Thanksgiving Musings from the TakeOut Butler

Thanksgiving of 2005 was a traumatic experience for this blogger. I am a staunch  traditionalist when it comes to the holidays as well as self diagnosed with O.F.D. (Obsessive Food Disorder.) I have a need to control and manage virtually all aspects of food from where and how purchased, to preparation, and finally to consumption. This may not be a rare condition to those that can relate, but it is not heavily publicized either.

My family and I were graciously invited to spend our first Thanksgiving as Floridians with our dear friends the Schuttes after our unexpected move from the No. Virginia suburbs of Washington, DC. This was a huge break in tradition as we had been essentially doing the same thing each Thanksgiving for more than 15 years up north. It made sense though as we had left so many family members and friends "back home" and we still had not completely unpacked our non mission critical kitchen items.

For 15+ culinaryily blissful years, we had been the invited guests of my gracious In-laws to a historic inn located in Strasburg, VA. A compellingly scenic drive west over the mountains and through the woods that was as importantly against any form of the hideous traffic we would have been accustomed to if heading east into DC. The inn was full of colonial character and thanks to my In-laws Don and Barbara, full of characters as well. Through the years, we announced the pending birth of our now 21 year old son there and broke bread and gave thanks with beloved people who continue to influence our lives every day even though some are no longer with us.

The Strasburg Inn prepared a similar AYCE buffet each year. I took great comfort in knowing exactly what to expect down to the positioning of each and every entree and side dish. The spread was laid out conveniently along a lengthy hallway and after a few years of dining there, I could have filled my plate blind folded with heping servings of all the essentials. There was no mystery meat, nothing that your eccentric great aunt prepared that involved a long explanation, and no experimental cuisine. After all, did the Pilgrims bring their "B and C" level dishes when they initially hooked up with the Indians? I think not. There are 364 other days a year to experiment with exotic recipes involving imporetd fruits and exoctic "free range" meats.

As the family grew, I developed an ingenious win/win strategy that allowed me to appear as the doting father, take some of the load off my wife, all the while allowing me to stuff my face with the inn's wonderful food. The AYCE buffet style provided the perfect setting to to: (1) pile my initial plate heavy and high as if the food may potentially disappear (2) avoid those awkward and repetitive "can you pass the _____?" requests that would cause my concerned wife to raise her eyebrows at me and (3) allow me to go back time and time again.The key was to use the children as a distraction to take care of my own gluttony. I would offer to "take them up to get a plate" like I was Mother Theresa at a soup kitchen. Initially with my son Ryan, than Patrick, than Bethany, it seemed like every time a child became self sufficient to get their own food, another one came along. Very simply and subtly, I would help myself at the same time. One for you, three for me and so on. This covert activity seemed to flow beneath my wife's radar and was a crafted science by the time we elected to head to Florida. 

The only down side to these trips to the Strasburg Inn was that there was absolutely no opportunity for left-overs. What I did not know is that this was in its own way preparing me for the ultimate dilemma of Thanksgiving of 2005.

My wife and her friend Martha have a relationship dating back to middle school...Rare in these days to have such meaningful longevity. The ladies agreed that the Butler's would prepare and bring the bird while the "home team" would take care of the rest. "All good." I thought as I could handle tackling the bird and avoid some potential conflict like: "We decided to get a Honey-baked ham" instead. That was, until socially-correct consciousness made me realize that the left-over situation has once again reared its ugly head.The culinary school that I graduated from (honorary doctorate) taught me that the only meal better than a traditional Thanksgiving meal is the one the next day created from the hodgepodge of remainders. In the same vernacular and spirit of left over pizza and any pasta dish with tomato sauce, the Thanksgiving left overs are iconic.

What to do? Do you bring your own zip-locks and Tupperware? Do you leverage a 25+ year long relationship into a "we're family" dibs on left-overs. Do you draft a 50/50 split pre-meal document guaranteeing a fair and even split between the families? Our friend Martha was a notary and works for an attorney...How convenient would that be?

As much as I appreciate her opinion, my wife was not the place to start in resolving this all important issue. She make Martha Stewart look like the John Belushi "Animal House" character in the cafeteria scene. I felt uneasy going to our hosts as their roots go back to my wife. Their loyalty could impact my best interests. Alas, I decided to go back to my "culinary advisory staff" from back north who would understand the serious implications here. I had the good fortune to share fellowship and the Thursday meatloaf lunch special with church buddies Todd, Kurt, and Allen on many occasions prior to our move.

Todd was a pastor and the soul who helped change my life in an eternal way by exposing me to the RoadFood.com website and more. Kurt was an offensive lineman for East Carolina and one of the more impressive eating specimens that I have ever broken bread with. Allen was the brains of the operation and had one of those jobs that was so complicated to explain, he just told me that he was a consultant and left it at that.As I recall all these years later, the advice was spot on based on the background of the individuals sharing their opinions.

Pastor Todd implored me to generously and joyfully leave all of the leftovers with our hosts. I had no entitlements and should feel blessed to have such terrific friends open their home to us. Kurt suggested that I simply dig in and belly-up as best as possible. If one plows through the entire bird and sides effectively, there may not be any left-overs to worry about...Maybe some old dark meat and over cooked yams. No real loss. Use my comfortable relationship to offset any exposure to my gluttony. They already know what I am and accept me for it. Allen engineered a seemingly creative idea that was a little too complicated for me to implement on a timely basis. Something involving dental floss, duct tape, and gadgets that are more common to James Bond movies and Macgyver reruns.

So what did I do and how did it all turn out you ask? Truthfully, I almost forget despite my pre-meal anxiety. The bird turned out pretty good and the Schuttes gracuiously loaded us up with leftovers, including their "Granny's" mashed potatoes. What I do recall though is that we were blessed to be acclimating in our new "home state" and to celebrate with friends that go back nearly 3 decades now. We did so with freedoms,resources, and a faith that a soverign Lord and so many have provided us with.

That's what Thanksgiving is all about. I hope you enjoy yours.