Any day that celebrates stuffing one's mouth with high-carb, high-saturated fat, high-heart risk foods is a grand day indeed. Those pilgrims and indians knew how to party. And believe you me, I've been practicing this week. Gotta stretch out the gut, or as I like to call it "The Factory" (things get manufactured inside and noxious fumes get emmitted to the outside). Last night, I polished off a plate of refried beans - The Factory really likes beans - and a rather large chicken burrito with all the fixins (see, I am in Turkey Day mode, got the vernacular down and it's not even Thursday). The Factory did some overtime, but since it's a short week it accepted its duties without complaint.
From turnips to green beans with onion pearls to mashed potatos to yams with marshmallows of course to stuffing with raisins and sausage to turkey (i'm a dark meat man - and like they say, once you go dark you never ... well nevermind about that), it's all good eatin'. Mix in a good red wine (or is it supposed to be white wine? Hell, mix in some booze, any booze) and that's how the Tribe does Thanksgiving.
Typically, I'm glued to the TV watching Detroit get whooped like a sorry-ass mule, beer welded to my hand while Uncles discuss something above my pay grade while Father Unit splits time between the game and computer/business/stock speak. Us guys know where we're best utilized, obviously, because I didn't mention any of us in the kitchen. We all know better. Step inside the combat zone and you're liable to get pasted with one of the 21 different styles of potatos being concocted. Oh no, it's much safer on the couch, which is not within potato-flinging distance. Maybe a hurled turkey leg, but not potatoes (don't ask how I know).
I try to help cleanup until I break something and then I'm politely asked to join the guys outside for a cigar. It works every time.
So there you have it. That's Thanksgiving Day with the tribe. I hope you have a good day with your family and friends. Wife and plan to. HAPPY THANKSGIVING!
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