Friendsgiving 2 Point Oh!!!

Trixie, Tad, Mart, Diana, and Dan were lounging comfortably in the living room of Trixie’s small, homey apartment.  The table in front of the couch was littered with paper plates and rumpled bags of potato chips and pretzels.  Empty beer bottles were lined up along one end.

“That was a great football game,” exclaimed Dan.  Lifting a beer to his lips, he drained the bottle then set it down with a thump.

“I don’t know what was so great about it,” complained Diana.  “It went into overtime.  Twice!”  Sighing, she lifted her dark hair off her neck and wrapped it into a tight knot then let it fall loose down her back again.

“That’s the point,” replied Dan.  “The game went down to the final minute.  I love games like that.”

“Well, I don’t,” added Trixie.  ‘“I feel better when my team is ahead by 50 points or more.”

Mart scoffed at his sister.  “50 points? That’s not a game, at least not in my esteemed opinion.”

Diana grinned. “I agree with Trixie.”  Reaching across Mart’s lap, she fist bumped her friend.

Stretching out his lean body, Dan settled his shoeless feet next to his empty beer bottle and stacked his hands beneath his head.  “So, Mart, are you going to let me prepare our Friendsgiving Feast this year?”

Mart’s head snapped in astonishment.  “You want to cook the annual culinary feast?”

Dan shrugged.  “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it for a couple of weeks.”  He noticed his friend’s troubled expression.  “What’s wrong?”

“Well,” Mart fiddled with a pile of pretzels in his hand.  “since Honey’s been dating Ian, who is renowned for his palatable creativity here in Sleepyside, I was hoping he’d be master of an insane desire to impress us and volunteer to prepare our Friendsgiving repast.”

“You thought Ian was going to cook for everybody?” demanded Trixie after she sorted out Mart’s statement.  “Why? He already spends all his time working in Imogene’s restaurant.  I’d think he’d want a day off.”

Ian was the chef at The Hideaway, a popular new eatery in town that  was located next door to Ingram’s Antiques, the shop where Trixie worked. Both were owned by Imogene Ingram, a spunky, savvy businesswoman who had also opened a garden center, Bings, with Mart. All three businesses were wild successes and drew both locals and visitors from the nearby city.

“Then there’s Dan’s apartment or should I say ‘furnished armoire.’” Mart  made air quotes with his fingers.  “How are we all going to fit in there? Are we going to eat in shifts?” Tossing a pretzel in the air, he caught it neatly in his mouth then turned to Dan and smirked.

Dan sat up.  “Hey.  My apartment is not a furnished armoire.  It’s a snug and cozy flat.”  Folding his arms across his chest, he again relaxed against the back of the couch.  “Besides, I was planning on hosting the dinner at Mr. Maypenny’s cabin. I’ll be keeping an eye on it while Mr. Maypenny is away visiting his nephew.”

Mart shrugged.  “I guess that would work.  Anybody else have any objections?”  He looked around at the small group.

Heads shaking in unison answered Mart’s question.  “Okay, Dan.  Friendsgiving Feast is all yours.”

“I’m glad that’s settled.”  Diana went into the kitchen, then returned with a purple, fruity wine cooler.

“So, guys,” said Dan.  “Regarding our Friendsgiving Feast. I’ve got it all planned.  It’s going to be a strictly authentic Thanksgiving dinner.”

Mart rubbed his hands together.  “Ahhh….sounds delectible, Daniel.  I can smell the mingling of the various scents as the cooking progresses:  the cinnamon on the yams, the sage in the stuffing, and the butter on the rolls.  Mmmm.”  Mart closed his eyes as his face registered the sheer delight of his anticipation.

Frowning at Mart, Dan shook his head.  “Whatever, Mart.  Anyway, I plan on this being a memorable dinner.  And the cabin will only add to the rustic theme.”

“Rustic theme?” Diana placed her wine cooler on the table and sat down.  “I could help with the decorations. I love decorating for a special occasion.”

