To celebrate our first Thanksgiving, Mike and I went to his favorite Seattle restaurant: The Old Country Buffet. It’s your typical buffet joint, complete with mirrored walls to magnify how much jello and prime rib they’re serving that night. You’ll be awestruck that the selection Mike loves this place so much, he doesn’t even say its full name. Just OCB. He’s on abbreviation-basis with the Old Country Buffet.
One reason why I love my husband so much is that he’s pretty simple when it comes to food. But that also means he’s reluctant to try new recipes, particularly when they have fancy ingredients that do not come in a Costco-sized green tub or are not made by Kraft Foods.
When I suggested making butternut, bacon and sage soup, he shot back with, “Do we live in Manhattan? Do I eat salsa made in New York City?” [This is when you say in disbelief, “New York City?!?”]
With Thanksgiving approaching, I’ve decided to do something different. Instead of making our yearly trek to the the grocery store to pick up the Thanksgiving dinner box–a cold delivery of turkey, pumpkin pie, rolls and two sides–I want to cook this year, not merely reheat or pull out the mashed potatoes from the microwave halfway to stir.
I convinced Mike that at least some of our dinner should be semi-homemade, like Sandra Lee, only without the weird boob rack she hauls around. Come on lady, I thought silicone was out along with shoulder pads.
I’m hoping for the best on this one since I’m not very skilled at executing recipes. I tried to make the chicken salad in Jessica Seinfeld’s cookbook Deceptively Delicious. I cut up the chicken, eggs, and celery, stirred the mixture along with other ingredients and scooped it into a tupperware container. When I opened it the next day, it smelled like someone had opened up the container, released a sulphuric fart into it and sealed it up again. Farts may be deceptive, but they’re not delicious.
Okay moving on, this year, I want deep fried turkey. We are not deepfrying this ourselves. Because it is a technical and delicate process, Mike would ask me to figure it out, and I would likely set his precious University of Washington garage on fire. So next week we are bringing a turkey to Willie’s Taste of Soul BBQ where Willie’s deep fryer will give me the heart-clogging richness that only canola oil can bring.
And speaking of food, Ashley is offering up a $40 Amazon gift card to those who dish up comments about their most memorable meal. You have until 8PM PST to enter. Check it out here and please look around her site which is so full of food picture goodness, you will lick your screen. That’s the only kind of electronic tonguing I condone. Please don’t lick your keyboard. That makes it hard to type.
Tangent: We agreed never to eat out on Christmas because the last time we did, Mike made some stupid comment to the waitress that, “Hey, it’s a holiday so you must be making a lot of money tonight,” and the woman burst out into tears right at our table, stammering a “No, I’m not,” before taking our drink orders.
That was the saddest diet coke I’ve ever had.