It hit Friday evening.

It was subtle.

Saturday - not so subtle.

Sunday - even less.

It's strep, they say.

It sucks, I say.

More, later.

May your hearts and your tables be filled, and may this day find you thankful for many things.

Have a blessed Thanksgiving!

~The Food Whore and The Husband (Who's currently picking out his most "stretchable" pants, and drawing out a diagram of how he's going to eat a little bit of everything, today. It's like a football coach's game book...)

I had a really cool offer to take part in a phone-in radio show this afternoon with other food bloggers.

The topic? Thanksgiving.

Due to my schedule, however, I regretfully had to decline. I was bummed, too. How cool would it have been for me to be able to be on the radio?

And then I got to thinking - how cool would it have been, really? As fond as I am of speaking - and I am fond of it - I am not always so fond about the public speaking. True, I would still have the anonimity of the phone lines, but I sort of view public speaking like I do karaoke at a funky bar in Chinatown - in theory, it's really good. But after the first nerve-induced song you warble, you start getting really cocky with the Sheena Easton songs until someone (The Husband) has to give you the look that says perhaps it's time to let someone else have a turn. And if the look doesn't work, they ply you with liquor to simply get you off the microphone and save the patrons of the bar from having to hear you belt out another Celine Dion melody.
I mean, would I have made a fool of myself? Would I have accidentally burped? Would I have gotten into a verbal death match with another blogger over the use of marshmallows on sweet potatoes? Would I have accindentally cursed? Or would I so completely lost my head that I would have fallen into this repulsive trance and become the Howard Stern of Food Radio? "That's it, baby. Give those Yams a shake.."
I guess it's for the best I couldn't do it.

Though I do hope I get asked again.

So the other night at The Meeting Of The General Turkey Synod, the final menu for The Most Adored Food Holiday On The Land was discussed, and agreed upon.
But only after much discussion of what was going inside the turkey this year (lemon/garlic/onion/herbs), and coming to the conclusion that Grey's Anatomy is quite possibly the best show on television.

So anyway, here it is. It's actually paired down from what we originally thought we needed.

Turkey (Turkey-s Plural. We need two of those bad boys)
Spicy/sweet glazed ham
Mashed Potatoes
Sweet Potatoes caramelized in brown sugar and butter. Not a 'schmallow in site.
Sweet Corn
Cauliflower Gratin
Brussle Sprouts Sauteed with Bacon and Apples
Sausage and Pecan Stuffing
Gravy, of course.
Grandma A's Funky Green Jello
Shrimp Salad
Waldorf Salad
Cous Cous Salad
Fresh Cranberries Chutney
Deviled Eggs and And Assortment of Pickled Things
Corn Bread
Fresh Yeast Rolls
Fresh Bran Rolls
And butter - lots and lots of butter.
The Dessert/Snack portion taking place later in the day:
Pumpkin Pie
Chocolate Cream Pie
Coconut Cream Pie
Sweet Potato Tart w/ Praline Crust
Hummus
Chilled Vegetarian Dolmades
Baked Brie w/ Honey, Dates and Walnuts
Leftover turkey & Ham on Buns
Fresh Snack Mix
Assorted homemade candies and treats.

Beverages:
Fresh Apple Cider
Hot Buttered Rum
Hot Mulled Cider with a "Kick" (Peach Schnaps)
Wine
Water
Coffee
And possibly Mylanta...
So that's where it stands as of right now. We've got some inactive reserve dishes in the wings in case we feel the need to supplement.
Let the games begin.

So I was doing some paperwork when The Sister called.

"Hey" I had a really cool offer to take part in a phone-in radio show this afternoon with other food bloggers.

The topic? Thanksgiving.

Due to my schedule, however, I regretfully had to decline. I was bummed, too. How cool would it have been for me to be able to be on the radio?

And then I got to thinking - how cool would it have been, really? As fond as I am of speaking - and I am fond of it - I am not always so fond about the public speaking. True, I would still have the anonimity of the phone lines, but I sort of view public speaking like I do karaoke at a funky bar in Chinatown - in theory, it's really good. But after the first nerve-induced song you warble, you start getting really cocky with the Sheena Easton songs until someone (The Husband) has to give you the look that says perhaps it's time to let someone else have a turn. And if the look doesn't work, they ply you with liquor to simply get you off the microphone and save the patrons of the bar from having to hear you belt out another Celine Dion melody.
I mean, would I have made a fool of myself? Would I have accidentally burped? Would I have gotten into a verbal death match with another blogger over the use of marshmallows on sweet potatoes? Would I have accindentally cursed? Or would I so completely lost my head that I would have fallen into this repulsive trance and become the Howard Stern of Food Radio? "That's it, baby. Give those Yams a shake.."
I guess it's for the best I couldn't do it.