Dan shook his head.  “Thanks for offering, Diana but I’ve got it all planned out.  Besides, I’ve gotten a few decorating ideas off of Pinterest.”

The group stared at Dan.  

“Pinterest?” questioned Tad.  “And have your already created your own rustic Thanksgiving decorations board?”

“Whoa! Looks who knows how Pinterest works,” teased Mart.  

“Um, excuse me, Mart, but didn’t you look to Pinterest for ideas for your garden store?” demanded Trixie.

“That was for the express intent of expanding and improving my merchandise presentations,” said Mart defensively.

Trixie nodded her head.  “Keep talking, brother.”

Choosing to ignore his sister, Mart laid out a challenge for Dan. “Your meal better be memorable, Dan,”

“Trust me, this Friendsgiving Feast will knock your socks off.”

“Don’t worry about my socks.  Just fill my stomach.”  Mart grabbed another handful of pretzels and promptly shoved several in his mouth.

Trixie eyed Dan suspiciously.  “Moms spends weeks getting ready for her open house. How are you going to get everything done? Are you sure you don’t want any help?”

Dan yawned.  “Yes, I’m sure.  In fact, since we’ve got this settled, I’ll send an email to Honey, Brian and Jim right now and invite them.”  He pulled out his phone and began typing, mouthing the words as he wrote.  “Dates included.” Satisfied with his invitation, he hit the send button then smiled as a tone indicated the messages had left his device. He looked up at the couples around him. “About dates being included, maybe you guys shouldn’t bring any.  Things could  get messy.”  He grinned broadly.

Trixie and Tad looked at each other and shrugged.  “We’re in,” said Tad.  “What can we bring?”

“Didn’t you hear me?  I’ve got it all planned.”

“You can count me and Diana in too,” said Mart.

Diana frowned.  “Shouldn’t you at least ask me first, Mart?”

“Okay,  Diana, do you want to dine at Dan’s for his Friendsgiving Feast?”

Diana giggled.  “Of course.”

Mart rolled his eyes then looked at Dan.  “As I said before, you can count me and Diana among your guests at this scrumptious feast.”

“Great!” Grinning, Dan rubbed his hands together.

“I hope it’s not like last year’s meal,” said Diana.  

The group of friends looked around at each other remembering the feast that ended up all over everybody the year before.  Diana and Trixie started to giggle. Tad and Dan chuckled then Mart joined in.  Finally, the whole group was laughing at the previous year’s disastrous end to the otherwise delicious dinner.

“We won’t be doing anything like that this year,” said Dan as he dragged a potato chip through a pile of dip.  “My food isn’t going to be wasted by landing on the floor or in somebody’s lap.”

“That’s good,” said Mart.  “Because I don’t think I could handle another traumatic occurence like that.”

“Yeah,” quipped Tad. “watching you fight back tears as your dinner slid off your plate was just plain ugly.”

“Yeah?  Well...well…,” Mart sputtered.

“And for once, words fail him.” Trixie high fived her boyfriend.  “Points to Webster!” 

 

Several weeks later, Tad and Trixie were hiking through the Wheeler Preserve.  The day was crisp and cool and there was a definite bite to the air that hinted at the approaching winter.  Big, fluffy clouds dotted the deep blue sky and a slight breeze blew from the north, causing the nearly bare trees to sway and dance in the weak sunshine.  The fallen leaves made a delightfully rustling noise as the two walked along.  

Stopping abruptly in front of Tad, Trixie turned. “Do you think we’ve gone far enough?”

“Far enough for what?”

“For our Friendsgiving Feast tonight.”

Tad scratched the back of his neck.  “But that’s at Mr. Maypenny's cabin and we’re going in the opposite direction from that.”

“No, silly.  I mean, do you think we’ve hiked enough?”

“Hiked enough for what?” A confused look crossed Tad’s face.

