THE AFTERGLOW
And something was missing...
The day was lovely. Filled with food, friends, and fun.
This year’s festivities included many new friends, which is something I’ve always enjoyed about Thanksgiving dinner. It is entirely acceptable to invite acquaintances and new neighbors to join in the meal and squeeze around the table. There were nearly twenty of us and two turkeys!
And yet, the next day, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing.
Of course, you’re thinking that I was missing my family—especially my children—which is true, of course. My husband and I are the only ones left in Florida. We used to have 16 to 20 family members at our house for every holiday meal. But missing my family wasn’t it. I spent the day in my friend’s amazing gourmet kitchen, cooking away … and that’s something I love to do. So I wasn’t missing the cooking.
And speaking of cooking, let me digress for a moment. One year, we went out to eat Thanksgiving dinner. I hated it. I’m embarrassed to admit this because I hate being wrong, but it was my idea to go out to eat that year. I made a reservation weeks in advance, which I did in response to an advertisement I saw depicting scenes of happy families in a beautifully decorated dining room overlooking the ocean. At the time, it seemed much better than the mental picture I had created of my husband and I sitting alone in our kitchen. The dining room was beautiful and it was fun to get dressed up, but the dinner part felt more like a trip to the Golden Coral—complete with having to wait in line to fill our plates at the buffet.
This year’s dinner included all the usual suspects: turkey, stuffing, green beans, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, and hot baked yeast rolls. My friend and I, the co-cooks, enjoyed sharing our family recipes. She ordered special bread cubes from William & Sonoma for the stuffing, and I made roasted sweet potatoes rather than a casserole topped with those infamous mini marshmallows. We made a game of finding the right pans and serving dishes in our host’s kitchen, which can be a challenge when cooking in an unfamiliar space. We had volunteered to cook since our friend agreed to host. We brought in the ingredients for our assigned dishes, but had neglected to bring pots and pans.
As I said, the day was lovely, even idyllic. And barring one unfortunate hula-hooping injury, the day couldn’t have been better. There were lawn games and charcuterie and cocktails before dinner. We enjoyed it all with the sound of football on the television in the background interspersed with bursts of a cappella Christmas carols. A distinguished-looking man gave a very nice blessing before our meal. A new friend to me, he was the business partner of our host. I’m sorry that I don’t remember his name. We sat for hours, the twenty of us, elbow to elbow around the table, eating and laughing and sharing stories.
My husband and I departed at just the right time. We stayed long enough to have nice conversations, but not so long that the beer was talking. On the way out, I grabbed my stoneware pie plate, a special gift I received from my favorite uncle. I didn’t want to leave it behind.
The next morning, I was happy to discover that there was one slice of pumpkin pie remaining. That’s the slice that I’m enjoying for breakfast today.
And there it was … I finally figured out what was missing … the leftovers! We have none to enjoy today. No cold turkey sandwiches on yeast rolls with cranberry sauce and dill. No gobbler bowls with mashed potatoes, stuffing, and gravy. No green beans or pieces of cookies from the failed gingerbread house.
We had a lovely day, but we missed the afterglow.
