Friendsgiving 5.0 - A Priceless Meal

“So,” whispered Trixie huskily as she snuggled close to Tad.  “Do you know what my brother is planning for tomorrow?”

Tad shook his head.  “No.  But I do know he has spent a few nights in the kitchen and that he used a lot of utensils and bowls.  Also, he isn't very good at cleaning up after himself.”

“Hmmm…  Very interesting.  Do you think his meal will be good?”

Tad shrugged.  “Who knows? But he thinks his meal is going to be priceless.”

Trixie sat up, surprised.  “Priceless? What does that mean?”

Tad pulled Trixie into his arms. “I don’t know.  He just keeps throwing that word out everytime I see him.”

Trixie yawned.  “Hmmm.  We’ll see.”

**********

 

The Saturday morning after Thanksgiving, Mart got busy in the small kitchen of the apartment he shared with Tad, thankful that his roommate had spent the night with Trixie and wasn’t around to bug him.

He tore away the cellophane wrapping from a disposable aluminum pan he had purchased for the occasion and set the turkey in it.

“Genius, if I do say so myself.  This gives me one less pan to wash. Hmm,” Mart studied the turkey.  “It’s a tight fit, a really tight fit,  but I’m sure it will be fine.  As for you, Mr. Tom,”  he patted the bird gently. “Do your thing, big guy.  Be the best turkey ever so we can show the Bobwhites how it’s done!”

Mart scooped out the giblets and set them to simmer on the stove, stopping occasionally to inhale the fragrance that was beginning to waft through the room. Then he started on Moms’ famous stuffing.  He diced several loaves of sourdough bread, chopped onions and celery, then minced an aromatic assemblage of herbs.  After piling all the ingredients into a large bowl, he moistened it with some turkey broth.  Using both hands,  he mixed the ingredients then shoved half the mixture into the turkey, carefully trussing the opening when he was done.   He rubbed an entire stick of butter over the bird then tucked the wings under. Struggling to keep the fragile aluminum pan steady and square,  Mart carefully slid the bird into the hot, waiting oven. He hummed softly as he spooned the rest of the dressing into an oiled plastic bag inside the stone crock of Moms’ favorite crockpot.

“Whoever thought of the bags that go inside that appliance is a brilliant inventor.  Another vessel I won’t have to wash!”  After plugging it in, Mart shoved the crockpot to the back corner of the counter, next to the pies, an apple and a pumpkin, he had made the night before.

“There!” he said, rubbing his hands together.  “That’s done.  I don’t know why the other hosts had such a hard time with this meal.  It’s easy.”  Mart looked at the list he had made and checked off the first two items.  “Now onto the other dishes.”

He assembled a green bean casserole, pausing long enough to shove several handfuls of the french fried onion rings into his mouth. Then he quickly prepared a carrot casserole and a sweet potato casserole.

“Thank goodness Moms loaned me her generous casserole dish,” he said.  My sweet potatoes deserve the utmost receptacle.”

Mart sprinkled brown sugar and pecans over the sweet potatoes, then paused dramatically.

“And now, for what will be the ultimate addition to such a fine masterpiece,” he boasted softly.

He dashed to his room then reappeared with a covered container. Opening it, he smiled at the carefully created treats he had made two days before.

“Which of the Bobwhites dared to make their own marshmallows?” he whispered as he reverently eyed the sweet, white pillows. He stroked one of the marshmallows.  “You’ll be topping my sweet potato casserole in no time, turning a sweet golden brown as you cook.   And this,” he replaced the lid back on the container, “will be the best Friendsgiving Feast ever!”

Mart quickly peeled an entire bag of red-skinned potatoes, then cut them up and put them into a waiting pot of water. Done with his first set of tasks, he gathered the knives and measuring spoons and tossed them into the sink that was full of carrot peelings, potato skins and pieces of onions and celery. Going to the living room, Mart plopped down in his massaging recliner and happily watched his new favorite science show. As the ending credits scrolled across the screen, he scurried into the bathroom for a quick shower.