“Hiked enough so that we burned off all those calories from Moms’ Thanksgiving Open House”  Trixie licked her lips.  “If Dan’s meal is anything like Mr. Maypenny’s Hunter’s Stew,  then we’ll be in for a real treat.  Think of all the fresh vegetables and herbs Mr. Maypenny grows in his garden that Dan will be able to use. I can’t wait.”

Tad looked at his watch.  “Then I say we’ve hiked far enough.  We have to get back home and cleaned up, you know.”

Trixie’s face fell.  “I forgot about that.”  She brightened considerably.  “At least I don’t have to get dressed up.”

Tad shook his head.  “Again, I’m not following you.”

Trixie shifted impatiently.  “Remember. Dan said everything was going to be rustic.  So I’m thinking jeans and a warm, comfy sweater will be perfect.”

Tad grinned.  “As long as the jeans are nice and snug.”

Trixie gave a firm nod.  “‘I’m sure they will be by the time we’re done eating. Let’s start back.  I can’t wait to dig into Dan’s authentic Thanksgiving dinner.”

 

A short time later, Tad and Trixie traipsed along the path from Crabapple Farm to Mr. Maypenny’s cabin.  Approaching the front door, Trixie stopped and sniffed the air appreciatively.

“Do you smell that?” she asked, her nose in the air.

Tad nodded.  “It sure smells good.”

“And look!” Trixie pointed to the top of the cabin where faint wisps of smoke curled out of the stone chimney.  “Dan’s got a fire going. What a perfect day for a Bobwhite get-together. And you know what else?”

“No, what?”

“My jeans are stretchy.”  Grinning, she patted her flat stomach.  “Pretty sure I’m going to need that extra space. Let’s go. I’m starving.”

Entering the cabin, Trixie and Tad greeted the group that was clustered around the stone fireplace that covered one side of the room.

“Gleeps, Dan.  The cabin looks great!”  Trixie exclaimed, pausing to admire the scene in front of her.

To dress up the cabin for his feast, Dan had laid out boards across two sawhorses, creating one long table which was then covered with a white sheet.  Several chairs were pulled up to the table and where there wasn’t a chair, Dan had placed a large log on end to serve as a seat.  Big red, yellow and orange leaves, strategically placed among vines boasting plump red berries, made a festive, rustic table runner.  Honey, Ian, Jim, and Diana were gathered around the stone fireplace while Mart paced nervously between the galley kitchen and the seated group.

“Why don’t I smell a turkey?” fretted Mart.

“Because the meat is roasting outside on a spit,” answered Dan.

“Is that what I smelled when I walked up?” exclaimed Trixie. “It smelled divine.”

Mart frowned.  “But I don’t smell any rolls baking.  And why aren’t you working on the mashed potatoes?”

Dan gave Mart a firm push.  “Go take a load off your feet.” He pointed toward the fireplace.

“Aren’t there any appetizers?” whined Mart.

Dan snapped his fingers. “Thanks for reminding me.”  Reaching into the old oven, he pulled out a bowl of chestnuts and walnuts still in their shells. Brushing past Mart, he set the bowl and a large cutting board on the big round coffee table.

“Dig in, my friends,” directed Dan.

Trixie stared at the bowl.  “What are they?”

“Chestnuts and walnuts that I got from our own Wheeler Preserve then roasted,” announced Dan.

“What a charming idea,” said Honey as she reached into the bowl and pulled out a walnut.  “Um, how do I crack it open?”

“Hold that thought.” Dan dashed into the kitchen and returned with a small hammer.  Handing it to Honey, he explained, “The first part of our authentic dinner.”

“Wait a minute.” Mart stood up, his face registering his disbelief.  “Is this the only appetizer?  What about some spinach artichoke dip or a nice plate of crab rangoon?”

Dan shook his head.  “That doesn’t sound authentic to me.  Does it to you, Mart?”

