Since I was only allotted Thanksgiving day off and I’m permanently scarred from one particular trip back home that took me 8 hours in a snowstorm (read: it was three years ago, the trip normally takes an hour and twenty minutes, and I spent the whole time sulking in the car after being forced to pee on the highway behind the passenger car door), my parents and I both decided that for the sake of my mental health I should opt out of Family Thanksgiving Shenanigans 2010,
…Lest I should (worst case scenario) get stuck in traffic due to morons who are incapable of driving in snow, cry a lot, get stranded from work, and have the whole fun experience ruined. Ok, I know that was like, the RUN-ON SENTENCE THAT RULED THE WORLD, but gimme a break, I’m frazzled and just survived my first holiday away from my parents’ house. I know, I know, I’m 22, its time to be a grown up… but I normally cherish the time I spend with family on the holidays and having the whole deal transplanted into my town felt someone Twilight-Zone-ish.
C and I spent the day lounging around in pajamas, watching the snow pummel the house and making dishes to bring to our Thanksgiving feast: Lummi Island wild salmon with fennel sauce, traditional stuffing, and appetizers (prosciutto-wrapped prawns with Sriracha marinade, bruschetta crostinis). C and our friend John and I arrived with platters and bags full of food and absurd amounts of Jim Beam to share with whomever was arriving at our friend J’s house. We tromped through through the snow, into his home, and were greeted by J in his long underwear, shirtless, hovering over the stove, charmingly trying to explain his insane hangover with his stories of the night before. He left us to curl into a fetal position on the couch while we watched the “ham” he had in the oven. I say “ham,” because we were informed that J was cooking a ham for Thanksgiving dinner. After 20 minutes or so we checked on said centerpiece and found it to be this hilarious monstrosity:
I guess it was more a reconstituted ham of sorts, Spam-style. When we pulled it out of the oven (God knows how long it was in there before we showed up) we all snort-laughed, peeled the thing off it’s burnt crust that had formed on the cast-iron, and began the rest of the dishes. Eventually, through much laughter and goofing off, we managed to serve a meal that resulted in our squatting on miscellaneous stools while we devoured tiny plates piled high with goodies while listening to Tupac. Admittedly, it was a most unusual and untraditional sort of holiday, but all the necessary facets were there… a warm (VERY WARM. DEAR GOD I WAS WARM) heater, friends, booze, snow, and food.
The lineup: Turkey (from Jenny, thank you for pre-cooking it before you walked three miles to the house in the snow!), mashed potatoes, bacon green beans, stuffing, rolls from C’s and my work, mystery-ham, fennel salmon, deviled eggs, and the appetizers. I also brought a bread pudding from work that none of us could fit into our stomachs… so this particular Thanksgiving was dessert-less. Considering that most people feel insanely guilty about the amount of food they consume on this day during the year, I’m feeling pretty awesome… NO DESSERT! And I didn’t even miss it! Because instead of eating dessert we entertained ourselves taking hilarious pictures of the poor ham being taken advantage of. YIKES! Hey, some families play charades… we played Desecrate The Ham.
To-may-to, To-mah-to, right?
…Alls I know is that it had to be done. That ham was the jiggly spawn of the devil.