Our First Traffic Free Thanksgiving

So this year, we did not travel up North to visit our family in New York and New Jersey for Thanksgiving. It was our first OFFICIAL Thanksgiving on our own in Virginia.

We missed our family and friends. We did NOT miss THIS.

On Wednesday, I left work a little early and went to the store to buy all the ingredients I needed to try to re-create (as closely as I possibly could) the cornucopia of traditional Thanksgiving dishes that John has grown up with.

And just so you know, my Indian family also celebrates Thanksgiving. So I grew up with it as well. But OUR turkey was usually marinated in Garam Masala and our side dishes weren't usually stuffing and mashed potatoes.

They were more like daal (lentils) and roti (whole wheat flat bread), if you know what I mean.

Not that I can cook those much better, mind you.

Anyhoo.

So when John came home, he gave me a kiss on the cheek and said, "Where is the turkey?"

And I said, "Oh, she is playing downstairs in the basement."

He looked confused and said, "No, really. I mean, where is the turkey?"

Then I realized he was not talking about our two year old daughter Shaila and was in fact, referring to the turkey which I was still sweating about cooking.

This is the kind of turkey John was referring to

I started to feel the pressure and was scared that I would fold.

But I just wanted to let you know, my friends, that I did GOOD.

"Toot-my-own-horn" kind of Good.

"Pat-myself-on-the-back" kind of Good.

Here is a recap:

* The traditional Italian meat sauce, or gravy, came out awesome. This was made from SCRATCH and will be used for a kicking lasagne later this weekend.

* The turkey was a teensy bit dry, but the rub I used for it was heavenly.

* The sausage stuffing was carb and fat-laden goodness.

BUT . . .

(and isn't there always a but . . .?)

There was ONE teensy catch.

When it came time to cook up the gravy, it mentioned that it was OPTIONAL to use the turkey "giblets."

I was intrigued. What were these "turkey giblets" and what did they have to do with me?

I also felt cheated. There was no clear plastic bag full of icky looking things in MY Butterball turkey. I had totally been screwed on the giblets and boy, did I have a bone to pick with those fancy people over at Butterball.

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I decided to take a deep breath and not be angry at the Butterball company. (Although I was already drafting my customer satisfaction letter to them in my head).

Dear People of the Butterball Republic,

I miss my giblets. Please send them to me at your earliest convenience.

Oh, whatever. The letter could wait.

I felt especially "Martha Stewarty" - in an Indian kind of way - as I got the table ready while John and Shaila played outside and Nico napped next to me. I even decided to go ahead and carve up the turkey myself, so John and Shaila could walk in to a completely prepared dinner.

Like I said, I was ON this.

As I carved the ten pound turkey and really got rolling, I encountered a little resistance. And no, it was not a bone.

YES.

You, my friends, unlike ME, saw this coming from a mile away. However, I was still in a little shock when I pulled out . . .

Those da#% giblets.

They were wrapped in WHITE paper (not clear), and shoved WAY, WAY in the back - past the neck almost.

Those stinking giblets

Oops.

As I looked at this glop of paper and unseasoned "giblets" (How could I have ever doubted you, fine, fine people of Butterball?), and realized we had just escaped a major fire hazard, I decided it was best not to mention this to John.

So I chucked those darn giblets.

And our family had its first (but giblet free) Thanksgiving in our house.

And I am so HAPPY that I did not burn the house down.

John did not know about those giblets as he is not a big "giblet-eater" himself, so he will be thankful as well.

AFTER he reads this.

Happy Thanksgiving, John!
(How about that stuffing?!! And Rock on Cowboys!)