“Maybe.  You weren’t there, Dan. Maybe the Pilgrims made big pots of queso dip to go with their tortilla chips.”

Waving Mart off,  Dan returned to the kitchen, leaving the group clustered around the fire pounding the nuts to get to the roasted meat inside.  

“These are pretty good,” remarked Tad as he finished one walnut and struck another.

“They are,” agreed Trixie.  “Plus, we’re working up a good appetite for Dan’s dinner.”

Jim took hold of the hammer and wacked a walnut.  “Hmm...seems like a lot of work for a little bit of food.”

“Yes.” Mart waved his finger toward Jim.  “Dan, did you hear that?  Jim says he’s having to work hard for a little bit of food.  And I have to concur with him.  That’s seems a bit rude to make us labor and toil for our repast.”

Dan gestured toward the door.  “If you feel that way…”

“What? Fine.”  Frowning, Mart pulled up a log next to Diana and waited for his turn to use the hammer.

Tad smashed a walnut then handed the hammer to Mart.  Muttering and griping to himself, Mart swung the hammer down on the chestnut in front of him.

“Damn!”  Mart popped his throbbing thumb, courtesy of a miscalculation,  into his mouth.  “This is all your fault, Dan,” he shouted.  

Seeing Trixie grab for the hammer, Mart held it out of her reach and struck another walnut, this time hitting it cleanly.  He picked out the pieces of the roasted nut meat  before passing the hammer off.  

“This meal had better be good,” Mart muttered darkly as he watched the others pound nuts then munch on the savory insides.  

“Hi, all.”  Dan’s front door opened and Brian stepped in.  “I hope I’m not too late.”

“Not at all. Have a seat.”  Dan pointed Brian toward to group around the fire then returned to the kitchen.  

“What’s all this?” asked Brian, noting the crushed remains of the nuts.  

“It’s a ‘do-it-yourself appetizer,” grumbled Mart.

“Let me try.” Brian squatted down and expertly hit a nut then ate the meat.  “Pretty good,” he announced.

For the next half hour, the group of Bobwhites and friends talked among themselves, debating the best dish at the Belden Annual Thanksgiving Open House and the prospects for the upcoming college bowl games.  Their conversation was interrupted when Dan, using a long wooden spoon, rapped soundly on a pan lid.  

“Dinner’s ready.”

“Finally,” declared Mart.  “If I had to crack one more nut, I thought I was going to lose my mind.”

“Too late, brother,” quipped Trixie. “That happened years ago.”

“Very funny,” snarled Mart.  

The eight moved around the long table, each trying to figure out a seating arrangement that would please everybody.  Finally, Mart gave a Bobwhite whistle.

“Just sit down already.  I’m famished and about to wither away right before your eyes,” he said.

Within a few minutes, Jim, Brian, Honey, Ian, Diana, Mart, Trixie and Tad settled down at the table, an expression of anticipation across each person’s face.

“Dinner is served,” announced Dan as he carried a large bowl to the table.

“What’s that?” demanded Mart.

“Parched corn,” answered Dan.

“It looks like a bunch of unpopped popcorn,” said Trixie, frowning as she studied the dish.

“It’s kinda like that.  I think it can best be compared to Corn Nuts,” explained Dan.

“Corn Nuts.  Those things are really hard and crunchy,” said Jim.

Ian took the bowl from Dan and scooped some of the corn onto his plate then passed it to Honey.  As soon as everybody had served themselves, they each tentatively put a piece of corn into their mouths and began to chew, filling the room with various decibels of crunching noises.

“This doesn’t taste like much,” groused Mart.

“I agree,” said Diana.  “Maybe Dan didn't prepare it correctly.”

“No,” crunched Ian.  “I’m pretty sure this is how it’s supposed to taste.”

“Ian’s right.” Dan brought another large bowl to the table.  “The Pilgrims didn’t season their corn the way would today.”

“Couldn’t you just have made a nice dish of buttered corn,” whined Mart.

