Linguistics 101

Every trip I take to Raleigh becomes fodder for the ongoing mental debate over moving back to N.C. The "Con" column includes the facts that all my friends are in Philadelphia and that 75% of this town is suburban sprawl hellishness anyway. In the "Pro" column: people are so much nicer here; I would get to hear words and expressions that I love but forget about when I'm away too long. Such as pine straw. I had not thought about pine straw in so long, but here it's everywhere and used to be such a fact of my daily life (often entangled in my hair). PINESTRAW. jeez.

Another expression I like a lot is the simple, all-purpose response "Do what?" I think of it written as a hyphenate or one word: "Do-what?" or "Dowhat?" or "Dowhatnow?" It can be used anytime you don't understand what someone has said to you either due to mishearing or it being rank nonsense, as demonstrated by the following T-day exchange at the appetizer table:

Great Uncle Warren: "What's this here green?"
Me: "It's salsa verde. It's made from tomatillos!"
Great Uncle Warren: "Dowhatnow?"

The "might could" and "might should" constructions are also faves. For my part, I tried to convince my cousin's wife that it's called a cheesesteak, not a "steak and cheese."

F1rst Thanksgiving

My 12-pound turkey endured a near-second-death experience on Walnut Street (hanging on for dear life out of my flopped-over bike basket), a significant bounce down a flight of stairs (broken plastic bag), and a half-pound of butter, six ounces of chopped bacon, and a fistful of herbs inserted under its skin before roasting.

Taste-wise, it was brilliant.

My first independently-hosted Thanksgiving day started at 11 am, when my alarm went off. To remind me to cook. Seriously the best.

The turkey went in around 1 p.m. (dinnertime was 6, so I left a prudent finishing window). I put in laundry, basted. Watched 30 Rock (a Thanksgiving tradition for all-day kitchen marathons), basted. And on until around 3, when Shane showed up to sous with cumin-fennel-brilliance butternut soup, sweet cornbread, and green bean casserole.

I took the bird, deep brown and crispy-skinned, out of the oven at around 4. The thigh registered far above its goal temperature of 175F, but the end result still proved moist. Rivers of butter had burst through the skin steeped in the bottom of the pan with the juices of an onion, an orange, and a li'l herb bouquet. A few glugs of cider and brandy, some tedious fat-skimming, vigorous whisking, and 20 minutes of simmering=gravy.

In the meantime, Toby (along with a healthy mix of guests -- friends and once strangers -- from a few sectors of my life) showed up with his carving skills and a carrot souffle with brown sugar-pecan crumble on top. Also making appearances: a vat of mashed potatoes, improvised stuffing (from Randy and Virginia), bacon Brussels sprouts, cranberry plum sauce, pancetta macaroni and cheese (Andy), and plum galette.

I wish I had snapped some pictures, but I was way too wrapped up in the amazing bacon: Brussels sprout ratio to play photographer.

A few bottles of wine, a few helpings, one ukulele and two couches. Dishes done by many hands.

Take that, holidays 2009. You can't freak me out.

Do You Need to Buy Me a Christmas Present?

This will do.