Ain't No Party like a Detroit Party

As with any feast worth its salt, prepping began the day before. (This is why one has to bring friends along to Grind Manor -- Ma's going to cook enough to feed the Red Army no matter who's coming, so you'd better bring the troops. Little Sister Grind invited a friend who's from Madras over as well for his first genuine American thanksgiving. In addition to enjoying his charming company, I personally liked that we could bring the whole breaking-bread-with-the-Indians thing full circle.) And so the bread dough was mixed, dressing prepared, apples peeled, pies made, squash steamed, scraped, and souped -- after all of which we hit Mexicantown for enchiladas and margaritas before heading even further north to watch the Detroit Pistons shatter the hapless Knicks. That's how it happens the day before: you work hard, you play hard, and you forget to take any pictures.

The day itself began by making a virtue of necessity: awakened at dawn by the yowling of my mother's mentally-challenged cat, I knew I had my mission -- the bread baking was on. I love a big get together if for no other reason than it gives me an excuse to make a double-sized loaf of the no-knead standard. There's little for scale in the picture alas, but trust me: this is a comically large boule.

Soon enough, Ma was schooling me on how to roast the bird -- more detail on that to come. With the fowl in the oven, the sides were next.

Now if you're a visitor to Grind Manor and you're insistent enough to get past Ma's guests-shouldn't-exert-themselves-even-slightly hospitality, you may be able to show off your kitchen skills. Fair warning though: you'd best be able to throw an elbow or two and cuss like you mean it if you're going to survive down in the pit. My lady friend is an old hand it this by now, and managed to break her way in and bust out a Brussels sprout hash that was the sleeper hit of the whole feast.

With the bird fully roasted, and with Old Man Grind still recovering from a broken arm, it fell to me to carve it up.

Here I took advantage of this fascinating piece of didactic video from the New York Times. The basic idea is that you don't carve the bird, which is next to impossible, but butcher it after presenting it whole, presenting it again when you're done, all laid out nice with legs and wings akimbo. (Seriously, give it a look. I like the way this guy thinks: "Piping hot gravy: that's your endgame.")

And so we laid on the spread.

Here we've got, from the foreground to the back: sweetheart squash soup with crumbled anise cookies; mashed; candied sweet potatoes; wild rice dressing with apple, bacon, and walnuts; cornbread dressing; turkey; the hashed sprouts; cranberry sauce; cranberry relish, and gravy. Just like in middle school, not everyone made it into the frame. Not pictured: green beans; two kinds of homemade bread; apple pie; and pumpkin pie. And in we dug.

Not bad when all that's left is the wing tips.