The solution was to add more butter and continue whipping. Those were the most unusual spuds I have ever eaten.

We have since learned that they were undercooked and overbeaten. It seems that when potatoes are whipped for that long they turn into something akin to bread dough. I like raw dough as much as the next person, maybe more, but I certainly don’t want a glob of it next to my turkey. I’m not sure what they did with the leftovers but it would have made great potato bread.

I have had my share of cooking disasters over the years. I have left the giblets inside the bird more than once. This wouldn’t be so bad if the nasty things weren’t wrapped protectively in plastic. I am assuming that manufacturers realize consumers are inept and that is why they make sure the plastic can withstand prolonged roasting.

It doesn’t seem to change the flavor and it is easier to throw out the giblets after they are cooked anyway. The cat is the only one who seems to mind as this eliminates any chance she has for getting the heart and liver to herself.

Once I left the plastic wrapping on the outside of a pork roast that I threw into the oven before rushing off to an appointment. I left my family instructions to turn the heat off at a certain time as I don’t trust oven timers. We unwrapped the meat after it was done. We all had a good laugh but I seem to remember the roast being moister and better than usual. Maybe the plastic was meant to be left on?

The first year I was married I had Thanksgiving at my house. In addition to the usual fare I decided to bake a lemon meringue pie for my brother, Michael. I had never made a pie by myself before. Somehow the crust ended up in the middle of the filling. I never did figure out how that happened. I probably missed a step in the directions that told me how to weld the crust to the bottom of the pan.

I have never had that occur again so perhaps it was the pressure of trying to have everything perfect that caused the mishap.

I should have known that there is no such thing as perfection. If the dinner comes out great then the rolls are forgotten only to be found on top of the refrigerator a week later. If the cake turns out more beautiful than expected then the dog will drag half of it under the table while you are loading up the car. That new recipe that looked so wonderful on the cover of a magazine will turn out to taste awful. At least one child will turn up his nose at “that green stuff.” Someone will spill the milk and someone will pout. Something will set off the smoke alarm at least once. Any pets will either vanish or get overly friendly.

It doesn’t matter. What matters is that the family will be together for the holiday. The divorced ones will make nice for the sake of their children. After it is all over the television will lull the men into a stupor with an overdose of football while the women catch up with gossip in the kitchen. Any assorted children will run shrieking through the house, and flee outside to the tune of, “Shut that door!”

It will be another Thanksgiving where we will be grateful to have potatoes to overbeat and family who can say, “Remember when …” We are especially thankful that my daughter is doing the cooking this year and not me.[[In-content Ad]]