 

When the doorbell rang a short time later, Mart eagerly admitted his girlfriend into the apartment.  Diana carried a bag full of holiday plates and napkins, plus silk leaves and small, decorative pumpkins. A white tablecloth hung on her arm.

“What should I do with these?” she asked.

“Right this way, Madam,” directed Mart.

He went to one side of the living room and opened up a cabinet and pulled out chairs then transformed the cabinet into a dining table.  He and Diana spread the cloth then she got busy setting it, adding the festive touches in an artistic design.

“Mart, what do you think?” Diana stepped back and surveyed the festive table. ” Will the leaves and pumpkins be in the way of the dishes?”

“No. It’s perfect.” Mart kissed the tips of his fingertips.  “Absolutely perfect, just like you.”

Diana flipped her hair over her shoulder as a small pout appeared on her glossy lips.  “Hey, do you think it’s fair that you had a bit of help when nobody else did?”

Mart gave Diana a quick kiss.  “It’s fine.  Tad and Trixie worked together last year. Remember? And Trixie let me use her apartment the first year. And we all offered to help Dan.”

“That’s true.” Diana gathered up the trash and shoved it into her shopping bag. “I think it’s awfully nice of you to volunteer to do it when you’d already made a Friendsgiving dinner.”

Mart shrugged.  “What can I say?  I’m a nice person. And this year, I’m certain this meal will be a success, better than all the others.”

“I hope so.  But, Mart,  this isn’t a competition, you know.”

“It isn’t?  Then why are the hosts always trying to top the previous year’s repast? Although,” he paused and tapped his top lip with his index finger, “I think anybody could top Dan’s authentic meal we had a few years ago.”

Diana shuddered.  “Those eels. The thought of them still makes me gag.” She sniffed the air. “But your meal definitely smells good.”

“Yes, it does.  My dinner will be the quintessential feast.  Come, let’s get the drinks ready.  The rest of the gang will be here soon.”

********

 

An hour later Mart and Diana were joined by Trixie, Tad, Honey, Dan, Brian and Jim.  Mart played the gracious host and served drinks while Honey shared the cheese and veggie plate she had brought.  The conversation turned nostalgic, with the Bobwhites marveling at how much their lives had changed in the last several years.   The buzzing of the timer in the kitchen brought an abrupt halt to the conversation.

“What’s that for?” demanded Trixie.

“If you must know,” answered Mart as he stood up.  “It’s time to add the accompanying dishes to the oven and start the potatoes.” He performed a dramatic bow to the group.  “And then you will finally, finally, have a Friendsgiving feast worth talking about.”

“Just make sure you clean everything up,” yelled Tad as Mart left the room.  “Cause I’m not doing it for you.”

Mart slid the prepared side dishes into the oven, frowning when he had to overlap the edges in order to get them all in.

“I should have known Webster wouldn’t have a big enough oven,” he muttered with a disgusted shake of his head.

He forced the oven door shut then turned on the burner under the waiting pan of potatoes. After piling some bakery-fresh rolls into a towel-lined basket and arranging pickles and olives on a plate, Mart checked the potatoes.

“Oops!  They’re already boiling.  Good thing I checked them or they might have boiled over and created a gigantic cleaning challenge.  Can’t have anything go wrong with this Friendsgiving Feast, now can I?”

With the potatoes simmering at a low temp, a pleased and confident Mart returned to the living room, where the conversation now centered around the accomplishments of various female athletes and whether or not they could compete against males.

“Don’t be silly,” Mart told his sister.  “You could never beat me in a race because you could never run as fast as me. I believe that theory has been proven over and over, starting with our first competition when you were about two years old. In that particular contest, I garnered three chocolate chip cookies while you only got one.”

“Oh yeah? Well how about a three- legged race.  As I recall, I always beat you when we had those races at the family picnic.”

