We had so much snow yesterday, that even natives of Bergen got stuck in our driveway. Twice.
I hear that Malden got 25 inches (63cm) of snow.
This extra, unexpected foot of snow posed an interesting set of cooking problems. My planned Sunday morning marketing was impractical, so the menu needed drastic revisions. Who knew how many people might be unable to come? I'm thrilled that everyone braved the snow, and all made it to Malden save for poor Professor Blustein, who was stuck at Logan.
When the nice little fire on the grill turned out to be incapable of melting snow, much less cooking the turkey, I got worried. This was a mistake; I ended up building the fire too hot and spent the rest of the afternoon trying to moderate the fire with smoke chips and vent.
Years ago, I gave a memorable dinner party in a newly rented apartment where, to avoid this, I gradually turned up the oven bit by bit. This was safe, and the roasted filet was tasty, and the dinner was three or four hours late. We're always fighting the last war.
Thanksgiving is about memories, and so we wind up with too much baggage and too much food. Ritual dishes, dishes we always like, dishes we want to attempt, dishes that we always make because Aunt Hazel of blessed memory was once thought to like them. Linda and I descend from two separate traditions that separately insist on cooking too much. This time, it was:
- garlic mushroom soup
- snow-grilled turkey
- root mousse (sp?) (rodmos in dansk)
- charred onion salsa
- lemon string beans
- "Alwin's roasted carrots"
- cheese and cherry bread
- chocolate pecan pie
- lemon tart
- apple cranberry cobbler