Though I do hope I get asked again.

So the other night at The Meeting Of The General Turkey Synod, the final menu for The Most Adored Food Holiday On The Land was discussed, and agreed upon.
But only after much discussion of what was going inside the turkey this year (lemon/garlic/onion/herbs), and coming to the conclusion that Grey's Anatomy is quite possibly the best show on television.

So anyway, here it is. It's actually paired down from what we originally thought we needed.

Turkey (Turkey-s Plural. We need two of those bad boys)
Spicy/sweet glazed ham
Mashed Potatoes
Sweet Potatoes caramelized in brown sugar and butter. Not a 'schmallow in site.
Sweet Corn
Cauliflower Gratin
Brussle Sprouts Sauteed with Bacon and Apples
Sausage and Pecan Stuffing
Gravy, of course.
Grandma A's Funky Green Jello
Shrimp Salad
Waldorf Salad
Cous Cous Salad
Fresh Cranberries Chutney
Deviled Eggs and And Assortment of Pickled Things
Corn Bread
Fresh Yeast Rolls
Fresh Bran Rolls
And butter - lots and lots of butter.
The Dessert/Snack portion taking place later in the day:
Pumpkin Pie
Chocolate Cream Pie
Coconut Cream Pie
Sweet Potato Tart w/ Praline Crust
Hummus
Chilled Vegetarian Dolmades
Baked Brie w/ Honey, Dates and Walnuts
Leftover turkey & Ham on Buns
Fresh Snack Mix
Assorted homemade candies and treats.

Beverages:
Fresh Apple Cider
Hot Buttered Rum
Hot Mulled Cider with a "Kick" (Peach Schnaps)
Wine
Water
Coffee
And possibly Mylanta...
So that's where it stands as of right now. We've got some inactive reserve dishes in the wings in case we feel the need to supplement.
Let the games begin.

"Hey, what's up?"
"Oh, you know. What are you doing?"
"Taxes."
"Oy. Sorry for you."
"Yeah, thanks."
"So how are you doing on your end with the menu?"
"Which menu?"
"Um. Hello. Thursday's menu. Thanks-freaking-giving."
"Tense, much? What's the problem?"
"Just too many irons in the fire."
"I hear that."
"I have a huge favor to ask."
"Name it."
"Well, I thought I had enough corn in the freezer from what I put up in September."
"So you don't?"
"No. I gave so much away that I don't have enough left for Thanksgiving."
"So you want me to bring corn?"
"Um. Not exactly."
"Uh. You want me to quick grow some corn?"
"Um... no..."
"So you're just calling to tell me you don't have enough corn?"
"Well, not exactly. I was curious if you would ride with me..."
"Ride with you where - Kansas?"
"Costco."

I sat silent for a minute. I love The Sister. And she is gracious enough to open her home to our family at Thanksgiving - all 30 of us radical folk. But...

"Costco."
"Um, yeah."
"You're asking me to go to Costco."
"Uh huh."
"You're asking me to go to Costco the day before the day before Thanksgiving."
"Right."
"Costco."
"You're so pretty."
"*Sigh* Fine."
"I love you."
"Whatever."

Damn.

A little time off is good for the soul.

Though I suspect The Husband disagrees with me.

I am pretty sure I saw him standing on the street wearing a sign that read, 'My Wife Will Work For Food'.

I've gone to Hell with myself in the organization department - right down to organizing his sock drawer. I've decorated for Christmas. I've commenced with Holiday Baking. I organized his office, our files, the coats, and my tart pans.
It's sort of like nesting before the baby comes. Only my baby isn't so much a beautiful bundle with flailing arms and legs, it's more of a slap in the face complete with endless platters of food, drunk guests and the occasional kitchen accident.
There's something about the Holiday Season which amplifies all of the bad behaviors people normally keep under wraps. It's all the food and parties and family members coming to visit.
The closer Christmas gets, the worse it gets. Even the kindest people become surley and drunk.
The down side to that being my already fragile sanity.
The upside of that being lots and lots of stories to tell.

It's been a crazy week of last minute Trick meetings, home projects and preparation for The Greatest Food Holiday in All The Land.

Tuesday night we had a meeting with Christmas Client who wanted to re-work the menu. "Tweak it a little".
It seems they had gone over budget on the table centerpiece, so they wanted to cut back on the food.

Now, I am not one to judge.

