Thanksgiving dinner, just like Mom makes — sort of
COMMENTARY
Jacque Petersell

No one seems to make turkey and dressing like mom. I found that out the hard way this Thanksgiving.

She makes it look so easy.

While you’re asleep, she’s in the kitchen watching the turkey and baking the pies. While you’re chatting with cousins, she’s setting the table in all her finest. And while you’re enjoying the food she created, she is sitting there, smiling, quietly taking the compliments.

No one seems to make Thanksgiving dinner like Mom.

But this year, I tried.

Nov. 26
11:15 a.m.: I’m frantically flipping through numbers in my cell phone looking for my roommate’s number. The turkey that needs two days to thaw — that I was supposed to put in the refrigerator this morning — is still in the freezer. This is, already, not a good start to my first Thanksgiving dinner attempt.

Nov. 27
9:39 p.m.: Obviously, this whole “turkey will thaw in refrigerator” is a lie. My tiny little turkey has spent more than a day thawing. Last time I poked it I still hit ice. I’m putting it in some cool water.

11 p.m.: I quit. The bird’s going back in the fridge. Maybe I’ll have better luck tomorrow.

Nov. 28
11:45 a.m.: The turkey feels thawed ... kinda. Back in water it goes. And in the process of making one pumpkin pie, I ended up with two. Wonder if that ever happened to Mom?

12:49 p.m.: (Insert word Mom never said in front of children.) Burnt my left hand when I grazed the top oven burner while trying to cover the pies with foil so they don’t burn. Nice little blister forming there.

12:55 p.m.: OK, going for the big one. Let’s get this turkey started.

1:09 p.m.: This is disgusting! I opened the bag to turkey juices (among other things) spilling out. And the turkey is slimy and cold and the bones are sharp. I feel like the Sprint commercial (“You want me to stick my what in the what what?”). Have the roommate call the best friend’s Mom for the following advice: do I pat this thing down after I wash it, where do I stick the thermometer, what do I use to season?
A little pepper, salt and garlic powder later (that I just kind of pat into the bird), the turkey is in the oven. I have a new appreciation for all the previous Thanksgivings.

2:10 p.m.: I mix some more of the “seasoning” and add melted butter. Don’t have one of those cool little basting brushes, so I’m getting awfully close to the heat and using a spoon. (Note to self: heat near a burn really hurts.)

2:19 p.m.: This really isn’t fun. I’m wondering if Mom ever thought this way.

3:26 p.m.: Somehow got green bean casserole into the oven with the turkey. Think I may have bent the turkey pan in the process.

4:32 p.m.: Feel like such a slacker. A few years back, my Mom and aunt made cranberry sauce. They had to boil it and stir it and such. Every once in a while they would add some wine to it. They would say “A little wine for the sauce ... and a little wine for the cook.” Maybe that’s the secret. I contemplate pouring a glass as I open a can of cranberry sauce.

4:40 p.m.: The turkey is out! And between my roomie and me (with the help of a fork and knife) it is out of the pan and on a turkey platter. (I’ve never cooked a turkey before, but I won a turkey platter. Go figure.)

4:45 p.m.: (Insert whole string of words not to be said in front of children.) Just burnt the other hand. The spoon fell out of the pan as I was cooking the gravy. I grab it and the bubbling gravy ran all over my right hand. I’m definitely not as graceful as mom.

4:54 p.m.: Still unhappy about the gravy fiasco, I have the roomie cut the turkey. You know how it always comes out in pretty little slices? Yeah, that would have been nice. But, you do what you have to, and it was actually more fun just tearing away at it.

5:43 p.m.: Dinner is over, and I’m impressed. I actually made Thanksgiving dinner. And the only things harmed in the process were my hands.

Could have been worse. Could have children running crazy at my feet while I cooked. But you know what, I can almost hear those children now, saying thank you for the meal.

You’re welcome dear.

Maybe I’m a mommy in the making after all.

Copy Desk Chief Jacque Petersell is a senior news-editorial journalism major from Houston.