“That’s because you always ran with Dad and he carried you most of the way while I had to run with Brian. And since his legs were longer than mine, he kept tripping me.”

Brain held up his hand.  “Don’t drag me into this. I have no doubt that women are equally as capable as men. I just want to enjoy a nice get-together, not debate Mart’s athletic skill or lack thereof.”

“Besides,” added Dan as he leaned forward.  “Mart ‘s not as tough as he thinks.  He can’t even play ping pong.”

Mart’s head snapped around.  “What are you talking about, Dan? The last time we played, I beat you.”

“Yes, but I was playing with my left hand.”

“So?”

Dan grinned slyly.  “I’m right-handed.”

Mart shrugged.  “A win’s a win, buddy.”

“I don’t know,” Tad interjected.  “I think women are good at a lot of things.”

Mart rolled his eyes then glared at his roommate.  “Way to stay on my sister’s good side.”

Tad shrugged.  “I’m not stupid, you know.”

“Well,” continued Mart.  “If you’re so smart, name one thing Trixie is better at than you.”

Tad thought for a minute.  “She’s better at changing diapers.”

“What?” shrieked Trixie.

“Remember the last time we babysat at Spider and Tracey’s?” asked Tad, referring to his older brother and his wife.  “You changed Bella’s diaper every time and were very good at it.”

Trixie crossed her arms, her jaw tense.  “That’s because you refused to change her.”

“Okay.” Mart patted the air with his hands.  “That’s enough talk of diapers. All I can say is I’m certain my Friendsgiving Feast will be far better than Trixie’s was last year. In fact, I’m willing to say it will be unbeatable, unforgettable, delectable, and, in a word, priceless.”

“Don’t make me sorry I came to your stupid dinner,” scowled Trixie.

“Oh, you won't be sorry,” smirked Mart. “You’ll just have to admit, when the meal is complete, that mine was exceedingly superior to yours.”

“I doubt that.” Trixie crossed her arms resolutely.

Seeing an escalating argument, Dan jumped in.  “Okay, guys. Let’s just call a truce.” He turned to Mart.  “I’m sure your meal will be wonderful and all those other adjectives you used.”

After an awkward silence, the conversation turned to a discussion about the recent election in Sleepyside, with the voices rising, then lowering as issues came up, were debated, then settled.

Before Mart could add his opinion, he heard the timer in the kitchen.  “Be right back guys.  I gotta get the gravy together.”

From the living room, the Bobwhites could hear the clatter of the blender as Mart hoisted it from the cabinet.  “This is going to be delicious.  Phenomenal.  Outstanding.  Earth shattering,” he yelled. “And the best part, no lumps!”

“Just get on with it,” replied Brian who was enjoying Mart’s massaging recliner.

In the kitchen Mart carefully poured the simmering giblets and broth into the blender then added a roux of flour and water.

“Now where’s that stupid lid,” he muttered as he searched through the clutter on the counter.  “Rats,” he sighed when he came up empty handed.  

Noting the potatoes bubbling happily on the stove, Mart reached over and grabbed the pot lid and placed it on the blender.  “It doesn’t fit but it will keep the contents contained,” he said as he turned on the machine.

Instantly, a loud, painful grinding noise filled the kitchen,  Mart quickly switched off the blender then spun around as Tad ran into the room.

“What the hell was that?” Tad noted the appliance behind Mart.  “You better not have ruined the blender,” he growled.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,  I put in the giblets and broth and…” Mart removed the lid and looked inside, then back at Tad, his face reflecting  guilt and embarrassment.

“What?” demanded Tad.

“It seems,” said Mart as he took a spoon and fished out some of the contents of the gravy,” that I found the missing blender lid.”

“You chopped up the lid in the gravy?” gasped Tad.  “What kind of cook are you?”

