Close to Nowhere - Linda Jones


Thursday, November 16, 2006
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Close to Nowhere
By Linda Jones

And we’re all in a mad whirl!

Ah, the hectic holiday season is upon us. I’m already tired!

Thanksgiving is far and away my favorite holiday. I enjoy cooking and dear ole Pop enjoys coming behind me and washing the big pots and pans. We make a good team in our tiny kitchen — most of the time.

There are those moments during cooking for big family dinners when I have to grit my teeth or actually even say a few words! Not often, I value the washing of pots and pans too highly!

My oldest brother likes to help in the kitchen also. Now, my kitchen is tiny, tiny and between the three of us, well, not a one of us is tiny. Sometimes it can get fairly crowded in my 2x4 kitchen with Pop, Uncle Dennis, me and assorted grandchildren.

Oddly enough, our daughter and son aren’t fond of getting in the kitchen with us. Must be the occasional word that has flown on those rare occasions when Pop and I disagree about cooking.

Dennis is my official egg deviler (or stuffer, whichever is what you say). I am allowed to boil the eggs and begin cooling them, but that’s the extent of my involvement in that department.

He very carefully slices the eggs in half, scoops out the yolks into a bowl (one that suits him), mashes them and insists that I watch him carefully squirt the mustard into the mashed mess. He also hand chops the olives with a chef’s knife like Alton Brown uses (he watches way too much of the Food Channel).

One of the good things Dennis has learned from Alton is how to use a zipper bag to get the mashed mess back into the egg whites.

Now, bearing in mind Dennis has never let me do this, it’s pretty easy. You dump the mashed mess into a large-sized zipper bag and zip it shut. Then you cut a smallish sized hole in one corner. Now comes the easy part — squish the bag down from the top and the mashed mess goes right down into the egg white — easy as pie! (Pie is not always easy!)

Fortunately Dennis likes to do this at the dining room table, so while he’s gainfully occupied elsewhere, I can actually move in the kitchen.

Unless, of course, I’m tripping over Pop, the granddaughters, the dogs or my own feet.

Dana makes the cornbread for dressing at her house and brings it over and it takes a group effort to get it mixed and mashed.

I generally guess at the spices using handfuls of this and that. Pop tastes regularly to make sure I’ve used the correct amount of handfuls and then Dennis uses a potato masher and mashes and stirs because by now I’m completely exhausted.

There’s nothing quite like a Thanksgiving meal at my house.

I’m so thankful some days that I can’t stand it!

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