Dan shook his head.  “There wasn’t any fresh corn at the first Thanksgiving, only parched corn.” Dan set the bowl on the table in front of Trixie. “Here you go.”

Trixie looked into the bowl, her eyes narrowed with suspicion.  “What are these?”

“Parsnips and carrots,” smiled Dan.

“Are you sure the Pilgrims had these vegetables?” sniped Mart.

Dan nodded.  “They did indeed bring some seeds with them. They just didn’t have any fancy preparations like cheese sauce or ranch dressing  for their vegetables.”  Dan turned and went back into the kitchen while Trixie scooped some of the vegetables onto her plate and passed the rest.

“And...voila.” Dan carefully placed a big pot of a simmering concoction on the table.

“And what’s that?” asked Mart.

“Pumpkin stew.”  Dan slipped a ladle into the steaming dish. “Of course, it’s missing a lot of the sweet flavor and spices you all are used to.”

“Don’t we get soup bowls for this?” asked Honey.

Dan pointed to their mugs.  “It goes in there.”

“Then where do we put our drinks?  What are we drinking, Dan?” asked Honey politely.

Dan reached behind him and grabbed a pewter pitcher full of cold beer and a stack of small, tin cups.  “Just like the Pilgrims, you guys get beer.”

Honey’s mouth made a small ‘o’ as she took a cup and filled it.

“No wine?” asked Tad.

Dan shook his head.  “The Pilgrims didn’t make wine.  They only had water and weak beer.”

Trixie looked at her half-empty plate.  “But what smelled so good when Tad and I walked up here?”

Dan snapped his fingers.  “I’ll get right on that.”

While the rest of the group sipped their beer and slurped  the zestless  pumpkin stew, Dan busied himself in the kitchen. A few minutes later, he placed two large platters on the table.

“What’s this?” asked Brian.

Dan pointed to one platter. “That’s smoked fish.”

Mart looked up at Dan.  “Couldn’t you have least cut off the head. For crying out loud, they still have their eyes!”

“Authentic, Mart.” grinned Dan.

Pointing to the other plate, Dan continued.  “And those are cornish game hens.  I decided to go with those because, even though they’re not authentic, the Pilgrims did eat small game birds.  I didn’t think it’d be smart to try to hunt birds in the Preserve.”

“Ahh.  At last, something decent,” exclaimed Mart.  He reached out and grabbed one of the game hens and put it on his plate.  

“Uh, Mart,” whispered Diana.  “There are only four of them.  I don’t think you get a whole one to yourself.”

“But they're so small.”  Mart pouted as he studied the fragrant bird.

Diana shook her head.  “You have to share.  Now just pull some meat off and pass it.”

Mart got to work chipping away at the cornish game hen, only to find himself with a small pile of meat for all his efforts.  

“There isn’t very much to these,” he remarked as he put a piece in his mouth.  He chewed for a moment then swallowed.  “Did you baste these with butter, Dan?  They seem kinda dry.”

Dan shook his head.  “Mart, that wouldn’t be…”

Mart cut off his friend.  “I know.  Authentic.”

The remaining Bobwhites passed the fish and the game birds, each pulling and tugging at the birds in an attempt to get a decent sized portion of food onto their plates while trying to ignore the whole fish that stared up at them.

“Hey, Dan,” called Mart.  “Do you have any rolls or didn’t the Pilgrims eat bread?”

“Right here.”  Dan placed a plate of flat, squared biscuits in front of Mart.

“What’s that?” Mart’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Hardtack. The Pilgrims definitely had that.”  Before Dan sat down, he added a pot full of a white, thick gruel to the table.

“Do I even want to know what that is?” asked Mart.

“It’s Samp.”  Dan sat on the empty log and filled his plate.

“What’s Samp?” worried Trixie.

“It’s kinda like English Porridge.  The Pilgrims liked to dip their hardtack in it.”

