Thanksgiving! The usual embarrassingly hearty bounty of food was consumed. This year’s spread featured the requisite turkey with Dad’s secret-recipe giblet gravy (the package of organs stored in the turkey’s orifice revealed a random assortment of two livers but no gizzard, though I noticed no difference in the resulting gravy’s succulent taste), mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce.
There were also homemade crescent rolls, fruit compote (the new dish this year), sweet potatoes (a special recipe that last appeared in 2003, reprised this year in a giant 13x9-inch pan), green bean casserole (that suburban favorite, topped with French’s fried onions), and pumpkin pie. Oh, and stuffing, which we discovered afterwards in the kitchen, settled grumpily in its serving bowl and totally forgotten. Lots of scotch, wine and beer, including the eight-pack of Guinness that Dana lugged all the way from Ireland just for the Young lads.
After watching lots of bad TV, we kids played some rousing rounds of that game that’s a hot-potato speed-round of trying to get your teammate to say the secret word or phrase without you saying it.