The Fog of Thanks

Slowly finding my way out of the fog of the holiday food coma is like coming to after a long night of drinking. I have vague memories of a general giddiness and bits and pieces of specific memories triggered by the photos below...

The plan

Everything went off without a hitch, on schedule.

Simultaneously, Mike made his his famous lasagna and tiramisu.

By 2pm, the house was cleaned. The table was set. Everyone had arrived on time with their assigned dishes intact (This Thanksgiving, we decided to go pot-luck.) . All was well. 

Dani, la donna of design, helped me to set the table 

I'd put out the appetitivi and amuse bouche, smoked rainbow and lake trout over creme fraiche and chives on chips.

I clearly remember putting out the butternut squash soup...

...but then it's all downhill from there...

I know that we ate in courses but each succession overwhelmed and erased all impressions of the last...

Jess and Dave brought out a beautiful radicchio salad with cranberries and walnut, perfect in color and texture and flavor for the day. 

Mom, enjoying said salad 

Then Michele upped the ante and knocked us all out, literally, when he put out his incredible lasagna. I remember perfectly al dente noodles and a creamy meat sauce and the wonderfully crisp texture of the slightly charred cheese on the top layer of the pasta. (No one had time, or the presence of mind to take of picture of it, unfortunately. The photo below is the best that I could do, and as you can see from the shaky quality and Michele's expression, we were all already high and disoriented from the food and the wine and the flavors and each other and the knowledge of all that was still yet to come.) 

This is literally the last clear impression I had before I was overcome by the wave of pure gluttony that we call Thanksgivng...

Papa Irv getting ready to go in on the turkey and ham. 

Ellen, Papa Irv, Ma, me, Mike, Ty, Eddie, Dani and Edna 

Dad

Eddie

My plate of rice and beans, mac and cheese, yams, collards, potato salad, kale salad and a dollop of ham atop turkey in the center of it all.

Even Sylvester was like, "Say what?!"

And the dream ended with red velvet...

...and sweet potato pie and tiramisu and banana pudding and cupcakes...

..and an earnest, "Good night!" from Ryan.

Election Night

Four years ago, I was watching a live feed of the election in the middle of Q-Tip's album release party   at Santos. The night was emotional, triumphant, sexy, fun and totally unforgettable.

A lot has changed this time around. I was not sipping champagne with celebrities. And I was not having a quiet night in with my man or any intellectual friends. The day started with the realization that our cable TV and internet service were out because of the storm. My sister had no problem letting me watch the election results at her apartment, but could I babysit Ryan? Ok, fair deal. I could handle two kids. No problem. I packed a bag full off groceries to make the patriotic meal that I'd planned days in advance, cheeseburgers and homemade fries, and headed down to her house.

In hindsight, boiling hot oil in the tiny kitchen of a studio apartment with two toddlers running around while trying to pay attention to the election results was probably not the smartest idea. My mother walked in at 7pm to ketchup-covered kids running back and forth on oil-splattered, slippery floors peppered with pieces of meat and half-chewed slider buns and what seemed like hundreds of tiny cars and crayons.

By the time we dealt with the piles of dishes and the oily floors and the sticky kids it was 9pm and I was only paying attention to the tube peripherally. I could only see that Barack was behind in electoral votes. By the time the kids went down under blankets in front of the TV at 10, it was clear that Barack had the edge. Mike walked in from the restaurant at 11 with a bottle of wine, God bless his soul, and he waited up with me until 1:30am for the president's speech. This was probably the best part of the day, an unexpected bit of time together like the old days.