“Of course,” said Mart sarcastically.  “Why dip their hardtack into some nice thick gravy when you can dip it into Samp?”

“Mart,” Diana’s voice had a tone of caution to it.

“What?”

“Be nice.”

“Be nice?  I was expecting a nice Thanksgiving dinner and instead I have fish eyes staring at me, white gloppy junk to dip my tasteless hardtack into, hard nuts, crunchy corn and pumpkin something that doesn’t taste horrible; it just doesn’t taste great. There isn’t even any wine.”

“Well, Dan said it was an authentic Thanksgiving meal,” said Ian.  “I applaud his creativity.”

Dan bowed slightly to the chef, then looked around the table.  “Can I have some of the…..oh, I forgot to put it on.”  He slid off his log and disappeared into the kitchen.

“I can only imagine what new culinary nightmare awaits us,” muttered Mart, his head in his hands.

“Ta-da!”  Dan placed a large platter in the center of the table. Its contents were brownish, scaleless coils that were heaped into a small pile. A definite mouth peeked out from each end of the coil and a fishy smell radiated from the plate.

“What’s that?” shrieked Trixie.

Beside her, Tad jumped up from the table.  “Holy crap, Dan.”

Across from them, Diana sat still, her hand across her mouth as her hiccupping shoulders indicated an active gag reflex.  

“Oh my God” whispered Honey and she looked up at Ian.  “Is this..?”

Ian nodded.  “Afraid so.”

“What is that?” gasped Mart, his face pinched and pale.

“Eels. What else?” Dan sat back down at the table.

“Oh, no.  Oh, no.”  His head shaking back and forth, Mart stood up and threw his napkin on the table.  “I’m done with your authentic Thanksgiving dinner, buddy.  You’re on your own with this...this...plate of eels.”

Jim surveyed the platter.  “Are you sure they had eels at the first Thanksgiving, Dan?”

Dan nodded.  “The Indians taught the Pilgrims how to spear them when they were curled up in the muck and mire during cold weather.”

Diana suddenly pushed back her chair and ran into the small bathroom. Her choking sounds echoed through the small cabin.

“Are you happy now?” demanded Mart.  “You made Diana sick.”

Bewildered, Dan looked at his friends.  “I didn't mean to do that.  Don’t you guys like my feast?”

The group, their gaze focused downward, silently avoided looking at each other.  Finally Honey said,

“Dan, I think you did an amazing job of researching your dinner and preparing it.”

“So you do like it?” Dan looked hopeful as he glanced around the table.

But his face fell when he saw seven shaking heads.  

“Sorry, Dan,” said Honey.  “I guess our palates aren’t used to such food.”

Mart stared at Honey. “That’s a nice way of saying ‘it’s despicable.”

“Why don’t I get the dessert,” offered Dan.  

He went into the kitchen and returned with another big bowl.  “Here’s an authentic dessert.”

Mart looked into the bowl, then smirked. “And what delicacy do we have here?”

“Dried fruit,” answered Dan.

Mart shook his head, his disgust evident on his face.  “Sorry Dan, but I’m out. Dried fruit is never a substitution for a nice big pumpkin pie with scads of whipped cream.”  He went over to the bathroom door and knocked gently.  “Are you okay, Diana?”

The young woman opened the door and stepped out.  Nodding shakily, she smoothed her sweater.  “Yes, I think so.”

“Good.  Now let’s go.”  Mart took Diana’s elbow and steered her to the front door and left.

When the door closed behind Mart and Diana, an awkward silence filled the cabin.  Trixie looked at her friends, then at the wounded expression on Dan’s face.

“Give me that fruit,” she said, sliding her plate out of the way.

Brian slid the bowl of fruit to her.

“Now let’s see.”  Trixie scrutinized the various pieces of fruit in front of her.

Finally, she picked out a piece of dried apple and popped it into her mouth.  “Okay,” she said.  “This is kinda like an apple chip.”  She put a another fruit in her mouth.  “And this is kinda like a raisin.”