Yeah, Ok, even I didn't buy that.

But unless those centerpieces are edible, I'm thinking you want to rework that budget a little bit, or there's going to be a room full of people snacking on candle wax and Christmas greens.

One of the things I love most about Corn on the Cob - besides the fact that it's oh so fabulous - is the idea that it's one of those forgiveable messy foods like ribs dripping with sweet and spicy bar-b-que sauce, or chunks of succulent Maine lobster dunked in drawn butter.
And short of cutting the kernels off the cob and eating them with a fork (which The Friend in Virginia does and it makes me crazy), there's just no way to eat the stuff without having a glorious stream of golden butter dripping down your chin.
That's the only way to eat it, actually.

And then, you know, there's all that corn left in your teeth. That's just another bonus of the entire corn experience, in my humble opinion.

Andt that's what toothpicks are for, right? So when you're sitting under a maple tree in your sister's back yard having a contest to see who can eat more corn (I lost my title this year), you can recline and pick your teeth. It's a forgiveable action on a warm summer night while you dangle your feet in the pool.

When it's not forgiveable, however, is when you're in a nice restaurant with friends enjoying a nice creme brule' and conversation.
I don't care that you've got a piece of popcorn seed stuck in your right molar from last night's movie snack, and I don't want to have to see you digging in said molar like Indiana Jones.
And I certainly don't want to see you slip and poke that dangly thing in the back of your throat, which then makes you gag. And I do not, under any circumstances, what to see the look of glee on your face as you finally extract that popcorn seed from your molar, nor do I ever - EVER - want to see the seed.
And the thing is, you did this last time we dined out. And I tried to overlook it.
But now I will have no choice but to hate you.

Today marked the first day of a much-needed two week sabbatical from the Tricking World. As we do every year, we've scheduled ourselves out until after The Most Adored Food Holiday In All The Land as to have a reprieve until the December rush slaps us upside the face like a twinkie sneaking kid at Fat Camp.
The Husband knows this time of year as The Time When The Wife Has Enough Free Time To Paint Things And Rearrange Furniture And Create General Mayhem in The Home.

Anyway.

So we travelled out of town to visit friends, and upon our arrival in said town we stopped by a grocery store to pick up some egg nog.
It was a nice store - gorgeous produce section. It all seemed fairly normal.

Well, as normal as a grocery store can be.

So we've got the 'Nog and a few other items and we're being cashiered by Wacky Wilma in line 4.
A nice gentleman was behind us chatting up the weather with The Husband when Wacky Wilma moaned, "Ohhh, egg nog. Tell me, what does it taste like without liquor."
"Well...", I started to say.
"Oh God is it good? I mean, is it sweet and thick like I remember? I..."
And she broke for a minute to grab a tissue and blow her nose.
And then started with the moaning.

"I loooove egg nog. Egg nog with lots of whiskey... or rum. Oh dark rum is sooo good. But I can't have it now. Any of it. I can't even have egg not without liquor. It's too much temptation. I don't do well with liquor. I get into all sorts of trouble. But oh how I would love to just smell it - smell it's creamy goodness. I love the smell of egg nog with rum."
And she sat there, staring at my carton. Just - staring. And I'll be damned if a little tear didn't form in the corner of her eye.
And more standing...and more staring...
I looked back at The Husband who was exchanging looks with the man behind him. They both looked back at me and we all shared the same thought, "What in the Hell do we say to her?"
The nice courtesy clerk putting my groceries in the bag cleared his throat to get her attention and took the carton of nog from her hands.
She dabbed the tissue to her eyes and announced my total due.
It's not just happening in my grocery store, people.

Forget the bird flue.

The Crazy Virus is spreading fast.

I have a recipe plea.

I think we're all pretty clear on the fact that I suck the big rotten egg when it comes to actually posting recipes, but I am hoping someone will help a girl out. I do want to say, however, that I am in the process of writing up a few requested recipes. Look for them sometime in '07.
I kid.

Really.
Anyway.

A friendly reader e-mailed and asked if I knew of the recipe for the New York Lemon Drop. And I am stumped on this one. I know of my favorite lemon drop recipe, but have not heard of the New York version. Which I do imagine to be very edgy, funky, fun, fantastic, and perhaps have a huge pastrami sandwich floating on top. (I kid. I am fascinated with the city. And pastrami, actually.)

Anyway, if you know of such a recipe, will you drop a line or leave a comment, please?
Grassyass.

It was about 7:45 when the older gentleman came in asking for a table for 2. He preferred a seat near the window so he could watch for his dining companion, who was to arrive at 8:00.

