Prepping for Thanksgiving

Happy Damn-near Thanksgiving

Gobble Gobble

Generally speaking I cook the Thanksgiving meal every year. With the odd exception of when I was in the Army or when my mom or sister gets a wild hair up their butts. But even in the case of my mom or my sister I end up sitting at the dinning room table answering all their questions about how to do what and then eventually I get roped into cooking a vast majority of the sides and basting the turkey. so... You know... even though I don't take the credit for those years I still end up putting most of the sweat equity into the dinner.

This year My mom had planned on doing everything right up until GB-day and I put a halt to that. She is still going to be doing the meat. She wants to smoke a turkey, a chicken and a ham. God knows where all the people are going to come from to eat all that damn meat.... maybe we'll be feeding the homeless too.... I tried to talk her out of doing the turkey but she insisted.

Rule number one.... when a meat is smoked and is still juicy that's because all the fat from the outside of the meat is now INSIDE the meat.... smoked turkey is WAY higher in fat than roasted turkey. And turkey with the skin on it is a sure fire way to trigger a gallbladder attack.

Needless to say I am going to be making my own little turkey boob that I plan on sharing with NOONE. I get to be selfish.... Its my right!

The Evil Olive

Aside from the meat there are all the sides that must be dealt with. I told everyone that I will be handling all of the sides. No questions asked. I don't trust them. Sorry but I don't. Since we are going to be having Thanksgiving out at our ranch (where we grow cactus and pheasant) and the nearest hospital is over an hour away, I do not want to risk having an attack because some asshat forgot and used real butter or whole milk in something. So.... I am in charge of ALL the side dishes.

Except the relish tray... I put The World's Best Boyfriend Ever! in charge of the relish tray. I think I can trust him to keep the evil olives away from my glorious pickles.