Pretty much the Thanksgiving from hell
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We were three men trying to make the best of our first Thanksgiving cooking dinner.
That's when my son informed me there was smoke coming out of the oven.
A lot of smoke.
We were in a rental property in New Orleans so it was not our oven.
Inside was $130 of prime beef.
We opened the doors to clear the smoke and when we peered inside the oven, there seemed to be large globs of melted plastic at the bottom of the oven. Where this plastic came from was a mystery.
We took out our prized roast.
We removed the racks from inside the oven and moved them out on to the terrace where our completive Corn Hole game was now over - I was winning 19-12 - and while I was feeling cheated we could not complete the game, the peril Thanksgiving dinner was facing took precedence.
We tried scraping some of the mysterious plastic off the bottom of the oven with a knife but it wouldn't budge.
It was suggested burning off the remaining plastic by reigniting the oven.
The smoke got worse.
Decisions had to be made.
It was 1 p.m.
We had tickets to the Tulane football game at 6:30 p.m. and our prized prime rib still had some cooking to do.
I called our Airbnb host and after apologizing for interrupting his holiday, wondered if there was a spare oven in the building we could use.
There wasn't.
We enacted Plan B.
We would move dinner - and our partially cooked prized roast - to my son's apartment six blocks away.
My son packed up the roast in his backpack along with a few other things and humped it back to his place.
We hoped he would not be mugged.
I dumped my carefully packed suitcase for my three-week holiday onto the bed. I loaded up pots filled with potatoes and turnip, a pumpkin pie, three bottles of wine and some beer into a suitcase and dialed for an Uber. As I was closing the suitcase, my brother yelled at me, "Don't forget the meat thermometer."
I took it and tossed it into the suitcase.
Within minutes, we were downstairs and climbing into an Uber where I informed the driver our suitcases contained our Thanksgiving dinner.
"Oh my," she said.
We told her about the smoking oven.
And our prized roast.
It seemed to make her feel better about working on a holiday.
By the time we arrived at my son's condo a few minutes later, it had been about 30 minutes since we first saw the smoke.
Not bad for a crisis.
But there was residual angst and some tension as we tried to recalibrate our dinner.
We all headed to opposite ends of my son's place to regroup.
I wondered if this was another test from my late wife reminding us how we were going to miss her perfect Thanksgiving dinners. Surely, she had better things to do than that, I surmised.
We set the table at my son's place.
We turned on the burners for the turnips, potatoes and gravy.
Then my son asked for the meat thermometer.
I opened the suitcase.
No meat thermometer
"I just bought it this morning," my son said with disgust.
"I handed it to you," my brother said placing the blame firmly on my shoulders.
"I put it in the suitcase," I said, a bit exasperated.
My son headed for the door for the 15-minute walk back to the rental to search for the meat thermometer.
At the rental, the winds had picked up and the picnic umbrella we unfurled on a beautiful sunny day had blown to the other side of the deck.
But no sign of the meat thermometer.
When he returned empty-handed he asked, "Now, what are we going to do?"
"We'll wing it," I said in my most fatherly voice.
It did not play well.
We all retreated again.
Thanksgivings can be hard, especially when you are missing loved ones and especially when you have three hungry men and no idea how that prized roast will turn out, but this was becoming the Thanksgiving from hell.
I tried to relieve the tensions by saying, "This will either be the best meal we ever had or the worst."
No one laughed.
Finally, my son took the roast out of the oven and cut into it to evaluate its progress. He announced another 15 minutes.
The potatoes were done.
The gravy was done.
The broccoli was done.
But the turnips were still rock hard.
We removed the roast and waited another 15 minutes.
The turnips were still rock hard.
"What kind of turnips are these," my brother wondered aloud.
Finally, I announced the turnips had to be mashed whether they were done or not because the Tulane game loomed. With bone-crushing strength, my brother mashed the turnips into something resembling what we usually had.
We sat down at the table.
