Ginger dreaming with cute and cuddly Jesse Tyler Ferguson. Jesse oozes with excitement from having the one and only, beast of the kitchen Martha Stewart, teach him how to prepare a turkey dinner. His cooking skills have grown leaps and bounds from years past spent with his “siblings Kelly and Ben in Kelly’s shoebox-sized (I’m being generous here) studio apartment in Seattle, Washington.” This ginger in his recall of time spent with Martha has a healthy dose of laughter. Happy Thanksgiving Jesse.
It doesn’t happen often, but every once in a while a prestigious publication will allow you to name drop freely through a blog on their well-trafficked webpage. If you are lucky enough and this happens to you, I hope that you will not only have a great name to drop, but also a great circumstance or context to drop the name in.
Here is mine: I was taught how to cook a turkey dinner by none other than Martha Stewart. Not through the help of her website or cookbooks. Oh no! I’m talking about an “in-the-flesh” Marta Stewart standing next to an “in-the-flesh” Jesse Tyler Ferguson and teaching him how to prepare a Thanksgiving dinner that was, in her words, “certain to impress.”
But before we launch into the day that will live in infamy, we have to back up 365 days to a more humble and ill-informed Thanksgiving.
That was the year I celebrated the day of Indians and Pilgrims with my younger siblings Kelly and Ben in Kelly’s shoebox-sized (I’m being generous here) studio apartment in Seattle, Wash. I arrived on her turf with a grocery list in hand. She assured me that she had already done the bulk of the shopping the previous week and that we would have very little to buy. Entering into her kitchenette, I took stock of the cabinet (yes, cabinet — not cabinets). She had a few sweet potatoes that seemed to be sprouting vines, a frozen turkey and a few packets of sugar in the raw… for the pumpkin pie, of course. At the time, my sister was on the Paleo Diet, which basically cuts out everything one eats on Thanksgiving and requires that you eat like a caveman. Much to Kelly’s dismay, I took my list and went hunting and gathering down the processed food aisle of the local grocery store. No Paleo Thanksgiving for me, thank you. Cavemen would have lovedwhite sugar, flour and butter had they only been given the chance. Working in the constraints of my sister’s 250-square-foot apartment, we were going to have a Thanksgiving dinner my mom would be proud of… even if it meant setting the coffee table as a three top. MORE