I suppose this is going to sound like a rather negative post. Let's just say that I need to vent, and this is my safe place. All in all Thanksgiving was really quite good, but there were some rough spots to get over. Isn't that always the way when there are seven people living in 1700 square feet for about five days.
The good part was that the turkey was just great. Son in law, S was going to fry the turkey this year - even though he had never done such a thing before. He had used the frier, but for catfish and shrimp. I fifteen pound turkey is another thing. He was banished into the north pasture (I forgot to tell you we were in the Middle of Nowhere Hill Country place). It has been so dry up there I was very afraid of a fire. Let's face it - a propane burner, four gallons of hot peanut oil and a dropped turkey could equal disaster. Husband was self proclaimed "Safety Officer" armed with a shovel and water hose. The shovel for the grass fire and the water to stop the flames on S. There was a minor mixup with the turkey. S thought I had the baster and I was sure this was his deal. The solution I came up with was to brine the turkey for about 4 hours. Not really long enough, but it worked.
The parts to moan and groan over now come. On Friday, S was going to do ribs on the pit. G HATES beef ribs. What kind does S do? You guessed it - beef. Our little pit is a side fire box smoker that CAN be used as a regular pit. Monkey Boy would not let me hold him at all this weekend, so S had him outside with him. When S asked for the bag of charcoal, I assumed (I know the saying about assume) he was going to set it in the main part of the grill and cook the ribs that way. Nope! When I looked out the door, there were flames rising five feet from the tiny fire box.
Daughter and step granddaughter were out hunting. K called on the radio. She shot something. G was going to take over at the pit. I walked out to see what was going on. The top door of the firebox was completely charred - paint burned off. The fire was entirely too hot. When I looked inside, the ribs were piled on top of one another. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. G told me he couldn't keep the heat going in the pit side. I took over and added the cooking wood that should have been used - after being soaked. It of course was not. I don't think our little pit will ever be the same.
During this fiasco, we heard another shot. We thought it was our hunter and his daughter. Nope. S had to show off. He saw three does on the crest of the hill after retrieving K's buck. He shot (this making 3 of that family's quota of 5 deer). When he got to the deer, it was a yearling. A button buck. I could not believe how stupid that was. He is always claiming he is so good at aging deer on the hoof. I guess Mr. Great Hunter just had to show off for his ladies. That ended up making him look like a fool.
S's family apparently only had three sets of silverware when he was growing up because they seem to think everyone doesn't mind eating after them. S constantly uses his fork (already eaten from) to stick into the jam to get more. Of course, he likes a little eggs with his jam. He could eat the entire jar - and nearly does at breakfast. That was the norm again. The twist is that Step granddaughter went a little further. When she wanted left over pie, she just ate part of the pieces in the pie pan and left the rest. That is soooo nasty to me. Here was the pies with little scoops out of them. Lady Bug couldn't have done that, although it would have been something I would expect from a 4 year old, because the pies were out of her reach.
OK. Enough venting. All in all this was a time to be thankful and enjoy the company of family. I wish B and C could have been there for at least some of the time, but they were visiting C's family. It was still a good time.
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