It is a momentous occasion when a person accepts the challenge to host his or her first homemade Thanksgiving dinner. If you were to observe four friends making the attempt together, you would soon find four otherwise-competent young professionals on their cell phones with their mothers desperately seeking answers to such questions as "What does it mean to 'lace a turkey'?" and "Is a meat thermometer really necessary?" or "Can you please come over and show me how to carve a turkey??".
Matt and I did not plan on having a Thanksgiving this year, as we could not afford the $500 plane tickets to Seattle, and all of our friends had other plans. We were content making reservations at some quaint restaurant and enjoying a nice, quiet evening out. Somehow everything changed at noon on Thanksgiving day when both Matt and I realized how jealous we were of all the people who would soon be sitting down to a full turkey dinner. And even moreso, we were jealous of all of those turkey leftovers.
And in the perfect example of how desperate food cravings call for desperate measures, I found myself standing next to Matt at the Ralph's deli. My mouth was moving and apparently words were coming out as the lady behind the counter seemed to understand whatever language I was speaking. But I claim no ownership of the words that were coming out of my mouth.
"Excuse me, but do you--by any small chance--have any pre-made Thanksgiving dinners left?"
In disbelief, I stared at the large cardboard box labeled "Holiday Home Homestyle Meal" in Matt's hands.
It was the last packaged turkey dinner in the store. I couldn't help but laugh. This experience went against everything I believe in and everything I try to stand for. Thanksgiving in a box.
A whole, fully-cooked turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce and yams.
We got our box home, unpacked all of the various-shaped cartons and preheated the oven. Matt had to learn to carve a turkey and I worked to make the meal seem more homemade. I added spices, put everything in nice dishes and made absolutely nothing from scratch. Two hours later we sat down to a large and entirely home-heated Thanksgiving dinner.
Can it compare to my mom's and grandma's turkey dinners? Absolutely not. Will it work in a bind when cravings sneak up on you? Ok, I'll admit it. Yeah. It will. I have to say, it tasted good. In the college-student-anything-not-from-the-caf-tastes-incredible sort of way.
As Matt said, "Baby steps. Maybe next year we'll actually make our own dinner from scratch. At least we know how to carve a turkey now!" I guess this is what happens when you marry a boy whose favorite dinner is Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.
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