Hoping for a Different Thanksgiving

What you see here is how Thanksgiving 2007 began. Not good.

For a number of years now, we have spent Thanksgiving with Linda's sister and family, mostly at their house because it was easier to get to for most of the relatives. My sister in law and I have created a tradition of comparing notes on each year's Bon Appetit Thanksgiving issue, picked out our favorite recipes and created a feast for 10 - 20 folks. We LOVE doing it.

Last year was the first Thanksgiving in my sister-in-law's new house, so she was ready to have folks in and show the house and cook the traditional meal in her new kitchen (which, by the way, is spectacular!).

As is our usual pattern, we drove to Lawrenceburg, Indiana on Wednesday so we could settle in and begin making preparations. My wife, Linda, is the baker of the family, so she usually makes the desserts. Well, her brother-in-law, who simply MUST have a mincemeat pie each year, was a bit downtrodden because Linda's mom was past the time she could really do any cooking, so it looked like there would be no mincemeat. Linda and her sister decided to take a stab at the mincemeat themselves. So Wednesday evening, they put it together and baked it.

For whatever reason, and despite the fact that we are all experienced in the kitchen, no one thought about the fact that a mincemeat pie these days is basically a fruit pie with alcohol in it. You know what happens with fruit pies in the oven - they run over. But we didn't think about that. Everyone was just thrilled there would be a mincemeat pie after all (and by 'everyone' I mean to say Linda's brother-in-law).

The next morning at breakfast, Linda turned her sister's oven on to preheat so she could begin making the other pies for the Thanksgiving feast, including the traditional Wallick Butterscotch Pie (about which I will post separately). Linda trotted off to the shower as her sister and I finished breakfast. Suddenly, she looked up and said, "Um - I don't think there are supposed to be flames," and then ran over to turn off the oven. The mincemeat runoff, which included some brandy, had ignited.

Well, no big deal, right? You turn off the oven, the fire dies, you clean the oven, then start again. Not so fast. After letting the oven cool down, she noticed that the glass cooktop was still warm. She looked in the little crack between the cooktop and the oven and saw an orange glow. She called me over to look at it - "It's not supposed to do that, is it?"

"No. No it's not."

Linda's brother-in-law comes from a long line of firefighters in Indiana and their rule is, "If you think there's a fire, call the professionals. Don't mess around with it yourself." It's a good rule. So, my sister-in-law, just six weeks into living in her new house in a new development, placed a call to the non-emergency number for the fire and police. "We just need someone to come and take a look at this. No need to send everyone. No need to use the sirens. Just come have a look."

Well, they came - pumper, life squad, fire chief, sheriff - they all came - with sirens and lights.

It was as we suspected - the oven fire had ignited the burner elements and they were still burning - low, but burning. They took the oven outside and got to work. The result is the picture you see above.

Now, the real crisis: There was a Thanksgiving dinner to prepare! Without an oven! There would be no pies - except the mincemeat (now affectionately referred to as "that damn mincemeat pie"). But could we somehow make everything else? We took stock: Microwave; 2 crock pots. Oh, boy - what to do. Then my sister-in-law remembered - a relative had passed on her old roaster. It worked, but was it big enough for the turkey? We decided to give it a go.

We had to wrap bungee cords around the top of the roaster to get it to stay on so the turkey would roast, but we did it. So, with a 40-year old roaster held together with bungee cords, 2 crock pots and a microwave we created a feast to remember.

This year, we put a cookie sheet under the 'damn mincemeat pie' while it bakes.

Duh.