If you give a mouse a
swimming
pool... By Kathy Luder
y mom loves Thanksgiving. She grew up in a parsonage far away from her grandparents, aunts, and uncles.They could never get home for Christmas so they always invited the whole family to come the 700 miles to their home in Wisconsin for Thanksgiving. Every year at least some of them came. It was always an early Christmas. As a kid, her Thanksgivings were presents, cousins, and good things to eat.
M
She tries hard to recreate that atmosphere at our house every year. She cleans, shops, and bakes for days on end. We always have extended family with us and often close friends. Early on I learned to hate Thanksgiving. It always meant a lot of work and sleeping in the living room. But this year I had a school writing project to gather family memories of holidays. Since I procrastinated, I ran out of choices, so I threw myself into my mom’s version of an ideal Thanksgiving. We went to the library and brought home Bon Apetit and Martha Stewart magazines. We finally settled on a menu: Arugula Salad with Oranges, Pomegranate Seeds, and Goat Cheese; Porcini-Rubbed Turkey with Shiitake-Madeira Gravy; Artichoke, Sausage, and Parmesan Cheese Stuffing; Fennel-Scented Mashed Potatoes; Roasted Root Vegetables with Thyme and Marjoram Vinaigrette; Cranberry Sauce with Roasted Shallots and Port; Honeyed Chestnut Corn Bread; and for dessert, Pumpkin and Pecan Semifreddo with Caramel Sauce.* It was, to put it mildly, a bit ambitious.Things started going wrong right away. First of all, my mom’s youngest sister had a baby in Ohio the day before Thanksgiving. Our whole family was recovering from the flu and we were advised to stay home. Everyone else headed to Ohio. We had a refrigerator full of artichokes and arugula so figured we’d wipe our noses and forge ahead. We’d just have to have Thanksgiving without them. We got up early on Thursday morning and collected the turkey off the back porch where it had been soaking in a vegetable broth brine (Martha Stewart special) all night. We found more than the turkey. A mouse had climbed in for a swim and never got out. My mom screamed at the sight. “Do we have to throw the whole thing away?” I asked. “I don’t know. Get it away,” she said, pointing at the mouse. “Can we get another turkey in time?” “No.This will be okay. I’ll rinse it off with hot water.The turkey is going to cook to 175º. There won’t be any danger of bacteria or anything.” “It’s kind of gross.” “I know. Don’t tell anybody.” So that was the deal. We laughed about it and enjoyed the secret. We cleaned the turkey, which we began calling “Mickey,” and brushed it with oil. Mom slipped a few rosemary sprigs inside and set it on the roaster. Martha is against stuffing inside the bird.
W I N T E R 2 0 0 4 __ 11
