Thanksgiving, Part I: Curse of the Stoned Cherub

Thanksgiving is that wonderful time of year when we sit down with our friends and family to give thanks for all of our blessings. I have celebrated the past 2 Thanksgivings at Matty’s, with Adam responsible for coordinating our delightful Thanksgiving feast. And although our cup doth truly run over, there is just one blessing I would add to our annual celebration: once, if only once, could Adam please not get baked until AFTER he’s finished the GODDAMN stuffing?

We all remember last year, when Adam cooked. He was preparing a fairly impressive meal, when he decided to take a break to spend a little quality time down in his room. He came upstairs for a snack, and ended up falling asleep before he could finish the stuffing. We celebrated the holiday stuffing-less. This year should have been much easier: Matty picked up all the food from the Columbia Tower Club the day before, and Adam just had to turn on the oven and throw in the containers according to a set of instructions. Couldn’t be easier. Except for the fact that you would need an oven the size of a crematorium in order to cook all the food according to the instructions. The alternative, which was easy enough on its face, was to put the turkey in a smaller roaster to save space, fit the stuffing in the oven at the right time, and heat the vegetables and potatoes on the stove top. Gravy in the microwave, and we’d be eating like the Pilgrims did before they pissed off the Indians.

But Adam, everyone’s favorite houseboy-cherub, tossed the turkey in the oven and waded into the champagne (and God knows what else). By the time we needed to heat up the rest of the food, he was listing to one side in a Barcelona chair and giggling like a 14 year old who just discovered you can huff whipping cream canisters. I wouldn’t speculate on his state of mind, but he was plowing through the hors d’oerves like he hadn’t eaten in a week. Not one to miss a meal myself, I took matters into my own hands and got everything heated up, incurring a big nasty cut in the process (I’d had a bit of champagne myself). We all sat down to a lovely meal, including stuffing which had to be microwaved (it didn’t get in the oven in time to get hot) but seemed passable anyway. Adam ate his fill and went to sleep.

Next time, Part II of our three-part Thanksgiving Entry.