Dangling Chads and Other Callings on Thanksgiving Day

While so many were counting their blessings with loved ones on November 23, 2000, I chose to stand with John at the Broward County Courthouse watching officials count dangling, pregnant and dimpled chads.

Judge Robert Rosenberg examining a ballot.  Courtesy NBC Nightly News, November 23, 2000

Like so many in the service industry, military, health care and emergency responders; TV photojournalists work through the business of the day.  (An old adage says there are only two living things not running away from a fire; firemen and newsmen.)  "Breaking news" never happens at a convenient time.  On this day, he was the photographer who took these pictures waiting out the days at the courthouse until the election was called.

Courtesy, NBC Nightly News - November 23, 2000 (and my husband...)

The expression in the above picture mirrors the look I gave John through the phone receiver when he told me couldn't come home for the holiday.  Standing for hours on end, amidst the shouting and demonstrations in front of the courthouse and with no Thanksgiving references on this day is not what I envisioned for myself or anyone I care about.

While I couldn't pack up Thanksgiving and all its trimmings, I was fortunate enough to make the trek to him and his work buddies stuck on the same assignment.

It was an historical time and one I hope this country never has to repeat. But in our sacrifice of a home cooked meal with family and friends on this particular Thanksgiving, we witnessed a turning of the tide with an added treat of an interview with Senator Bob Dole.  He and his wife, too, sacrificed their day to participate.

Every Thanksgiving thereafter, I appreciate all those who are unable to spend the day as they truly desire in their hearts.  As for me, I count myself so fortunate to spend it with my family one more time.

What did our journalistic crowd have as our Thanksgiving feast on November 23, 2000?

The Turkey Now Speaks...

Thanksgiving has come and gone and I promise not to bore you with a detailed story of our wonderful day. Something did occur, or more accurately, occurred to me, worthy of reporting especially considering this blogs mission statement: Life lessons and food.

The task of cooking the turkey fell to me this year. Like Sylvia, I love to cook and look forward to tough challenges. Roasting turkeys, not so much. Why? Because the turkey is the center piece of the meal and if you have an epic fail, as depicted in the movie "A Christmas Story," there is nowhere to punt. For example, if we have invited friends or family over for a regular Saturday night dinner and there is a massive failure, we can load up the car and go out for sushi or a goose if you want to stick with the movie plot. But Thanksgiving? The expectation is turkey!

The Tuesday night before the big event, Sylvia and I reviewed an Alton Brown (of "Good Eats" fame) episode dedicated to cooking the perfect turkey. Basically, soak the bird in a brine, stick the turkey into a 500F oven for 30 minutes to brown, reduce to 350F and cover the breast with a triangle of foil as to not dry out the meat, cook until meat thermometer says 161F, rest the bird and eat. That is the highly condensed version.

So, there I was, after 30 minutes at 500F with a bird that is perfectly browned. Just ten minutes later the digital meat thermometer starts beeping -- it says the meat is 161F! Done if I'm to follow Alton's instructions. I had been careful to place the probe exactly where he told me to. You and I both know, this bird is nowhere near done after 40 minutes. Now what?

I decided to rely on my gut instinct and throw out most of the rest of instructions I had planned to follow. And throw out the digital thermometer -- I was going old-school on this turkey! Covering the bird completely with foil (based on a grilled whole chicken I have cooked that is stunningly moist when done) and pouring a 1/2 bottle of beer in the bottom of the roast pan. Mostly because I had already drank the other 1/2. Then I waited. When the bird "looked" done and a test pull on the wings felt about right, we pulled it out of the oven and let it rest. When it came time to slice it up, I was able to grab the drumstick and free it from the joint with just an easy twist and pull. No electric knife needed.

Ah, yes. The life lesson.

When I cook, I seem to have a sixth sense about when an item is cooked as I want it. Especially beef. Either on the grill, stove top or oven. When grilling, I can be in the house, chatting with friends, drinking wine and having lots of laughs when suddenly, a "virtual" timer bell will go off in my head and sure enough, the meat will be cooked to perfection, in my humble opinion. Also in my humble opinion, I am not the only one with this "skill."

I mentioned this to Sylvia the next day and started to think about the thousands of years humans have cooked over open fires and how it might be possible this "skill" has been passed down to me. I never knew my grandparents so the thought of having some connection to unknown ancestors going back thousands of years -- whether one believes it's possible or not -- is a nice little diversion. Trying not to get to "new age" on you, but maybe even a connection to the animal that has given their life to sustain mine?

And what about trusting my instinct? When I have suffered most in life is when I haven't trusted my instincts. Thanksgiving Day was a nice little test to confirm the software is working as expected.

Happy Holidays,

John