It's a Thanksgiving Day Miracle

That brunette kid on the left looks a disturbing amount like Christian Bale.
Our Thanksgiving Day marathon will now include last night's Reign of Fire and
the first two Nolan Batman films, followed by American Psycho right when I carve the turkey.

So for another year in a row, my family's plans for Thanksgiving just became sadder and sadder. This year's endeavor would be to visit with grandpa in the nursing home, as grandma attempts to keep him awake through an entire meal of mashed, almost liquified turkey and gravy and potatoes and yams and milk and coffee (mostly mixed together). After that, the plan was to go to the diner for our thanksgiving meal, because Grandma realized that her sister, at whose or whose daughter's house everyone tends to congregate, is morose and depressing. This, after 70 years of it being pretty obvious. So, we're not going there.

This also means I will get no leftovers.


Screw that noise, I want my gourmet turkey sandwich.

So, in the span of about five minutes, I went from telling my mom to watch out for a coupon so I can get a cheesecake for a little less, to hosting my mother and to a lesser extent grandmother for a full thanksgiving dinner at my apartment.

Turkey with stuffing, mashed potatoes with gravy, sweet potato casserole with pecans and those little marshmallows on top, green beans with almond slivers, creamed corn, cranberry sauce straight from the can just like my family loves, with those little striation rings on the side of the tart Jell-o substitute. And yeah, cheesecake I guess. Mom will bring deviled eggs and maybe stuffed mushrooms, and then enough hard cider to drown out the sound of her mother being morose and depressing. And possibly crazy chocolate cake from this little place by her house.

Somewhere this turned into a food porn blog.

Listen, the point is, I'm tired of my family being lame and not cooking the food I like so I can have the leftovers I want. I'm an adult and if I want to have a nice turkey sandwich for lunch on Black Friday, I'm gonna cook my own goddam bird and if they promise to be good my friends and family can join in the festivities. You wanna watch the parade on T.V.? Go ahead, but I'm going to be blaring The Avengers or something else depicting the destruction of commercial property in my room. I'm gonna blast "Alice's Restaurant" out of my speakers and anyone who mentions watching a Christmas movie is getting a wishbone to the temple. This is my Thanksgiving, ladies and gentlemen, and it is going to be perfect.

So if Grandma is naughty I'm making her wait out in the car.

On Culinary Greatness

Last night I went all-out on a dinner. It took me like 2 hours, but I made this:

That would be mini beef Wellington pastries (named after the Duke of Wellington, who defeated Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo), filled with a Crimini mushroom and shallot mixture, and a cucumber-tomato salad with Italian dressing and Gorgonzola cheese.

And a Pepsi. Throwback. With lime.

Check out that pastry puff.

That is a 1 inch cube of tender, seasoned, seared filet mignon–a beef tenderloin–and mushrooms and chopped shallot cooked in the beef's own natural juices, baked up inside a thin, flaky crust. (Oh, and about two dozen extra cubes of beef because the recipe seriously underestimated the need for pastry dough.)

I popped one in the microwave a few hours later and it was still amazing. Someone should fricking market this. Wrap these up in a box or something.

Ah fuck. Is that what those things were supposed to be? No. No, I can't accept that. What I made was delicious and classy! It's the choicest, most buttery beef and delicious mushroom. I don't even like mushrooms and this was amazing. I mean, if I loaded it up with preservatives and decreased ingredient quality until it was affordable to the common NASCAR fan … shit.

I just created gourmet Hot Pockets. At least I didn't burn the roof of my mouth.

Hope I poop soon, though.…Hot pockeeeeeet….