Whatever the size of your Thanksgiving gathering, there's always food involved and usually home-cooked. It's a BIG deal.
Which is why I'm sitting here on tenterhooks (or pins and needles, as they say here) waiting for a telephone call ...... from the oven repair man.
Yes, the bloody oven has given up the ghost. Dead. It is no longer. Possibly over-worked since the Little Guy and the Ball & Chain have taken up cooking with a passion only otherwise reserved for golf. They cook the entire week's meals on a Sunday these days. (I know - it's great.) However, as the Punk Rocker son said, it's like going from doing moderate exercise every week to running a marathon every day. Naturally it's broken down. (I think I should be offended by that comment, but I shall ignore it.)
So here I am, three days before Thanksgiving, waiting for a call from the repair man. Of course, even after they come out, it's not a given that they have "the part" in the van/truck (do they ever?) or that the oven will be fix-able.
We are already in Plan B mode as to how to cook the meal. BBQ the turkey? (Which will be really nice actually, - slow-cooked therefore moister.) The turkey won't fit into the crock-pot, so that's out. A kindly neighbor has said she'll give me the keys to her house to use her oven. How nice, and yes, it's given us a measure of calm.
So fingers crossed, and all that. But really - what timing eh?
