>Thanksgiving.

>Thanksgiving is usually a big thing in our house- our cousins come from upstate New York and bring luscious pies and squeezy cheese, which my cousin Michael delights in squirting into celery sticks and such. Mom takes over the kitchen and cooks like a maniac, we stuff our faces, go for a long walk, collapse in front of some football game, and then eat again before cleaning up and hitting the sack. The next day I work and everyone else chills at a museum, repeat, repeat.

Not this year, baby! I have Friday off, yo!

After a strenuous morning of watching the Macy’s Parade followed by a walk and a mikan (“tangerine” to those of you who don’t speak Japanese) we hopped in the car to go out for Thanksgiving dinner.

The buffet at the Comus Inn was fantastic. We sat on the back porch of the inn with a view of Sugarloaf Mountain, which every school child in Maryland is forced to climb at least once in their young lives. We didn’t go for a long walk, but I figure the up and down stairs between platefuls and the drive in the country made up for it. And the bike ride tomorrow will take care of the rest.

Here’s dinner, thanks to Kate and her magical picture-taking cellphone. Preceding this was a plate with a raw oyster, a crayfish, shrimp, clam, gruyere, brie, and a teacup of some kind of Cajun soup that was stunning. I can’t remember the name of it because of the milk punch I consumed- darn that milk punch! So tasty and so… memory altering. What was I talking about?

On that plate is prime rib, turkey with pear gravy, cranberries, cornbread and andouille dressing, oyster dressing, roquefort mashed potatoes, carrots and green beans, and a lamb chop with a reduction including pearl onions and mushrooms. And I had a portion of pasta- fettucine with crab and spinach in a tomato cream sauce that was prepared for me as opposed to by me. This was a good idea, because as I’ve learned at the mongolian grill, there is such a thing as a bad DIY plate of pasta.

I am not going to post dessert- primarily because blogger won’t let me for some reason, but also because it would make me feel like a blimp just looking at it again.

It was nice, but it lacked the special touch of exhausting my mother. And we were strangely subdued this time around, not wanting to disturb anyone when usually we are raucous and loud. But I was with my family, and that’s the important thing. Although admittedly if we’d gone to McDonald’s that would have been very very bad.

Hope you had a good turkey day!

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