Mart waved his hands toward Tad and the rest of the Bobwhites, who had gathered in the doorway.  “Don’t worry about it.  I’ll make us some more gravy using the rest of the broth and onions.  It’ll still be delicious and the best yet.”

“And…” demanded Tad.

“And I’ll serve it in that insulated gravy pitcher Trixie brought over.”

“And…” Tad’s voice grew louder and a bit threatening.

“And….I’ll get you a new blender.”

“You better.”

Mart shooed the Bobwhites out of the kitchen then got to work making a replacement gravy.  

In the living room, Dan had turned on a football game. Soon, the group was cheering or booing, depending on what had happened on the field.  Trixie retrieved two cans of peanuts from her bag by the door and opened them.

“Ah, Trixie,” grinned Dan.  “I see you cooked.”

“That’s right.  And I put my appetizer in this clever container,” she quipped and Dan high-fived her.

“What’d you bring, Tad?” asked Dan.

“These.” Tad reached down next to the couch and produced a can of cashews.

“Yum!” exclaimed Diana.  “Tad, you were holding out on us.”

“Always save the best for last,” Tad dipped his head toward Diana.

Back in the kitchen, Mart cleared off counter space in preparation for  taking the turkey out of the oven. He laid out several potholders in a rectangular design to hold the hot pan.  Then, after pulling on a pair of oven mitts, Mart opened the oven door and reached in.  He carefully pulled the turkey toward himself, then stood up.  But the aluminum pan was overloaded and it wobbled and bent while the contents shifted and slid.  Mart watched in shock and horror as the flimsy pan collapsed, sending the hot, juicy turkey tumbling onto the floor.

“Crap!” he yelled.  “Double and triple crap!”

The Bobwhites ran into the kitchen and stared at the glistening turkey that was now resting against one of the table legs.

Dan smacked his forehead.  “We just saw a fumble on the football field but this fumble tops that one. Why’d you do that? What were you thinking?”

Speaking through gritted teeth, Mart replied,  “I wasn’t thinking anything, Daniel.”

“Obviously,” snorted Trixie.

Mart glared at his sister then picked up the bird.  “The stupid pan just kinda...kinda….”

“Collapsed,” finished Jim who was holding up the wrapping from the pan.  “It says here this pan will support up to ten pounds.  How big is your turkey?”

“More,” answered Mart weakly.

“Now what are we going to do?” demanded Trixie.

“It’ll all be fine.  I’ll just clean it up. You guys go back to the living room.  Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Mart,” asked Diana anxiously.  “Are you sure I can’t help you with anything?”

“No.  Everything is fine.  I just have to smash the potatoes and finish the casserole.  Stop fussing, everybody.”

“Here,” said Tad, who was opening a top cabinet.  “Try a plate this time.”

“Thanks.”  Mart set the bird on the plate, noting that half of it hung over the sides.  “After I carve this up, it’ll be perfect.”

The Bobwhites left the kitchen and Mart got busy rearranging the dishes in the oven.  He stirred the gravy he had concocted and filled a water pitcher.   He dug through the cabinets in search of a bigger platter, finally settling on a cookie sheet.

“Not quite traditional, but it’ll work,” he decided.  “Innovation is a good thing,”

With the turkey resting, Mart checked the side dishes and decided they were ready to come out of the oven.  He pulled out the carrots and green beans.

“And now….the marshmallows.” Mart painstakingly arranged his homemade marshmallows on top of the sweet potatoes, then shoved the pan back into the oven.  

After draining the boiling potatoes, Mart added some butter and milk.  A quick examination of the potato masher revealed some dried food stuck to it so Mart gave it a quick wash.  He grimaced when he noticed the sink, still full of potato skins, debris, and miscellaneous utensils, was rapidly filling with dirty water.  

“I just need to run the disposal,” he said as he flipped the switch.  

When the disposal roared to life, Mart grabbed a large spoon and began pushing the food remains into it.   But in his haste, he shoved all the peels and vegetable bits into the disposal too quickly.  Suddenly, the motor stopped.  Mart kept the water running, hoping to dilute the mishmash he had down the drain. But dirty water continued to rise, sending Mart into a slight panic.  

