I am officially blogging now. I am reluctant, just because. I don’t want to rant on endlessly about why. I love to hear myself type. I am told that some people want to read the results. (This means you, husband!) I comment too much elsewhere to let well enough alone.
There are times when I think that I should do my part in keeping down the Interweb Pollution, because there is so much…
But then I think… if it comes down to me, the trolls WILL NOT WIN. I swear it is like reading the graffiti scrawled on the wall in Pompeii. Vulgar, inane, and so temporal as to be meaningless– often times within moments of being posted.
We have the whole internet now to collect all this garbage (We must thank UTube for sacrificing clean living and common sense so the rest of us don’t have to) , and people still feel compelled to write stupid bathroom jokes on bathroom walls and leave their ex-husband’s phone numbers written in nail polish, “for a good time”.
Also, just because I am a writer, does NOT mean I will always use proper English when I’m blogging. If I were to go into editing mode for every little post, you will never see me again. Part of this is therapy to train my compulsive editor to take a bath from time to time. I promise that I will write the occasional long article, and I will do my best to spell things mostly correctly, even crack the Elements of Style when the mood strikes. However… no one’s paying me for this. I choose to have fun, and hey, I’m doing nitpickers a favor. You get to feel useful. Congratulations.
Third, I’m a dinosaur. That’s why I blog. I can’t stand Twitter (who needs to know what I’m doing at 3:00 pm every Friday? Isn’t Facebook enough compulsive documentation of every private moment?? If I MUST send someone short messages for this and that, why not SMS?)
Though, I have to admit, I regret my stodgy dinosaur nature. I should have insisted on taking a picture of my husband’s pride and joy… our transcendent Thanksgiving Turkey.
It was delicious. He spatchcocked it. Now, we must assure Weird Beard that this is a fun word to say, but not in any way vulgar. You basically remove the spine and set the turkey on it’s keel bone, and arrange the thighs and legs so everything lays at an even depth. The flesh was tender and moist, perfectly cooked in 80 minutes. The skin was the classic chestnut brown, crisp and delicious.
All we did was thaw, spatchcock, mount on a premium drying rack and baking sheet, refrigerate for four hours, rub down with lots of salt and pepper, then bake for 80 minutes. I saved the drippings, giblets, carcass and miscellaneous scraps of skin and bones for soup. Husband was not much into gravy, and I was too busy cleaning the kitchen and making various sides to actually make it. Next year I am insisting on Au Jus.
We also made two types of cranberry sauce. Now, what qualifies as cranberry sauce is a topic unto itself. Husband makes a dipping sauce a’la Alton Brown. He has tweaked the flavor profile a bit (using cherry syrup instead of maple) but otherwise made as rote.
I tend to think of Cranberry Sauce as being cranberry relish. Most other people imagine it as cranberry jelly. My mother thought that the canned stuff was an abomination to the greatness that is the cranberry, so she always made her relish by running the berries and dissected oranges through a meat grinder.
I stole this year’s recipe from his aunt (I swear that my aunt used to make it too), which is technically cranberry relish. This recipe has whipping cream, nuts, grapes, and coconut. There are several red flag items here I cannot eat, including the grapes and the whipping cream. So I subbed in frozen cherries (left over from our trip to Traverse City last year), some Mimicreme (a cashew and almond product that is a credible substitute for cream, and it doesn’t curdle as readily!) toasted almonds instead of walnuts, and added some pomegranate syrup, rice syrup and Nectresse (a Lo Han Gao sweetener made by the Splenda people. It’s actually good– so good that no one even paid me to say it!), The flavor was magnificent. Husband thought that the flavor of the nut milk added something special to this dish.
I defrosted some butter baked sweet potato for me (he hates them), and I made a wilted kale salad with a balsamic/ume vinegar and grape seed oil vinegrette. There was no desert, but then we didn’t have room for it anyway.
Next year I’m also figuring out how to make a green bean casserole I can eat. I’ve got a gluten (and corn and potato) sensitivity, and an obscure endocrine disorder which makes eating normal food an interesting challenge.
Also, we cracked a bottle of Oliver Wineries (here in Indiana) Shiraz 2012. Matt hated it, as he thought that the alcohol taste was way too strong. I thought it was too oaky, but admit that it probably needs to be served chilled. It tastes like *good* wine, but not to my taste. I’m hoping their Reisling, made with a German grape variety (who’s name escapes me) will be more to my taste. Because clearly they know their way around a grape, but… I’m fussy whino without really having the chops to know what I like.
All of the unexpected name dropping is all on me. No body paid me to say what I say. Personally, I think that doing that in blog form (unless explicitly attached to the target company website) is just wrong. What did I say? Dinosaur.