Tale of Three Turkeys

 Nothing says Thanksgiving more than holiday visits with family and friendly sibling competition, especially when they don’t know they are competing.

This year 75% of my kids held their own Thanksgiving Dinners. Three out of four in case you don’t know how many offspring I have. The lone non-cooker, was happy just to not cook.  I decided that during the course of my holiday I would go to every child’s home and have their dinner. It was the morning of that I created a score sheet. Why not? It would be fun.

Upon finding out that my first former husband was doing the same, I figured we’d compare notes.

I went to Drew’s home first, he went to Roni’s home first, we switched and met up at Noah's.

When they found out we were secretly voting, the competition began. They wished they knew ahead of time, but what would be the fun in that?

I preselected my scoring criteria and off I went.

Three houses. Three Turkeys. All prepared three different ways. Deep fried, roasted and smoked.

Off I went.

First stop, my son Drew. Let’s start by saying that 75% of my children cook well, the final 25% can care less, but I am willing to bet in ten years she’s on Top Chef. Okay, maybe not.

Drew had just purchased his first home with his family a month ago. So I knew this would mean a lot to him. He wanted to deep fry the bird and spent more money getting the things he needed than he did on the turkey.

I had deep fried turkey once before  and was not impressed. The worrisome mother in me was frantic about my son working with a vat of hot oil. So fearful of him catching himself on fire, I sent him an article on what NOT to do when deep frying a turkey.

It was quiet at his house, just him, Gina, their kids and Gina’s mom. He and Gina were working together to get the food out. Drew proudly boasted that deep fryer and the fact he hadn’t caught himself or anything else on fire. It looked good in there. Golden brown, and after pulling it out, he basted it in the final touch of some butter coating.

I thought maybe I had the advantage of having the turkey fresh, but it was the best tasting, juiciest turkey I have ever had and his gravy, I could have drank it. In my mind though, he was going up against Noah in the gravy department and Noah is a gravy master. Bring on the competition. Hating to leave the quiet, relaxed feel of Drew’s, I knew I had to get to my daughter’s and his father was due to arrive and needed my parking spot.

Let me pause to say that my daughter and her best friend, ‘Life Partner’ were cohosting the dinner at Roni’s and were prepping and planning a long time.

I thought somewhere in my journey I entered a twilight zone. Because when I walked into my daughter’s home, I didn’t recognize a single person in the living room. Who were these people? Surely I was in the right house. They looked at me as if to say, ‘who is this old woman that just wandered in? Aw, is she in the right house. Bet she’s lost.’

Then I saw my daughter and she was dressed exactly like her best friend. They both said ‘welcome’ at the same time. Like some sort of Shining Movie Moment. I was led into the kitchen where I truly saw the fruits of their planning. Martha Stewart’s best effort probably looked like a Truck Stop buffet compared to the Kardashian bonanza my daughter put out.

There was so much food, so much variety, appetizer buffet, and there wasn’t just a charcuterie board, there was a charcuterie table. It was visually stunning and the food was fabulous.

It was evident how much hard work and effort they put into this Thanksgiving celebration.

The only downfall was I just didn’t feel comfortable because I really didn’t know anyone. Strangers packed at tables set up all over the house. And that’s okay. When I was her age, I invited anyone and everyone. People came to my home and stayed all hours. It was her show and she did a great job.

Onward to Noah’s.

I was going to stop right here and just because, say, “It was okay’ to mess with him, but that wouldn’t be fair. I know my oldest so well, that when he says a time, I know to go late. I was greeted warmly and stepped into a house where I knew everyone’s name and was perfectly on time. His company was long time friends and his wife’s family. Like an episode of Cheers, they all said ‘Hi’ at the same time. I was waiting for my son’s famous gravy, anxiously awaiting diving into it, and then I looked at the stove and experienced that Jason, screeching violin moment.

“Um, that’s not your gravy,” I said.

“No,” he replied. “I didn’t have enough drippings.”

“No!” I cried out.

“Here, Ma, have a drink.”

Ah, yes, my sons (And I say sons) know me. About the point I dove into his juicy, tender smoked turkey, Ex Hubby 1 arrived. After dinner, we shared notes. Both of us shared our dismay over the lack of Noah’s homemade gravy. But we did agree on who did the turkey best.

But I didn’t leave after that. I stayed, laughing with his guests and genuinely enjoying myself.

Pick a winner.

I went into this thinking I would pick a winner, but like picking your favorite child, how can a parent choose who did it best.

Each shined in one way.

Best food – My son, Drew. Ex husband and I both agreed his turkey was unforgettable. He focused on his meal and flavors, he didn’t culinarily spread himself thin, and it was comfort food at his best. The quiet, at home feel, was so relaxing.

Hands down Roni has to have it for the best planned Thanksgiving. Her spread and party planning were undeniable. All of her guests, at least 30 of them were comfortable, chatting, and enjoying their food.

Noah gets the award for the ‘Most like Mom feel’, eclectic guests that are enjoyable and an atmosphere that makes you forget the time. Honestly, he could have served Banquet chicken, canned corn and Little Debbie Pumpkin cakes and it wouldn’t have matter. Although, I really wish he made his gravy.

I am so proud of my kids, beyond proud. They all, in their own way killed it. I can’t pick one winner. As much as it sounds like a copout, they were all winners in their own way.

Next year though should be interesting because they are going to know I am keeping score.