He was a quiet man, very polite. He sipped a cup of coffee and paged through a personal planner as he waited.
And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

We all started to feel sorry for him, watching as his face grew somewhat sad as he checked his watch and looked out the window time and time again.

Finally at 8:40 he ordered dinner, and resigned himself to eating alone.

I don't know why this man struck a chord with us all so much, but it really was heartbreaking to watch him wait in earnst, and give up in defeat.
We all wondered what kind of person can't even make a simple phone call to say they would be late, or that they weren't coming?
Dining alone by choice is one things, it's an entirely different beast when it's forced upon you.
And then we had a small clue of perhaps why this man was left to dine alone.

He chewed with his mouth open.
He blew his nose in his napkin 3 times - and use the SAME napkin to wipe his face.
He gulped his beverage to the point of making himself burp - out loud. Like "people were staring" out loud.
He then picked in his ear with the end of his fork. (In the garbage that one goes. No amount of Auto Chlor is good enough for damn ear wax)
And then, in one of the most digsusting displays of human behavior, he leaned up on one butt cheek and contorted his face in a way that convinced all of us he was expelling a very silent but most certainly dusgusting cloud of personal gas.

I just freaking give up.

One of the things that excites me most about the holiday season, besides The Most Adored Food Holiday In All The Land, is the arrival of certain food items to my local grocery store.

The Pomegranate.

#1 - I am all about the candies shaped (and flavored) like raspberries - the ones with the hard outer shell and chewy center. Num.
#2 - Satsuma Oranges. I carry these bad boys in my purse and snack on them at random moments throughout the day - in the car, in the office, watching TV, shopping for shoes...
And most of all, I love #3 - the pomegranate.

Even though it will coast you your first born daughter and all the camels in your tent to buy one of these jewels, it's totally worth it.

I can remember back in the days of elementary school when I used to sport my Partridge Family lunch box to lunch. It was the old metal kind with the matching thermos that was held in place by that little metal arm attached inside the box. Only, I never really understood the purpose of the little metal arm. I do suppose it was to keep the thermos in place when doing things like riding the bus. Although on the numerous occasions I sprinted to the lunch room - all arms and legs in the air - the little metal arm never prevented my thermos from being thrust to the ground when I would (quite often) trip and fall, sending all the contents of said lunch box flying.

I am older... but so many things are the same.

My classmates and I did what all kids across the nation did in those days - we sat the lunchboxes upright and opened the lid toward us creating a little private space in which to dine. Or to hid behind when bartering for contents. "I have tuna, today. I know that's your favorite - wanna trade for the peanut butter and jelly?" "I will swap you my Ding Dong for your Twinkies." "SCORE! I GOT SOUP IN MY THERMOS!"
I wasn't much of a trader, though. Not because I didn't want to, but because I never had much of what anyone else wanted. My favorite sandwich of choice was peanut butter and pickle, and I don't know too many 6-year old kids then, or now, who would be eager to take on such a creation. I didn't like Twinkies, and someone would have to rip the corn chips from my cold dead hands to get those things away from me.
And, I carted things like the pomegranate to school.

I can remember little Joey P. who used to chew his sweater sleeves during class, (which, one day induced him to vomit right there in Mrs. Bingham's class, so Mr. Ripell the janitor had to come and spread that sawdust stuff all over the pile of chunks), sat across from me during lunch. When I opened the box and found that half of pomegranate neatly wrapped in plastic film, I squealed with delight and shook my pigtailed head with vigor. (Even in those days, The Mother was packing a wet washcloth wrapped in plastic for me to wipe the red juice off my fingers. *sigh*)
Joey P. peeked around to see what I was so excited about, and when I showed him my pomegranate, he curled up his nose in disgust.
This from a kid who chewed his sleeves to the point of vomit.
"What is that weird thing?"
"A pomegranate, silly!"

The naivety of my culinary world assumed everyone knew what they were and loved them as much as I did. But I was wrong.
Before long the entire table of polyester clad kids were leaning in to see what the fuss was about. None of them had ever seen such a weird thing, and none of them could imagine what I was going to do with it.
So when I started twisting the fruit around to loosen the membrane and subsequently pick out the seeds, Joey started pointing at me and laughing.
I remember the other kids laughing, too. I did what any other 6-year old chided girl would do - I stuck my tongue out at him. Which made him stick out his tongue and flap his hands by his ears.
Scrawny Sara was sitting at the table behind me, and she came over next to me. "You threw up in Mrs. Bingham's class, Joey. That was gross!" And he immediately stopped laughing. Then Sara asked if she could try some of my pomegranate, which I gladly obliged her.
We have been friends ever since.