“Damn.”

He flipped the switch.  Then he got the broom and, turning it upside down,  jammed the handle into the disposal, hoping to release the blades.  When he switched the device back on, he heard a definite humming sound.

“Almost there.”  

He jammed the handle again into the disposal. Suddenly, the appliance sprang to life, snapping the broom handle in half, leaving one part in Mart’s hands and the other part sticking out of the drain and spinning wildly.  When the handle proved to be too much, the disposal came to a grinding halt.  Mart didn’t even have to turn around to know that the Bobwhites were again clustered in the doorway.

“What’d you do now?” demanded Tad.

Mart turned and smiled through clenched teeth. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”

“What’ll be fine?” growled Tad.

“The disposal.”

“You broke the disposal.” Tad’s eyes were piercing.  “I am not paying for that either.”

“Don’t worry.  I’ll take care of it. Now you guys just need to….”

“Mart!” yelled Jim who was pointing to the oven that was now billowing black smoke.

“Crap!” yelled Mart.  

Opening the door, Mart pulled out his sweet potato casserole that was now engulfed in flames and, in a panic, dumped the dish into the sink of standing water, potato peels and other garbage.

“Ouch. That hurt,” he yelled as he swiped at his face.  “And my marshmallows! My beautiful homemade marshmallows.  All up in flames.”

“On my gosh!” exclaimed Honey.  “Look at your oven, Tad.”

“Forget the oven,” said Trixie.  “Look at Mart’s face, specifically where his brows used to be.”

The group stared at Mart, whose face was now quite red while his eyebrows were singed or bare in spots.  Dan sniffed the air.  

“Somehow, the smell of burning hair just doesn’t go with the smell of a roasted turkey.”

“Yeah, but look at the oven,” complained Tad.

Tad and the rest of the Bobwhites studied the appliance, which now bore a huge charred design across the front of it.  Spirals of smoke lingered near the ceiling while the smells of roasted turkey, herbs and burned hair filled the quiet room.  Suddenly, a loud crack broke the silence.

“Oh no! What was that?” wailed Diana.

Brian rolled his eyes.  “I’m pretty sure it was the casserole dish, you know, Moms’ favorite one.  That’s what happens when you put a hot dish into cold water.” He slapped Mart on the back.  “Oh boy, brother.  When you mess up, you go big. Do you want me to take a look at your eyebrows?”

Mart stared at the sink, the stove, then the rest of the Bobwhites.  For once, words seemed to have escaped him.  Then he saw the other dishes, waiting to be served.

“Forget about it guys,” he said.  “I’m fine. The rest of the repast is awaiting our indulgence.  And for those of you who like stuffing, I made extra in the crock pot.  Diana, would you please help me serve?”

Diana grabbed a pair of potholders while the rest of the Bobwhites found their chairs at the beautifully decorated table.

“Wow, Mart,” teased Dan.  “I had no idea you were so good at being a domestic goddess.” He held up several of the silk leaves that were scattered the length of the table.

“Just wait till you eat,” boasted Mart as he carefully carried in the cookie sheet with the turkey.  

“Where’s the extra stuffing?” demanded Trixie.

“Right here.”  Mart dashed back into the kitchen and unplugged the crockpot, lifted out the inner bowl and carried it to the table. “The use of this crockpot was one of my more ingenious ideas.  I even put a liner in it so I’d have one less pot to wash. This, by the way,  is dressing.  What’s in the bird is stuffing, in case some of you didn’t know the difference.” He smirked at Trixie then triumphantly lifted the lid.  But as he leaned in to sniff the dressing, his face fell.  “What the heck?”

The Bobwhites all stood and looked into the crockpot, which smelled of cooked plastic, sage and celery.  The dressing itself was covered with a glistening sheen and small charred pieces of an unknown substance.

