slow cooking

I spent Thanksgiving in Providence with my friend Caolan and her family. I love spending Thanksgiving with the Farrell Maddens, as the fare is considerably more traditional than my own family's Iranian-infused table.

This year the food, while wonderful, was less interesting to me than the experience of dining with people who I pretty much hadn't seen since the Thanksgiving of '00. (In the interim, cousin Nora had gone on a Peace Corps mission to Morocco and come home to become a film editor, younger brother Rory had started and finished college and gotten a job as a professional video game tester, Caolan had gotten engaged, and I, well, I won't even try to sum up seven years here.)

Best get back to food.


I only took one picture during dinner and here's why: Early in the afternoon, someone accidentally leaned on the oven, turning it off and bringing the Turkey-cooking to a slow hault. When Aunt Diane went to take the bird's temperature right before dinner, she found it cold, far-from-roasted. So there were several more hours (and a handful of bottles of wine) to kill before we could eat. Come turkey time, we were all a little tossed, and I only had the clarity of mind to capture the Aspic--cubes of granny smith apples, walnut bits, and slivers of celerery, all suspended in lime jello. It sounds gross, I know, and judging from the dinner party's reactions, you either love it or hate it. I helped myself to seconds.