Tad leaned into Trixie.  “Don't eat too many of those.  I think they’re dried plums, you know, as in prunes.”

“Ooh.” Trixie nodded her head in acknowledgement. “Good catch!”

“And,” she continued, “the game hen is like chicken, even though there isn’t a lot of it.”  She grabbed the plate of hardtack and the bowl of Samp. “And this is like…”  She stopped then shrugged.  “I can’t think of anything this is like.”

“And that’s why this meal is so unique” continued Honey as she took over for Trixie. “The pumpkin stew is a healthy alternative to pumpkin pie.  I bet the hardtack would be pretty good dipped in that.”  She scooped the biscuit through the thick orange substance then placed it in her mouth. “Nope.  I was wrong.”

“At least the carrots and parsnips are edible,” said Brian.

Tad murmured under his breath, “Notice he didn’t say ‘good.’”

Trixie giggled, then turned her attention back to the loaded table.  “And the roasted nuts were pretty yummy.”

Dan threw his napkin onto his plate.  “Ah, heck.  None of this tastes the way I thought it would.  I should have figured that out.” He slumped down on his log.

“Now wait a minute.”  Ian went into the kitchen and rummaged through the cabinets.  “If we just add some more cinnamon and nutmeg to the pumpkin stew, it will perk it up. Cloves would be a great addition too but I didn’t see any.”  He stirred the pumpkin stew then popped it into the small microwave oven.

“Now, let’s add some garlic salt, pepper  and some sage to the Samp, then add the pieces of the game hens.” Ian quickly and efficiently stripped the remaining meat from the birds and added it to the milky mixture.

Ian walked back and forth, carrying several tins of spices that he added and mixed in to the various dishes.  He found some butter, melted it,  brushed it over the hardtack then sprinkled it with garlic powder.  He worked his magic with the dried fruit, softening and sweetening it.

“Now, let’s try this again,” he said as he sat back down at the table.

“Wait a minute!” cried Dan. “Aren’t you going to do anything with the eel?”

Ian shook his head.  “That one is all yours, Dan.”

The group laughed, then started the dishes around the table for the second time.

Trixie put a forkful of the meat and porridge mixture in her mouth.  “Much better.”

“And the hardtack is now actually good,” added Jim.

Suddenly, the front door opened and Mart and Diana stepped in.

“Hey!” Mart’s did a double take when he saw his friends happily chatting and enjoying Dan’s dinner.  “What’s going on?”

“Friendsgiving Feast,” said Honey warmly. “Glad you two came back.”

“Diana forgot her purse.”  Mart looked at the full plates.  “Are you guys really eating that food?”

Nodding, Honey answered. “Yes. Ian gave Dan a little help.”  

“Really?”  Mart looked at Diana.  “Should we give it another try?”

Diana looked at Dan.  “Could you just put the eels someplace else?” she asked quietly.

“I’m with her,” said Ian.

“Absolutely.”  Dan removed the offending dish.

Mart and Diana took their places and refilled their plates.  Mart picked up his fork, stabbed a piece of meat then set it back down on his plate.

“I have to say something, guys.”  Mart looked around the table.

“What?” asked Dan wearily.

“Well, actually, I have three things to say.  First, I apologize for my rude behavior.  Second, I can see that Dan put a lot of effort into making this dinner special and I can appreciate that.  And third, you said you were going to knock my socks off, Dan.  To that I say, ‘Well played.’’’

A chuckle went around the table as the group continued eating.

“Wow!”  Mart crunched on a piece of parched corn.   “What’d you do to this?  It’s actually not bad.”

“Seasoned salt.” said Ian.

“Good choice,” nodded Mart.

“Isn’t it great us all being together for this feast,” chirped Honey a few minutes later.

