Diary 11|27|2014: Thanksgiving.

[title type="h5"]Thanksgiving, Thursday, November 27, 2014. A Wonderful Holiday.[/title] After a slump in recent years, caused by the growing up and moving away of many in the next generation of our families, this year's Thanksgiving brought twenty-two people to the Cool Water Ranch. This is our twentieth hosting of this party, which in its peak years served as many as fifty people. Running around in the big lawns and woods, the many little and big kids back then had a ball, while the adults had the beauty of the leaves turning, good weather (most of the time), and far too much old-fashioned food. Two great dishes have come out of the annual cook-a-thon: the root beer glazed ham, and the sugar cane-smoked turkey. [caption id="attachment_44781" align="alignnone" width="480"] Cane-smoked turkey and root beer-glazed ham, both right out of the oven.[/caption] I have the ham in the oven baking at around seven. That will get it out of the oven by eleven at the latest, allowing the Marys to bake their many appetizers in that oven without having to gripe about how my projects take up so much of our resources. The turkey has only rarely been in the oven. By eight, it's in the Big Green Egg, smoking over a bed of charcoal and sugar cane. The latter is brought by Elliott Lanaux, who with his brother Alex, our son Jude and three other stalwart guys made up a great Scout troop in the glory years of boyhood. Elliott goes to his family's cane fields and brings me a dozen stalks every year. I don't even have to ask. Now that's a friend. I am on the radio from my kitchen at nine. That's a WWL tradition for twenty-one years now. The show goes until noon--an hour more than usual. But I can cook as I talk, so it's fun. What I should have been doing was peeling potatoes. I forgot that I am the mashed potatoes guys, and I didn't get started until a little too late. This ultimately resulted in my cooking the potatoes a little less than ideal. They were still a toch stiff in the center. This kept them from mashing well, so I had to mash them longer, which made the texture less than perfectly fluffy. But quite a few people told me that loved them, so I guess I'm in the clear. [caption id="attachment_27232" align="alignnone" width="480"] Shrimp remoulade.[/caption] Mary Ann badgers me all day about making shrimp remoulade. She boiled and peeled the shrimp last night. I didn't worry about the easily-made sauce until I saw that we have very little Creole mustard in the house. I dig around in the refrigerator looking for more, and find a half dozen little plastic take-out containers filled with an assortment of mystery sauces with possibilities. I taste them all and throw half of them into the bowl. I add some Tabasco and lemon juice, whisk in a half-cup of olive oil, and taste. It's pretty good. I dump it over the shrimp, toss the mixture, and serve it over leaves of lettuce. Big hit. Problem is, I have no idea what was in all those little plastic containers. So this sauce will never be made again. My back starts aching--a tradition in the last few years--at around two, when the guests begin to arrive. Among them are two representatives of the youngest generation in Mary Ann's family. They are one and three, respectively, and they are perfectly delightful, entertaining especially the six Baby Boomers. Who are, by the way, outnumbered by twelve twenty-to-forty-somethings. I can see where this is heading. [caption id="attachment_35726" align="alignnone" width="480"] Cheesecake.[/caption] The cheesecake I made last night quickly dwindles to two half slices, which would be gone by tomorrow. Mary Leigh's cloudlike chocolate cake is much liked, particularly by the three-year-old girl. I run through only two bottles of wine. One of them is a Beaujolais Nouveau, in memory of Lloyd Schully, one of our deceased former attendees, who loved the stuff. On the other hand, I serve twenty-two cups of café au lait. I was ready for this, with two pre-loaded coffee makers going at full tilt for about an hour. I am very tired as the sun goes down. The party keeps going well into the evening. An air of happiness is palpable. Mary Ann says she can't imagine a more pleasant way to celebrate our favorite holiday. She leaves unspoken the fact that Jude is not here, but back in California with what will shortly be his new family. Two weeks and two days until the wedding.