“What happened?” worried Mart.

Trixie disappeared into the kitchen then returned with the box of plastic storage bags.

“Please tell me these are not the bags you used,” she said.

Mart looked at the box.  “Yeah.  It says food bags.”

“It says ‘food STORAGE bags,’” answered Trixie, forcefully enciating each word.

Mart shrugged.  “So? Is there a difference?”

“You can’t cook with them,” said JIm.  

Mart collapsed into his chair.  “So I messed up the dressing?”

Trixie examined the crock pot.  “Yes but not just the dressing. You also ruined the crockpot.  I assume you’ll be buying Moms a new one?”

“Yeah.  Sure.  Now can we eat what’s left of my meal?” Mart asked weakly.

“It looks delicious,” said Trixie, feigning sweetness.  “You did a bang up job.”

“That’s an understatement if I ever heard one,” said Tad.  

They all watched as Mart carved the turkey then held out their plates.  

“Even though you broke a lot of stuff,” said Dan through his full mouth.  “This is really good.”

“I’ll second that,” replied Brian.  “But Moms will kill you if you don’t replace her crockpot.”

“And the casserole dish,” added Trixie.

“I’ll do that first thing tomorrow,” answered Mart. “ Stop worrying.”  

“Mart,” cooed Diana.  “Your turkey is divine. We should have turkey more than once or twice a year.  You know, they say it’s an economical entree. Look how many people are here eating  but I bet it didn’t cost a lot.”

Mart eyed the ceiling, his face twisted in concentration.  “For all the food, I would say I spent less than forty dollars.” He studied the festive table.  “Oh, yeah.  I forgot about the decorations.  Okay, make the total cost less than sixty dollars.  Pretty good, don’t you think?”

“Wait a minute,” said Trixie as she pulled out her phone.  She rapidly typed then studied the screen.  “Okay, here’s what your dinner really cost.  One blender is approximately $75.  One disposal is approximately $100.  One broom is approximately $10.  One casserole dish is approximately $25.”

“That was a casserole dish that matches Moms’ china.  A replacement will be pricey.  And don’t forget the crockpot,” said Brian.

“Right.  One crockpot is approximately $40.” She looked at Mart and smirked.  “But I think Moms’ cost a lot more.”

“Hey!” cried Tad.  “You forgot the oven.”

“Oh, yes, the oven,” exclaimed Trixie dramatically.  She studied her phone again.  “Okay, one oven starts at $600.”  She smiled.  “You should have just ordered pizza. You could have saved yourself…” she paused and stared at the ceiling as she did the math in her head. “at least $900.00.  Yes, you should really go with pizza next time. I’ll even give you a coupon.”

“Well,” said Diana as she smiled lovingly at Mart.  “Despite all that, I thought the meal was delicious.”  

“I concur,” added Dan.  “But I don’t want to get his VISA bill next month.”

“Amen,” agreed Jim.  

“You guys think you’re so smart.  Who’s gonna host next year?” demanded Mart.

A deafening silence filled the room.  Thoughts turned to the previous dinners, all which were memorable but not necessarily delicious or uneventful.

Finally, a voice broke the hush.  “I’ll do it,” said Jim.  “We’re bound to have a successful dinner sometime.  Might as well be on my watch.”

“To Jim,” toasted Honey.  “The one who will get it right.”

Trixie, Brain, Dan and Mart , who had all failed to produce a perfect feast, looked hurt for a minute,  then raised their glasses.  “To Jim, in hopes that he finally pulls off this Friendsgiving Feast”

Jim blushed, then returned the toast.  “And to the Bobwhites, who are always willing to give someone another chance.”

“And to Mart,” added Trixie. “whose Friendsgiving Feast was truly priceless!”

Author notes:  Thank you to my sister, Judith and my daughter, Katie, for editing and adding a few story suggestions. Graphics from mycutegraphics.com.

Word count - 4257