Turkey Day

“I believe the most important tool you can have in the kitchen is a good table—a place to sit down around and talk and share as a family. Where you serve the food is as important as where you cook it—maybe more so. To me, eating is primarily a communal activity. There is no meal that can fix bad company, but I’ve seen great company fix meals.” -- Alton Brown

So how does one who loves cooking and dining (and also takes Alton Brown's word as gospel) survive a Thanksgiving for 14 in an apartment where the main dining space is about 6 inches from a computer monitor? Or why sometimes one misses spending Thursday with an empty dorm and a turkey sandwich.


I suppose it started last year, when my friends and I hosted the first of our self sufficient thanksgiving dinners. Like a minority of college students, I never returned home to see family for the holiday. As everyone grew older, it became a little more common and finally last year, a handful of my friends convened and celebrated the holiday ourselves. A small gathering of seven friends.

This year, in a new apartment, talk began as early as in the summer about the anticipation of our next thanksgiving meal together. So great was our enthusiasm that it finally persuaded our roommate to change her plans and stay with us, rather than return home. And our group adds a member.

Her excitement grew and she invited all of her old high school friends to join us, thinking that they'd already have plans of their own. To her surprise (and secretly to my chagrin) they all responded positively to the idea of seeing each other, being in NYC, and having a nice meal. And so the party grows by another five.

A few more names get tossed in and out and long story short, eventually the guest list gets finalized at 14.

In a feeble attempt to coordinate with people in several cities, I try to open an internet forum to discuss things. It more or less fails and raises my anxiety level just a hair. Repeated discussions with the roommates about seating, food, liquor, and lodging are repeatedly left for future discussions. I get secondhand accounts of who wants to try making what, maybe. Less than reassuring.

I go through old cookbooks and also review the most influential show not only for this meal, but for my cooking style in general: Good Eats. I start making shopping lists, compiling ingredients, make notes, and mentally visualize the timing and mise en place of the day. I have several restless nights, with the pressures of the day already weighing on my shoulders weeks in advance.

We get most of our supplies delivered the Sunday beforehand by Fresh Direct. With an internet coupon, not only did we save a lot of money, but we didn't need to carry an 18.5 lbs frozen bird back to our apartment. The funny thing is, after we got our delivery, we received another box, containing half of our order repeated. About an extra 40 dollars worth of free stuff, not bad at all.

The night before, with everyone out in their respective groups, I begin the most crucial step: brining the bird. Though it had been thawing for 4 days, including a two rush soak in water to help it along, when I opened the packaging, I was left with the last thing I wanted to see: a still partially frozen bird. Cursing my luck, I went ahead with the soak, hoping it would still pick up all the flavor as it finished defrost.

Day of, I was out of bed by 8am and in the kitchen with my trusty iPod by 8:30, bounds ahead of the others (I had already flipped the bird at around 4:30, when I awoke in the middle of the night). The morning began with a pot of coffee set to brew and 10lbs of potatoes washed and peeled. One by one, the others wandered in and out, to grab some toast or casually offer some help (though with little space in the kitchen, nor the adequate tools to share, I politely declined...besides they all had friends to play with). I rinsed the bird off, gave it a good dry, stuffed some aromatics into its cavity, and stabbed in my thermometer; it was ready to face the fire. It was in the oven by 11:30.

The Deas brothers went off to lend a hand at the satellite kitchen (where rumor had it sweet potatoes, apple pie, cheesy potato bake, and dinner rolls were to be made). Julia and her friends went out to see New York City, promising to be back in time to put on the final touches.

The beans were promptly washed, trimmed, and blanched (awaiting the final saute nearer to dinner). The garlic and onion were minced and diced in preparation for later. Used utensils were washed and dried. Furniture was rearranged to accommodate seating. Cornbread was mixed. Wine was uncorked.

Watching my thermometer, I realize the bird is cooking a little faster than I was anticipating. Knowing I might need an extra set of hands, I call Kyle and ask him to return by two. He obliges and shortly later, our friend Evan shows up. When the bird is done, we lift it out, move it and I begin the gravy. I turn on the stove and start cooking the potatoes as well. I prepare a roux to thicken the gravy. The cornbread starts to bake.

Julia and company return and the final table settings are made. I pop open the biscuits, start the stuffing, and sweat an onion for the green beans.

In the mashing process, I absent-mindedly grabbed a red hot bowl and have burned my hand (second degree). I almost smash the bathroom sink in pain as I desperately look for aloe vera. Most of the food was done by now though, so dishes were set out and I began the carving (though needed help as my right hand has become a sort of dead appendage at this point).

Food was plated up and glasses were filled with wine and/or southern comfort+cider.
The final menu looked as follows:

Whole Oven-Roasted Turkey
Garlic Mashed Potatoes
Gravy
Sweet Potatoes*
Sauteed Green Beans

Stove Top brand Stuffing
Vegetarian Stuffing*
Pillsbury brand Grands biscuits
Trader Joe's brand cornbread
Ocean Spray brand cranberry sauce

Trader Joe's Pumpkin Pie
Apple/Caramel Pie*
Trader Joe's Pecan Pie
Edy's Vanilla Ice Cream

Apple Cider spiked with Southern Comfort
14 bottles of wine
Egg Nog with Bourbon

The only recipe I can really point to from the Good Eats turkey episode, linked above. Everything else was a)store bought b) altered and refined at the last minute or c) made by Kimmy and Holly Fox (denoted with a *).

The turkey came out dry, the gravy ran thin, the mashed potatoes were dull, the biscuits burned, and the green beans bland. I was in enough pain though (from the burn), that I just proceeded to drink as much as I could and forget my troubles. And it's not like anyone else was gonna say anything disparaging. In a word, disappointing. And that's the end of my story.

"There is no meal that can fix bad company, but I’ve seen great company fix meals."

Indeed, indeed.