So the night started off with a typical "Food Whore Moment". I foolishly didn't set the dish of artichoke dip on a baking sheet, and while I was getting dressed it bubbled over in the oven sending all that cheesy artichokey jalepenoey parmeseany goodness cascading to the bottom of my oven, which then smoked up the place nice and cloudy like a road-side tavern during a darts tournament.
The Husband threw open the windows and started waving the smoke with my apron, and in doing so knocked over 3 martini glasses - and one was full of lemon drop.
So for the 15 minutes before my guests arrived I was running around blowing and waving my hands, while The Husband retrieved the oscillating fans from the basement storage.
"You cook for hundreds of people at a time... I don't understand why these things happen at home! This isn't the first time!!!", he hollered while running around the place with a can of room deodorzier.
"When I am tricking I don't cook and get dressed at the same time. DO NOT LECTURE ME NOW, DAMNIT! AND YOU SPILLED MY LEMON DROP!"
I got the all-too-familiar sigh/eye roll/head shake I've become accustomed to over 8 years of wedded bliss.
Poor bastard, he really didn't know what he was signing on for with me.

So the reason Velma was even in my home was because we do run in the same social circle, so to speak. She belongs to the same charity organization I do, although I am not sure why. I do believe it's only so she can say, "I belong to a charitable organization."

Yeah. She's one of those.
When she walked in and saw the food - sausage and fresh mozzarella stuffed mushrooms, sweet & hot sauteed shrimp, hot artichoke/jalapeno dip, baked brie with figs and honey wrapped in phylo, crab cocktail shooters with herbed crackers, chili spiced nuts and a full cocktail & martini bar - the first words out of her mouth were, "Well I guess you didn't listen when I said don't fuss". I smiled and said, "No fuss at all. I can do this stuff in my sleep." The husband mumbled, "As long as there are fresh batteries in the smoke alarm." I shot him a rasied eyebrow and looked back to a confused Velma. "I actually have chips in a basket just for you. I hope you like Lay's." and then I smiled and took a sip (a gulp, actually) of my (freshly made) lemon drop.

Everyone laughed, actually, as they were digging into the food with savage like bliss. "You really should have some brie", Velma's husband said.
She did eye the artichoke dip, and asked if I put Velveeta in it. The fact that I didn't do the Karate Kid Crane Move on her was a miracle in and of itslef.
But she opted to skip the meal and go straight for the white wine - the entire bottle of it.

From there it was just a sad display of drunken behavior and confessions. Most of it too personal to blog about, and too personal for me to have to hear about. Or anyone, for that matter.

And since I am just not one to gossip, I will just leave you with this - Velma's got some issues.
The biggest being she's a really bad drunk.
And I can let the Velveeta comment slide, but I can't respect a woman who can't handle her liquor.

I just took a phone call from an angry troll of a woman who became irritated and "disappointed" because I declined her desire for a catered Thanksgiving meal.

"I am sorry, we don't work on Thanksgiving."
"That's not true."
"Excuse me?"
"You make Thanksgiving dinner every year for Mrs. Theater. She told me so."
"Mrs. Theater has been a friend of the family for over 20 years. She's an 84-year old widow who likes to put on Thanksgiving dinner for her widowed friends who don't have family near by. We do it as an act of friendship, not an act of business."
"So you won't make dinner for my family?"
"I am sorry, no."
"Well I think it's terrible that you pick and choose."
"*Sigh*, and I think it's terrible that you are berating me for wanting to do a kind gesture for a friend - which is none of your business, by the way - and spend the rest of the day with my family."

She started to say something else and I hung up on her. Just, mid sentence - slam. And I didn't feel bad about it. We're approaching the holidays, and people will not ruin my rare but real tidings of comfort and joy.

I've got tidings of comfort a joy, Damnit!
I've also got an Air Supply song in my head and I can't shake it, no matter how hard I try.

...heard it from a friend who... heard it from a friend whoooo...

Taxes Paid?

Check.

Medical Paid?

Check.

Suppliers Paid?

Check.
Van Repair?
Check.
Transfer to retirement account?
Check.

Gas Bill?

Check.

Power Bill?

Check.

Digital Cable and Internet?
Oops.

Sorry for the absence.

Taxes Paid?

Check.

Medical Paid?

Check.

Suppliers Paid?

Check.
Van Repair?
Check.
Transfer to retirement account?
Check.

Gas Bill?

Check.

Power Bill?

Check.

Digital Cable and Internet?
Oops.

Sorry for the absence.