Diana laid down her fork and looked sheepishly around the table.  “I’m really sorry things got out of hand. We couldn’t leave you guys. You’re all our friends and we want to celebrate Friendsgiving with you. Right, Mart?”

Mart nodded.  “I guess I get a bit disturbed when my dinner expectations aren’t met.”

“That’s all right, Mart,” said Tad.  “I think the eels disturbed all of us.”

“Amen to that,” added Trixie.  “But the eels are gone so let’s enjoy this.”

“Here! Here!” Brian raised his cup of water.  “To Friendsgiving.”

“To Friendsgiving two point oh,” added Tad.

“To spices, herbs and all those other additional accoutrements,” said Mart.

Trixie raised her cup of beer.  “And to no eels.  I don’t care if the Pilgrims ate them or not.”

The group toasted each other, then dug into the food.  When they had emptied their plates, Mart leaned back and patted his stomach.

“Well, Daniel, your Friendsgiving Feast was definitely a memorable meal.”

“At least we didn’t drop any of this into anybody’s lap,” quipped Tad.

“That might have been a preferable choice,” replied Mart.

“Mart!” Diana turned to her boyfriend, her eyes wide.  “Maybe this wasn’t a meal that you dreamed of but years from now, we’ll always remember it.”

Looking contrite, Mart stared at his empty plate.  “That’s true.”

The room became quiet, broken only by the slight crackling of the fire.  Suddenly, Trixie began to giggle.

“What?” demanded Honey.

“The eels and everybody’s face when Dan put them on the table.”  Her giggle morphed into a laugh.

Honey matched Trixie’s chortling.  “I thought Tad was going to have a cow.”

Mart chuckled.  “If Tad had had a cow, we could have eaten that instead.”

“Ew.” Diana frowned at Mart, then giggled.  “Anything but the eels.”

The group got up and helped Dan clean up the kitchen.  When they were done with the pots, pans and dishes,  they all gathered around the fire, cracking open the few remaining roasted nuts.  Dan disappeared into the kitchen where the group could hear him rummaging through the cupboards.   A few minutes later, he returned with a big bowl of buttery popcorn

“Here.  Authentic Thanksgiving is over.  Have some microwave popcorn.”

Eight sets of hands eagerly dug into the fluffy treat.  

After grabbing his own handful of popcorn, Dan reclined on the rug in front of the fireplace and tossed kernels into his mouth. “Ah, yes.  Popcorn is way better than parched corn.”

“You can say that again,” said Mart through a full mouth.

“Popcorn is way better than parched…”

Before Dan could finish his sentence, handfuls of popcorn were lobbed at him.

“Hey!”  Sitting up, Dan picked the fluffy kernels off his shirt and popped them into his mouth.  “I worked hard on that popcorn.”

Mart, a smug look on his face, regarded the group.  “Did anybody notice that I did end up getting a Friendsgiving Feast prepared by our illustrious chef?”

Honey tilted her head in contemplation.  “I guess you did.”

“Hey!” Again, Dan sat up.  “I resent that.  I worked hard on this authentic meal.”

“And I worked hard making it palatable,” teased Ian.

Dan shrugged.  “Yeah, there was that.”

“I think you two made a great team,” smiled Honey.

Dan settled back down on the rug.  “Friendsgiving 2.0 is in the books.  Who’s hosting next year?”

Eight sets of eyes looked questioningly at each other.  Finally, a hand tentatively poked up.  

“I guess I could do it.”

“Make sure your meal isn’t like last year or this year,” ordered Mart.

A slight nod of the head was the only visible acknowledgment of Mart’s demand as the group then turned their attention to the upcoming Christmas holiday and plans for them to all get together to celebrate it.

word count - 5388

Friendsgiving 2017...

Author notes: A big “thank you” to my my editor, Judith, for her input and her skills with tightening up my stories.

Corn Nuts - snack food made of deep- fried or roasted corn kernels. Pinterest- a web and app based display of ideas.

Graphics from mycutegraphics.com.

background tiles from