We raised our glasses and tried to think of something to be thankful.
Our prized roast - the child of two ovens - was done perfectly.
The potatoes, broccoli and gravy all met our standards.
The turnips were chunky.
We cleaned up and made it to the Tulane game in time where there play wasn't much better than our dinner preparation.
Thanksgiving was over.
Two days later, I related the story to a saleswoman and a local furniture store looking for a pity and a better price on a table I was purchasing.
"Were there any ladies in the house?" the woman asked.
"No," I said. "Well, that's your problem."
And two days later, we were still looking for the damn meat thermometer.
More on Dawn
If you read my story about my cousin's Dawn midlife career change, then I wanted to share this note from reader Roland VanDeusen of Clayton, N.Y.
"I can relate to your cousin Dawn's story. Age 80 in 39 days, I volunteer for the VA's new suicide prevention initiative. The President-elect reportedly has vowed to discharge "on day one" from our military 15,000 voluntary service people who are transgender, as "unfit for service." Nearby Fort Drum has 15,000 troops and 16,000-plus family dependents. This could complicate our veteran suicide prevention efforts, to say the least.
Congrats Ben Driscoll
Glens Falls' 5th Ward Supervisor Ben Driscoll was recently honored with the first annual "Warrior Award by The Open Door Mission and WAIT House. The award recognizes his selfless contributions, outstanding dedication, compassion and unwavering commitment to making a positive impact on the community.
Anyone who is involved in any Glens Falls event knows it is commonplace to see Ben lending his support at just about every public event. As we learned here, that attention extends to behind the scenes as well.
Chapman lights
Reminder that the Chapman Museum is done up for the holidays like never before.
If you missed the Sneak Preview last week, it is open Tuesday through Saturday 10 to 4 and Sunday 12 to 4.
The museum has an exhibit of German nutcrackers, penguins, the entire collection of the White House Historical Society ornaments, a train layout courtesy of the Upstate Model Railroaders Club, decorations from families across Glens Falls, 58 Christmas stockings and six Christmas trees.
It is a sight to behold. Consider becoming a member to support the holiday lights effort and local history.
Pass the Press Act
In the dying days of the Biden administration, media outlets have taken on the cause federal legislation to protect the media.
In its editorial this past week, the Times Union wrote:
"The PRESS Act, as it is called, would protect reporters, social media companies and providers of telecommunications services from being forced by courts to disclose information that would identify sources, except when disclosure is needed to stop terrorism or imminent violence. The legislation would also keep the government from spying on journalists’ conversations with sources, with appropriate exceptions.
"There's nothing particularly novel about the law. In fact, 49 states including New York have laws that to some degree protect the anonymity of sources, which is recognized by courts as an essential part of the First Amendment. But there is no such protection on the federal level.
"There is also nothing partisan about the proposed legislation. Indeed, the PRESS Act has twice passed in the House with overwhelming support from Democrats and Republicans, an encouraging sign during this time of hyper-partisanship and diminishing trust in nearly all the vital institutions of our democracy."
Considering the retribution that the President-Elect promises, this may be essential legislation.
Pelican fever
My family celebrated Thanksgiving Eve this year by attending the NBA game between the New Orleans Pelicans and the Toronto Raptors, two of the worst teams in the league.
We had the benefit - I think - of attending on a giveaway night where we all got Pelicans hats. Obviously, we were in good spirits as we donned our new merchandise. I hope it brings a smile to your face on this Black Friday.
Ken Tingley spent more than four decades working in small community newspapers in upstate New York. Since retirement in 2020 he has written three books and is currently adapting his second book "The Last American Newspaper" into a play. He currently lives in Queensbury, N.Y.
I’m sure Gillian had a little laugh watching your antics trying to cook! But she us also proud that you saved the roast!
Believe it or not Ken, I think we ALL have had days like that at least once in our lifetime. I think I can pretty much be sure you will all be laughing at the memory come next Thanksgiving! Happy Holidays!