Pretend this was a few weeks ago, when I came across a link on Pinterest on how to have a flawless Thanksgiving.
That flawless part; it stuck in my craw.
I don’t want a flawless Thanksgiving. I want the floor littered with leaves that were tracked in every time the kids came in from playing outside. I want the roar of a football game on TV in the background. I want the rolls a little too brown because everyone in the kitchen was talking and carrying on and forgot about them.
The bird doesn't have to be bronzed and pretty and presented on a sterling platter. I want the first bite of the Thanksgiving turkey to be snatched from the cutting board when Jeffrey is carving it in the kitchen, the windows steamed over from the warmth of the room.
Our Thanksgiving kitchen has faded dishtowels, casseroles served in 9x13 pans from Walmart.
No oyster stuffing with caramelized onions and roasted chestnuts and pureed leeks and organic figs and whatnot. Instead we have my grandmother’s dressing, made from pans of cornbread cooked in an old black skillet, seasoned with chicken stock and sage.
Pecan pies in Pyrex pie plates, a stacked coconut cake stacked that leans toward Aunt Lucy's house. They can have their flawless Thanksgiving; let's have something wonderful and real.
*(Everyone knows who Marty McFly is, right?)